Quite Recently In A Galaxy Not So Far Away ...

Two Journeys Home

2006-04-24T16:13:00.000+09:00

On Tuesday, March 28th, 2006, I was making preparations for my flight home to Canada. Working as an English teacher, I had spent the greater part of the last three years in Busan, South Korea. Leaving would be bittersweet. With only two days remaining in Korea, the excitement of returning home was overshadowed by the reality of leaving behind great friends.

On my last day of work I savored all the idiosyncrasies of my students which, on any other day, might have irritated me, but today were more than welcome. I assured them that my replacement would be every bit the consummate professional and sometime 'game-player' that I had been. With a final round of goodbyes and a generous parting gift of traditional Korean masks, I left behind my job and coworkers.

On Tuesday, March 28th, 2006, Private Robert Costall died. Serving with the 1st Battalion, Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry in Afghanistan, he suffered fatal injuries in a firefight with insurgents in an area northwest of Kandahar.

On Thursday, March 30th, I woke up from a fitful sleep on an airport bench at Kensai International Airport in Osaka, Japan. After a short hop from Busan to Osaka I was in the process of passing a five hour layover. I boarded my Air Canada flight to Vancouver at 5:00pm and felt like it was the first step of my reimmersion into Canadian culture after another 13 months away: The cabin announcements were in English and French, the inflight CBC broadcast showed images of a sunken ferry in Northern British Columbia, the movie satisfied Canadian content requirements, and the front page of the Globe and Mail displayed the face of Canada's most recent military casualty in Afghanistan, Private Robert Costall, his eyes small in the bright sun.

At noon on April 1st the remains of Private Robert Costall were repatriated to the Canadian Forces Base at Trenton Ontario. For the time being, this would be the last occasion on which the media would be invited to view and record the return of a flag draped casket to Canadian soil. (Under a new and controversial Conservative Party policy, the media will now be banned when the bodies of military casualties are returned to Canada. As well, the flags on Peace Tower in Ottawa will no longer be lowered to half mast on such occasions. The rationale for the latter being that all military casualties will be honored equally on November 11th, Rememberance Day. As Ottawa's policies on military deaths grow closer in line with Washington's, debate has begun to brew in the media, in Parliament, and among the citizens of Canada.)

On Tuesday, April 4th I exited a Malaspina Coachlines bus onto the lower cardeck of the Horseshoe Bay - Langdale ferry.

After arriving in Vancouver on March 30th I had spent a busy five days staying with my brother and reuniting with old friends. My brother and I watched the Canucks lose in a shoot out to Minnesota after an exhilarating 65 minutes of play. Plenty of storytelling and catching up was done over food and beers.

As I climbed the flights of stairs to the passengers levels of the ferry the door to the upper car deck swung open. Through the opening I saw the unmistakably shape and colour of a hearse surrounded by a large group of people in military uniforms. In Canada, unlike the United States, each military death is the subject of national attention. This hearse, with its military escort, was unmistakably carrying the body of Private Robert Costall to his home in Gibsons, B.C.

Enjoying the view of ocean and mountains from the upper deck of the ferry I could also look down on to the open front of the upper car deck. The young men and a few women who made up the military escort posed together for photos then broke up to enter the passenger decks.

As the horn blew to announce our departure a man dressed in plain clothes and looking clearly distraught approached the hearse. The lone soldier standing at ease near the back of the car approached him. It was obvious that he was a friend of the deceased young soldier and was overcome with emotion at the sudden shock of being on the same ferry. The soldier embraced the man and offered some words of comfort before leading him over to the hearse. As he opened the rear door the proud red and white of the Canadian flag flashed in the bright afternoon sun. The man leaned in and touched the flag draped coffin of a friend he would never get to say goodbye to. Shaken, he was escorted away from the hearse and shared some conversation with the soldier.

As I looked out at the scene before me many thoughts filled my mind. The contrast between the beautiful scenery of the coast and the grim, black hearse looking out over it was striking. I thought about my self and the young soldier lying dead in the hearse. Both young men around the same ages from the same part of the world. A week ago we had been worlds apart in different countries for different purposes. Circumstances, mine happy and his tragic, had brought us to that ferry on that day as we returned to our homes and our families. A lot of rhetoric flies around about the wars taking place in the world and the role of soldiers in those conflicts. Looking around at the towering, snow capped mountains and vast waters around me, I thought of what I would get to experience and he wouldn't: a happy return to my home. While I had certainly been looking forward to that, it seemed to take on more significance. To me, Private Robert Costall's choice to enter a life which, in the end, robbed him of that happy return home, was true and selfless bravery.

Life in South Korea: An Alphabetical Photo Essay (A through L)

2006-03-30T16:56:00.000+09:00

After three years in South Korea I may not be an expert, but I feel qualified enough to pass on a little of what I've learned while here. Although my time working in Korea has drawn to a close I'm sure I'll be back visiting soon enough. Until then, I threw together this alphabetical photo essay for anyone who will be working in, traveling to, or is just curious about life in South Korea. Here is the first of two installments. M-Z to follow soon.

Alcohol: An ever present aspect of life in Korea. Whether you consume it or not, you're sure to be in it's presence often and see its casualties around the streets late at night or very early in the morning. The most popular drink is arguably Soju which is commonly served with meals. There are a number of other Korean alcohols to choose from including Dong-dong Ju and Bek Se Ju. Mek Ju (beer) as well as whisky are also popular. There is a set of customs which accompany drinking and are dictated by age. It's not totally necessary to learn these but I would recommend it if you'll be drinking and/or eating with Koreans.

Bali, Bali!: This expression which literally means 'Fast Fast' or 'Hurry up!' underlies a great deal of Korean culture. From the country's amazing economic growth to a rush to get on the subway, the spirit of speed can be felt and seen wherever you go. Some have even attributed recently disgraced stem-cell expert Hwang Woo-Seok's fabrication of results to the pressure of Bali, Bali culture.

Blood type: Do you know yours? I don't but it wasn't something I really thought much about before being asked by half the students I teach. Blood Type is considered a major personality determinant in Korea. B-types are notorious and not recommended as a romantic partner unless you're up for a challenge.

Cell phone: You may try to resist these modern day slave collars. Land lines and e-mail may seem sufficient for the demands of staying in touch and co-ordinating social activities. This illusion will soon evaporate. Living in a city of 4 million, once you leave your house, it can be a major chore trying to contact someone or arrange plans. Public pay phones are hard to come by. Cellular service plans are cheap and there are plenty of new and used models available. As a member of the ex-pat community you'll likely meet someone who is leaving the country and parting with their phone. You may be ashamed to show it to your 9 year old students who have the latest mp3, digital camera, internet gaming model, but it'll serve you well to have one.

Development: It's hard to walk down the street without passing a construction site or seeing the cranes and scaffolding of a new apartment development rising above the skyline. The speed at which new buildings shoot up or new businesses are installed can be mind boggling. Sometimes you will walk down the street and notice an enormous new shadow that was formerly not there. Looking up, you will see that the culprit is a five story building. This is a visual manifestation of the continuing growth of Korea's economy. The result in Busan, the only city not to suffer the devastation of the Korean War, is a stark contrast between new and old. Sky scraping luxury apartments loom over sprawling traditional Korean houses and older low rise buildings. You will probably live in one of the latter.

Education: Taking its roots in the underlying Confucian social structure of Korea, a high esteem for education seems to have become a mania. Chances are you are working as an English instructor in the countries numerous hogwans (private academies). English is only one of the subjects which students study after finishing their regular school day. In an effort to keep pace with every other student in the country, parents send their children to music, math, and science academies to name but a few. It's not uncommon to see students being dropped off at home at 11:00pm.

Film: While a great deal of Hollywood movies and some other foreign fare can be seen at local cinema, the domestic film industry is growing at an amazing rate. With OldBoy taking second place at the 2004 Cannes film festival and films like Taeguki, Silmido and Welcome to Dongmakgol smashing domestic box office records, the popularity and creativity of Korean films are hotter than ever. The long simmering North/South Korean conflict is popular fodder for screen writers and has produced both brilliant movies and total duds. Romantic comedies also devour a large chunk of box office dollars and seemed to be churned out almost as prolifically as those in the U.S. The one drawback is that, quite obviously, Korean films shown in movie theaters do not run English subtitles. To my knowledge there are three solutions to this problem. The first is to become fluent in Korean. The second is to watch a movie with a Korean friend who is proficient in English and have them translate it to you (unfortunately, even at a whisper this tends to irritate nearby theater-goers). The third and most viable option is to wait for the DVD release. The gap between the theatrical release date and the time a movie is available for rental or purchase on DVD is significantly shorter than in North America. Also, every Korean film released on DVD is available with English subtitles.

Ginseng: This potent root has a position of great respect in Korea. It can be found in a number of varieties at shops which deal exclusively in ginseng and ginseng related products. Among its many healthy effects is a supposed boost to 'stamina'. To eliminate any confusion the word 'stah mee nah' is used in Korea to refer almost exclusively to sexual stamina.

Hangul: The Korean alphabet is considered to be one of the most scientific in the world. Consisting of 14 consonants and 10 vowels, the alphabet was created by King Sejong in the mid 1400's and is the main reason that illiteracy in Korea is at such a low level. It is incredibly simple to learn and would probably not take you more than a week or two to master reading. Of course, reading is much less than half the battle. To master the Korean language you'll need to learn all the grammar and vocabulary that make up any language. One interesting thing you might notice once you're able to read is that a lot of words written in Hangul are actually English words. "Een tah net", "See neh ma", "Pee jja" to name a few.

Internet: South Korea is the most wired nation in the world with high speed access to over 70% of households. PC bangs, rooms full of computers with internet access are everywhere. Most operate to accommodate the huge popularity of online role playing games, but many visitors can be seen surfing the internet. Cyworld.com is a popular service that offers personal websites on which you display pictures and personal thoughts as well as receive notes from friends and other guests. You're nobody in Korea if you don't have a Cyworld page.

Japan: Excluding North Korea, Japan is South Korea's nearest neighbor. While geographically close, the two countries seem to constantly be at odds with each other. The Japanese occupation in the first half of the twentieth century, and the ensuing sexual slavery of young Korean women by Japanese soldiers, is an enduring sore point and something for which Japan has never formally apologized. Although the two nations co-hosted the 2002 World Cup, their bitter rivalry has been reignited over historically inaccurate Japanese textbooks and the rightful possession of Dok-do Island (Takeshima to the Japanese). Most Koreans will have a lot to say about the subject of Japan.

Kimchi: This staple food of Korea is likely to be served with nearly every meal. Cabbage leaves fermented in red pepper paste, this spicy dish is thought to have shielded Korea from the SARS epidemic. In fact, there is evidence that it has positive effects on respiratory health. Eat your kimchi and you'll probably earn at least a little respect in Korea.

Language: If you're living in Korea there is a good chance it's because you're teaching a language. Namely, English. You may also choose to learn the Korean language to aid in your daily interactions or perhaps to impress the female population. Language will no doubt play a part in your daily life and can provide as many opportunities as it does barriers.

The Paper Cups

2006-02-23T20:21:00.000+09:00

Every week at school, my students are required to write a one page diary entry. While some consider one sentence and a massive picture enough to satisfy this requirement, others produce some excellent writing which gives a little insight into what kids think about. Here's an example of an interesting story by Sandy (Heo Eun Sil) in my 2C Writing Class. She's 12 years old and has studied English for about three years:

The Paper Cups

One day, in the newspaper factory, there were two newspapers. They wanted to be great and beautiful paper cups. And a man took them and read them. And he put them in the separation removal box. They were sad. They were taken to a strange factory and they became paper cups! Then, they had another dream. That was: they wanted to have a beautiful pattern on their body. But one paper cup got a great pattern, but the other one got a common pattern. Then a man took them on to his table. And he was smoking. He put cigarette butts into the great pattern papercup. It was sad. And the other paper cup felt nervous. But the man poured water into it. He was thirsty. And he drank all the water in it, he said "Now, I'm not thirsty. Thank you paper cup." The common pattern paper cup was happy, and he learned, 'The way they look isn't important, deep down insides is all that is important.'*

*bonus points for having a moral

Daeboreum

2006-02-13T18:12:00.000+09:00

On January 29th, 2006, the Year of the Rooster gave way to the Year of the Dog. Two weeks later, on February 12th, the first full moon of the new year graced the clear night skies over Busan, South Korea. This event was met with many festivities and is called Daeboreum.

Haeundae Beach, summer tourist magnet and considered by many to be Korea's best beach, is often the epicenter of cultural celebrations. On Daeboreum it again played host to locals and foreigners gathered to partake in or simply watch the festivities.

The first sight to greet me when I arrived at the beach in the early afternoon was an enormous mountain of branches and brush piled four stories high. This bonfire-to-be and a nearby stage were roped off to prevent the milling crowds from getting to close. One side of the fire pile, however, was accessible and I watched as people lined up, entered a hollow cavity within the over sized kindling, and then emerged to attach pieces of white cloth onto protruding branches. These, I assumed, were wishes which would be incinerated in the fire and float up to the skies.

The line of people waiting to visit the fire-pile extended several hundreds of feet down the beach and seemed to be growing rather than shrinking. The inferno would not be taking place for some time. I strolled the beach and joined groups of people who had assembled to watch sand sculptors practice their craft on the living canvas of Haeundae Beach. Armed with simple tools that included a watering can and a small broom, these artists were able to conjure incredible results from the once formless sand. The most impressive depicted the serene face of Buddha, massive ears drooping at its sides.

At the opposite end of the beach, a kite flying competition was taking place. In fact everywhere you looked kites of all shapes and sizes jockeyed for position in the afternoon sun, their operators working intently to keep them airborne. The competitive kites however, were a different breed. Their spindles were large wooden cages around which a surprisingly long line was spooled. They certainly took more skill to handle. I watched as the competitors, exclusively older Korean men, deftly maneuvered the kites. An official was on hand to blow the whistle and enforce what rules there were. At times the winner was the man with his kite flying at the farthest distance, while at other times the lines became crossed and eventually one was severed, leaving the loser's kite to drift defeatedly into the ocean.

As dusk gathered and my hunger increased, I met some friends for dinner overlooking the beach. About halfway through our meal the fire was ignited and many of the diners in the restaurant rushed to the deck for an excellent view of the monstrous fire. The flames brightly illuminated an open space on the sand where women in traditional Korean attired were linked in a circle performing a dance.

By the time we finished our meal and were back on the beach, the flames were out but the remains of the fire were still smoldering. Near the water people were lighting off fireworks while further up the sand, the rhythmic pounding of traditional Korean drums filled the air. Lit by green spotlights, the smoke of the dying fire wafted above, and visible beyond it in the clear black sky was the first full moon of this Year of the Dog.

A Korean man competes in the Daeboreum kite competition

A sandsculpture of Buddha's face illuminated at night

The smoldering remains of a bonfire send smoke over the sand

Radiohead: Rising To Expectations

2006-01-31T16:50:00.000+09:00

Music: High and Dry - Radiohead

I've been combing through the contents of my old computer's hard drive which are now stored on DVD. This is a paper I wrote for my Music 308: History of Rock and Roll class. I was proud of it and got a perfect grade. Enjoy:
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Radiohead: Rising to Expectations

Any rising rock and roll band has had to deal with obstacles on its way to the top. Internal squabbles, drug and alcohol abuse, and corrupt management are among a long list of factors which could turn a potential legend into yesterday’s news. For Radiohead, an innovative five piece band from Oxford, England, perhaps one of the biggest obstacles on their path towards musical recognition and a spot in rock and roll history has been expectation. After all, the band which today is often used as a benchmark against which new and innovative rock bands are compared, was once expected to be nothing more than a ‘one hit wonder’. While such a paper is not appropriate for taking on the exhaustive task of describing Radiohead’s entire career (a book would be far more appropriate and many, in fact, have been written on the subject), tracing the expectations surrounding their five major albums serves to illustrate the challenges that expectation can present for a band.

After gaining acclaim in their native Oxford under the name ‘On a Friday’ (which refers to the day they would practice), the band signed with major label Capitol, adopted the new moniker, and released their first major album titled ‘Pablo Honey’ in 1993. The album’s biggest single ‘Creep’ was an anthem for disillusionment and alienation and included lyrics such as “What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here” (Pablo Honey, track 2). Despite its rather depressing subject matter, the song garnered Radiohead huge success becoming an international hit, “it shot up the Modern Rock charts to number two” (Hale 53), and spurring a world tour to promote the album. While Radiohead’s stock seemed to be on the rise, critics were already forecasting their demise, using the ever-feared label ‘one-hit-wonder’. Although it had been their breakout song in the United States, the members of the band began to detest ‘Creep’. Lead guitarist Jonny Greenwood describes an ominous trend which had been occurring at concerts on the Creep tour, “we used to get people that would come and just leave after ‘Creep’” (Hale 58). The creative desire to come up with new material and develop musically was being quashed by record company pressures to cash in on ‘Creep’s’ success in order to boost record sales. The pressure to live up to past success and also to distance themselves from ‘Creep’ surely weighed heavily on the band as they returned to the studio to record the follow up to ‘Pablo Honey’.

In 1995 Radiohead released their highly anticipated second album ‘The Bends’. A line from the album’s title track seems to articulate what they must have been feeling while writing the album, “Where do we go from here? The words are coming out all weird” (The Bends, track 2). The response of critics was overwhelming and perhaps exactly what Radiohead wanted to hear, “Radiohead have moved on, and offer 12 examples of why they’re one of the UK’s big league, big rock assets” (Hale 75). In their true, modest fashion the band took the glowing acclaim with a sense of humor, never letting it go to their heads; “It’s four stars in quote marks. Does that mean they just swore at it?”(Hale 75) was the response of bassist Colin Greenwood. With a heavily guitar laden, hit filled album that earned them the nickname ‘Punk Floyd’, Radiohead had silenced their derisive critics and soared past even their own expectations. Although it did not have one big single which carried the album, a number of hits including ‘Just’, ‘High and Dry’, ‘Fake Plastic Trees’ and ‘Street Spirit’ helped records sales for ‘The Bends’ to surpass Pablo Honey in every single country except the US (Hale 169). In another of the album’s tracks ‘My Iron Lung’, vocalist, and lead songwriter, Thom Yorke scathingly addresses the ‘Creep’ phenomenon and the aforementioned fans who would often leave concerts once they had heard it, “This is our new song, Just like the last one, a total waste of time” (The Bends, track 8). For now, Radiohead had gained critical success and moved beyond the status of one hit wonder which so many thought they would retain. Even more so than ‘The Bends’, the release of their next album was fervently awaited by both fans and critics alike.

After delivering ‘The Bends’, which many critics grouped among their top ten albums of 1995, the expectation for Radiohead to produce a worthy successor was enormous. Still using guitars, the band did tend to lean to the experimental side while recording. After all, their huge success had the advantage of allowing the band buy “over $140,000 worth of gear” (Hale 95) which they would employ on the new album. Feeling a strong need to be free of creative constraints, the band produced the album themselves, although the presence of talented studio engineer Nigel Godrich was crucial. The result was 1997’s ‘OK Computer’ which, in general terms, dealt with the alienation of modern living and technology. The band however, was not brimming with confidence at the end of the creative process. Thom Yorke is quoted as saying, “At the 11th hour, when we realized what we had done, we had qualms about the fact that we had created this thing that was quite revolting” (Borow 120). Tracks such as the seven minute plus ‘Paranoid Android’ which includes the line “kicking, screaming, Gucci little piggy” (OK Computer, track 2) did not seem destined to be radio darlings. Any fears that the band had about the album surely vanished the minute the critics responded, “there will not be a better album released in 1997 than Radiohead's OK Computer” (Greenplastic.com). Critical response however, can be seen as only half the battle. The other challenge was meeting the expectation of fans. Good reviews from critics do not necessarily translate into impressive record sales, “critically acclaimed albums are often consigned to obscurity” (Hale 108). Radiohead were lucky as it was not only critics, but also fans that recognized ‘OK Computer’ as something truly brilliant and special. The album debuted at number one in the UK, 21 on the Billboard charts, and went platinum in the US after a year (Hale 170). Fans, it seemed, had been more than willing to go along for the ride as Radiohead ventured further from the mainstream modern rock format which had given them the success of ‘Creep’. The question then seemed to be, ‘how far would they venture and how far would fans be willing to follow?’

Given the success of ‘OK Computer’, there were widespread expectations for Radiohead to follow it up with an album built on the same premise. Once you reach the top there’s only one direction to go: down. Such a thought must have plagued members of the band as they felt the pressure from fans to come out with what might be described as a sort of ‘OK Computer 2’. Worn out from overwhelming touring and promotion schedules for ‘OK Computer’, the band retreated from public view for a while. The result would be their longest break between album releases which only served to heighten the anticipation for ‘OK Computer’s successor. In 2000, three years after the release of ‘OK Computer’, Radiohead unleashed ‘Kid A’ onto an eager public. With this album, Radiohead might have chosen a more traditional route to attempt to reproduce the warm reaction received by ‘OK Computer’. What they did however, was anything but traditional and defied expectations, “Radiohead chose to test the creative and commercial license that came with the prize” (Fricke 44). The album strayed further from the guitar based rock of ‘The Bends’ and more towards electronic gadgetry and synthesizers. Even the promotion of the album was anything but what was expected. Given their past success, Radiohead could have been seen to be at the peak of their commercial viability, yet they chose to release no singles or videos for the album. Instead, fans could download innovative animations that accompanied sounds from the album and were called Blips. Even touring was limited and done so at the leisure of the band and not the urging of the record company. Where many had expected Radiohead to stick to what had worked in the past, they instead took an entirely new route. Nigel Godrich, who stepped into the role of producer for ‘Kid A’, described the situation, “Thom really wanted to try and do everything different, and that was … bloody difficult” (Borow 112). Guitarist Ed O’Brien also lent insight into the creative process behind ‘Kid A’, “he [Thom] did know what he didn’t want it to be, which was anything that smacked of the old route” (Borow 112). Such techniques on the part of the band led to the caption on their Rolling Stone cover reading “In Order to Save Themselves Radiohead Had to Destroy Rock & Roll”. Returning to the earlier question, “how far would fans be willing to follow?”. Apparently they were more than willing to go this far as ‘Kid A’ debuted at number one in the US.

Created from the same recording sessions as ‘Kid A’, a follow up album, ‘Amnesiac’, was released only months later in June of 2001. While its opening week sales were even higher than those of ‘Kid A’, stiff competition prevented it from debuting higher than the number two spot. Representing the most recent chapter in the Radiohead story, ‘Amnesiac’ has left fans satisfied and again put the band in a position from which their next move will be eagerly awaited. As far as what fans or critics might expect in the future, the message seems clear (and pardon the cliché): expect the unexpected.

Expectation can be a force that either destroys or enriches the creative process. Tracing back Radiohead’s career through five major albums, expectation, both positive and negative, has been heaped on the band from the very start. At times they have achieved success through living up to, or exceeding expectations, while at other times it has been their refusal to give into expectations that has won them not only critical respect, but also fan support. Radiohead can certainly be said to be a band that has learned to deal with the high expectations set on them, not just by fans and critics, but also by themselves.

Works Cited

1. Borow, Zev. “The Difference Engine” Spin. November 2000: 110-120.

2. Fricke, David. “Radiohead: Making Music That Matters.” Rolling Stone. August 2, 2001: 42- 48 + 73.

3. Hale, Jonathan. Radiohead: From a Great Height. Toronto: ECW Press, 1999.

4. Watch. “OK Computer? Try Incredibly Powerful Computer!” Greenplastic Radiohead. 1997. (25 February 2002).

Discography

Pablo Honey (1993), Produced by Paul Q. Kolderie, Chris Hufford, Sean Slade.

The Bends (1995), Produced by John Leckie, Radiohead, Jim Warren, Nigel Godrich.

OK Computer (1997), Produced by Radiohead and Nigel Godrich.

Kid A (2000), Produced by Radiohead and Nigel Godrich.

Amnesiac (2001), Produced by Radiohead and Nigel Godrich.

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Some Radiohead Links:

Official Radiohead Site

Waste.com (for merchandise)

GreenPlastic.com (an excellent tribute site)

The Chief Export Of Chuck Norris Is Pain

2006-01-23T16:13:00.000+09:00

How much do you really know about the bearded, round-house kicking star of Walker Texas Ranger and the 'Total Gym' informercial? Pay a visit to this site and find out:

Chuck Norris Facts

My personal favorite: "There is no theory of evolution, just a list of creatures Chuck Norris allows to live." That should finally put an and to this whole Darwin versus Intelligent Design debate.

2006 Canadian Men's Olympic Hockey Roster

2005-12-23T01:07:00.000+09:00

After much anticipation, the members of the Canadian men's Olympic hockey team were announced today. Two days after the unveiling of an American squad which includes 12 Olympic newcomers (including all three goaltenders), Canada selected a squad of proven international veterans. The only three players not to have been at the 2002 Olympics or 2004 World Cup, Todd Bertuzzi, Rick Nash, Marty Turco, are all proven performers. Although Nash hasn't played much this season due to injury, his skills cannot be argued with.

It's good to see Bertuzzi have a shot at Olympic gold after some great seasons in Vancouver. Despite the events of 2003-2004, which still linger in the minds of some, he seems determined to associate his name with excellent hockey rather than a notorious incident. While Bertuzzi has been granted his chance, Sidney Crosby has been forced to wait until Vancouver 2010 to make his Olympic debut. I'm sure he must feel disappointment, but when the puck drops on February 15th in Turin, Italy, I'd bet he'll be chearing just as loud as every other Canadian hockey fan.

More in-depth analysis than I'm qualified to give

Here's the line-up:

Goaltenders:

Martin Brodeur (New Jersey)
Roberto Luongo (Florida)
Marty Turco (Dallas)

Defence:

Rob Blake (Colorado)
Adam Foote (Columbus)
Ed Jovanovski (Vancouver)
Scott Niedermayer (Anaheim)
Chris Pronger (Edmonton)
Wade Redden (Ottawa)
Robyn Regehr (Calgary)

Forwards:

Todd Bertuzzi (Vancouver)
Shane Doan (Phoenix)
Kris Draper (Detroit)
Simon Gagne (Philadelphia)
Dany Heatley (Ottawa)
Jarome Iginla (Calgary)
Vincent Lecavalier (Tampa Bay)
Rick Nash (Columbus)
Brad Richards (Tampa Bay)
Joe Sakic (Colorado) - Captain
Ryan Smyth (Edmonton)
Martin St-Louis (Tampa Bay)
Joe Thornton (San Jose)

Reserves:

Bryan McCabe (Toronto)
Jason Spezza (Ottawa)
Eric Staal (Carolina)

Return of S.N.L.

2005-12-20T22:37:00.000+09:00

Being overseas, I haven't had the chance to watch Saturday Night Live for a while. I used to be a loyal viewer (or at least recorder) of the show, but in recent years I watched the humour and creativity take a bit of a nosedive. Like many things in the universe, the level of hilarity on SNL occurs in cycles. Here's some proof that things are on an upswing, and that even going to a movie on a Sunday afternoon can be hardcore.

"Lazy Sunday"

Visit this link to see more projects by Andy Samberg and his friends who created this digital short:

The Lonely Island - Short home movies conceived, filmed, and edited in one day using whatever equipment is available

A Day on the Fringes of A.P.E.C.

2005-11-21T16:05:00.000+09:00

From November 12th to 19th, 2005, the 16th annual summit of the Asia Pacific Economic Co-operation was held in Busan, South Korea under the theme "Towards One Community: Meet The Challenge, Make the Change". Having a busy work schedule and living on the opposite side of town, I was unable to take in any of the accompanying festivities (most regrettably the spectacular fireworks display at Gwanganli Beach). Determined, at least for one day, to experience this major political and economic forum, if only from the periphery, I threw my camera in a bag, hailed a taxi, and made my way across town.

I was forewarned that buses and the subway would not be stopping at or near either of the two major host venues, Busan Exhibition and Convention Center (BEXCO) and Haeundae Beach. With this in mind I asked to be dropped off in Suyeong. Oncheon River separates Suyeong and Dongnae from the more affluent Centum City and Haeundae neighborhoods in the northeast of Busan. Its banks are currently the site of the some of the most ambitious and enormous apartment development taking place in the city. Encouragingly, a large area of land has also been developed as a boardwalk and park, an aspect of urban planning that, until recently, has been sorely lacking in Busan.

As I approached the river I was confronted by a massive barricade of Hyundai shipping containers. Stacked two high to form a wall, the containers were in place not to block traffic, but rather to impede and regulate its flow. I walked along the edge and approached the bridge to find the length of it occupied by police and police buses. Despite my innocent intentions to walk and observe, I had what I consider to be a common reaction when witnessing a large contingent of law enforcement: irrational guilt. Slightly unnerved, I altered my route and walked further up river to the next bridge. (In retrospect, I realized that the police, much like the large container barricades, were in place to deter anyone with nefarious intentions. Presenting no threat I would have had no problem passing.) The weather was excellent and a slight detour was welcomed.

Walking along the river to the next bridge, I saw more parked police buses and forces. A large portion of South Korea's police force is made up of young men, usually in their early twenties, serving the countries mandatory 2 year and 2 month military service. For many, it is considered a favorable alternative to freezing one's ass off patrolling the Demilitarized Zone between North and South Korea. Although their black uniforms and array of riot busting accessories convey an air of menace, most were out of their full gear, smoking, eating, and behaving jovially as young men in their 20's are inclined to do in eachother's company. Any threat, whether from terrorism or protesters, seemed to be well under control.

I arrived at the bridge and found the scene was the same. I waited for a few cars and a middle aged couple on foot to begin crossing the bridge to confirm I wouldn't be turned back. My presence elicited not much more than a few turned heads, smiles, and even the odd "Hello."

Having crossed the river, I turned and walked along a newly installed park and boardwalk. The police presence of the bridge and the opposite bank were now all but invisible despite my close proximity to BEXCO. Along the water's edge, men cast fishing lines, children played, joggers jogged, and a middle aged man wheeled past on a unicycle with surprising mastery.

I exited the end of the park nearest BEXCO and crossed the street. The road leading to the convention center was blocked by a manned barricade. I guessed it might only have been for vehicles and tried to walk around. With an assertive but friendly "No" and an X formed by his forearms (a common Korean gesture used to express 'No' to foreigners), a young cop turned me back. I walked along the edge of the restricted area able to see the impressive BEXCO structure in the distance but, unlike on so many previous visits, I was unable to approach it.

At the next road block I didn't attempt to pass but did take notice of the attention paid to making this security measure pleasant to look at. Between yellow and black metal barriers were three tiered flower boxes with 'Welcome to APEC' printed along the edges. The flowers were fake. Logical I suppose since a police force required to attend to the welfare of live flowers doesn't do much to instill fear in would be 'trouble makers' ("Don't make me put down this watering can!").

I continued along the edge of the restricted area. In some places police buses and officers outnumbered civilians. In other places a feeling of normalcy pervaded. Walking through an apartment courtyard where birds sang and children played, I turned a corner and found hundreds of police sitting, legs crossed on the pavement. Not guarding anything, they were being held in reserve to be called upon if needed.

Altering my route numerous times to avoid police barriers and road blocks, I finally arrived at the gateway to Dongbaek Island, the home of Nurimaru APEC House where the leaders of APEC's 21 member countries were meeting in seclusion to discuss, among a range of other issues, 'Advancing Freer Trade' and 'A Safe and Transparent Asia-Pacific Region'. The stated goals of the summit are to promote freer trade through support for the WTO and to seek measures for dealing with threats to human security such as terrorism, disease, and natural disasters. With attacks in Bali, the looming threat of bird flu, and a devastating tsunami within the last year, these are pressing concerns for the region and its leaders.

From a security standpoint, Dongbaek (technically a peninsula and not an island) is a perfect location for hosting world leaders. Nurimaru APEC House on the peninsula's tip is practically invisible from the rest of the mainland and the surrounding waters are easily guarded and patrolled by a fleet of police boats and battle cruisers. The only road leading onto the island was tightly controlled by police on foot, motorcycle, and in armored personel vehicles. I stood there taking in the scene as a police chopper circled over head. Anticipation was in the air. I wasn't sure why but I needed to sit down and rest so I decided to do so there. I was approached by an outgoing Korean university professor. He informed me that people were waiting to see the motorcades depart. Particularly, he wanted to catch a glimpse of U.S. President George W. Bush, 'Bushee' as he is known by many in Korea. After a short time, the police escorts appeared surrounding a fleet of BMW X5 sport utilities and 7 series sedans. China and Mexico rolled out before the tell-tale Cadillacs and flying pennants of the American motorcade came into view. Accelerating quickly, tinted windows rolled up, and surrounded by trucks full of secret service agents, the president's car passed within feet of where I stood with the professor on the side of the road. Despite a general negativity towards the U.S. on the part Koreans, most of the spectators seemed excited rather than angry. "It's Bushee!" exclaimed the professor gleefully.

I waited for a while and saw the Canadian contagion leave. None of the leaders were visible however through the darkly tinted glass. A large bus emerged shortly after and unloaded a large group of journalists toting their cameras and massive zoom lenses. There wasn't much to see after that so I took a relaxing stroll along Haeundae beach. Beyond the police line at the beaches southern end (closest to Dongbaek Island) children, couples, and families enjoyed the afternoon sun and refreshing ocean air. Seagulls swarmed amazingly close hoping for some child to drop his valuable cargo of potato chips.

Answering the wishes of many, APEC went off successfully with any major disturbances. I was surprised to witness no protests on the day I visited and to hear of only minor demonstrations on the other days. With the opening of Korea's rice market, farmers were the most active protestors but due to an overwhelming security force things never got out of hand. Perhaps APEC was just a warm up for next months WTO meetings in Hong Kong where Korean farmers are expected to make up a major contingent. Public protest and calling on leaders to account for their actions is an important part of the ongoing and inevitable experiment of globalization. Despite this, sometimes things grind to a complete halt and nothing can be accomplished. APEC 2005 in Busan did not fall victim to this and marks, along with the 2002 World Cup and the annual Pusan International Film Festival, another occasion on which the leaders and citizens of Busan have hosted the world in their beautiful city.

The presidential motorcade leaving APEC 2005:

Some more images:

A police boat and its occupants patrol the waters off Haeundae Beach during APEC 2005.

A pedestrian passes a group of police at APEC 2005.

A police line at Haeundae Beach keeps the southern end of the beach off limits to visitors.

A police motorcycle escort leaving the entrance of Dongbaek Island during APEC 2005.

Young police officers line up along the sidewalk to enforce security during APEC 2005.

Everything I Know I Learned From Star Wars

2005-05-15T11:16:00.000+09:00

May 19th will be marked as a bittersweet day for Star Wars fans. The day on which the final (although techincally 3rd) episode of a six film saga is released will be greeted with mixed emotions by people of all generations. Some will anticipate the satisfaction of finally seeing a story told over 28 years be completed (even if they did already watch the final act 20 years ago and already know how this third installment will playout); Some will be anxious to see if George Lucas can redeem a franchise many consider to have gone downhill; Others will rue another day on which they will have to defend their allegiance to Captain Kirk or Gandalf and Frodo; From their homes others will remark, "I can't believe these nerds on the news lined up for 2 days just to watch a movie." Where ever you are and whatever your personal feelings are, Friday will mark a significant milestone in pop culture, as one of its most recognizable and iconic stories at last becomes whole. It would be hard to find someone you know who isn't familiar with lines like "May the Force be with you" or "I am your Father". In recognition of the significant impact Star Wars has had on people and culture, here is a list I received in an email a few months ago.

Everything I Know I Learned From Star Wars:

1. Good guys don't always wear white and bad guys don't always wear black. Just to keep life interesting.
2. Belief and faith are far more powerful than any technology man can devise.
3. You will, throughout your life, be thrust into impossible situations by fate.
4. You may have family members in surprisingly high positions.
5. Never declare that there is "nothing to stop [you] this time."
6. THIS one goes here, THAT one goes there.
7. No disintegrations.
8. Never, never, underestimate the power of the Dark Side.
9. Sometimes you have no choice.
10. You will find many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view.
11. No matter how deeply one falls into darkness, there is always hope for redemption.
12. Just when you think there is no more hope, alas, there is one more.
13. Don’t be overconfident.
14. Never judge a "piece of junk" from the outside. More often than not, "she's got it where it counts."
15. Faith and belief can be a weakness as well as a strength.
16. Your eyes can deceive you, don't trust them.
17. Beware of judging someone else's beliefs as just a "hokey religion." You may end up eating those words.
18. Never judge anything by its size.
19. Never cast your lightsaber away, you might need it.
20. Whining about something never helps.
21. It is not always necessary to ignore the annoying.
22. It is pointless to argue with family members.
23. Watch your hands when sword fighting.
24. Walk in single file to hide your numbers.
25. Trust yourself.
26. Never allow yourself to become as clumsy as you are stupid.
27. Sometimes it's better to fly into an asteroid field.
28. When you protest about the terms of an agreement, the terms might be altered further.
29. Size matters not.
30. "Try not. Do or do not. There is no try."
31. "Mind what you have learned, save you it can."
32. Even if it is a great shot, don't get cocky.
33. Sometimes you have to bury your feelings.
34. Be prepared for things to go wrong.
35. You'll always have a bad feeling about something.
36. The Dark Side is never irrevocable.
37. If all else fails, angle the deflector shields.
38. Watch out for those trees.
39. People who are "more machine now than man, twisted and evil" set a pretty sparse table.
40. Control, control, you must learn control.
41. If somebody cuts your hand off, don't trust him to betray his boss for you.
42. Young men should be wary of getting involved with crazy, old hermits who like to be called "Master."
43. Let go of your conscious self and act on instinct.
44. You shouldn't always listen to your parents.
45. You can't escape your destiny.
46. When you say that you are "ready for anything," actually be ready for anything.
47. Don't give into your anger.
48. Do everything in your power not to make the same mistakes as the previous generation.
49. Grasping at your throat will not stop the choking.
50. Beware of tremors in the Force.
51. If you do not believe, that is why you fail.
52. Everything has a weakness, it's just a matter of exploiting it: Emperor - overconfident; Luke - friends; Death Star - thermal exhaust port; Stormtroppers - Ewoks; Star Destoyers - bridge deflector shields; Darth Vader - compasion for his kids; Leia - smugglers; Chewie - dead animals hanging from trees; C3P0 - frail body
53. Don’t always look to the horizon. Keep your mind on where you are and what you are doing.
54. If you’re not afraid, you will be. You will be.
55. Stay on target.
56. Your insight serves you well.
57. Remember, your strength flows from the Force.
58. Once you start down the Dark Path, forever will it dominate your destiny.
59. You must do what you feel is right.
60. Patience... you must have patience.
61. Let go of your feelings.
62. You should always listen to a Jedi master when they tell you something; they probably know what they are talking about.
63. Even Jedi can make mistakes sometimes.
64. Pass on what you have learned.

Music: Star Wars Theme (composed by John Williams)

Home

2005-01-15T06:52:00.000+09:00

"Human beings are the only creatures that allow their children to come back home."
-Bill Cosby

I'm not sure if anyone is still reading this. I've been home three weeks and haven't updated in even longer. Excuses? Oh sure, I have tonnes: Sopranos, Fear Factor, The Apprentice, Survivor, the list goes on and on. I've been logging some serious hours catching up on all the North American culture I've missed out on the last year and a half. Sure, the wonders of the world wide web gave me access to all these things while away (thanks Bit-torrent), but it was never as easy as reclining in a plush chair and hitting a few buttons on the remote.

Need more explanations for my rampant blog-neglect? Enjoying more than a few dishes that have been absent from my diet for far too long: "Welcome back lamb chops and mint sauce!" Also I've been investing some serious time dumping my entire CD and mp3 collection onto my new Ipod (thanks Mum and Dad, oh yeah and you too Steve Jobs). I've got about 700 songs in there now and the sleek little machine is only about 15% full. Not quite bulging at the seams yet. Not even the entire catalogues of U2 and Radiohead, plus more than a few 15 minute long Led Zep guitar fests, have pushed 'Podzilla' anywhere near its 20 gigabyte limit.

After a couple of days in Vancouver, Mum, Dad and I drove up the scenic peninsula and back to Powell River. Home at last. It felt nice. I decided to shed my Khao San road dreadlocks and tidy up my traveling beard. I gave the hefty task to a local barber and he worked wonders. I dropped him a nice tip for his efforts and left the barber shop shaved, shorn, and feeling much better.

Christmas was especially nice after having missed last year's. I picked up all of my gifts on the road and they all looked a lot more valuable than what I actually paid for them (after considerable bargaining of course). New Year's Eve was spent in Victoria with Kerry. We splurged on a couple of bottles of Alize and partied like we were in a rap video (minus the exotic cars, exotic girls, exotic locale, and massive entourage). Then we were off to Sugar where we watched Velvet and ran up a bar tab that still sends shivers down my spine. By fluke we ran into Adam and a joyous, pissed reunion was had. I ended up crashing with Adam at his old place and spending the entirety of the next day watching college football and nursing our hangovers with water and pizza.

A few days later I watched the 6-1 routing of Russia by Canada's world junior team. A nice way to kick off 2005. Good work boys. I stayed a few more days and saw a few more friends: Rob, Paul, J.C., Lauren, Kate, Stu, Nicole. Unfortunately, I missed more people than I saw because not everyone had come back for the new semester yet. Another Victoria visit may be in the cards. I woke up Friday to find Paul skipping classes and snow blanketing the ground outside, a rare phenomenon in Victoria (the snow I mean; I can't really attest to Paul's attendance record but, to be fair, I wouldn't have been going to school in that weather).

I had serious doubts that my bus home would be running but trudged down to the depot anyway. To my surprise, they sold me a ticket and I boarded the bus. With its winding roads straddling sheer drop offs into the water far below, the Malahat can test your nerves at the best of times. With snow already covering the road, and more rushing down from the sky to join it, I was more than a little jittery as I looked out the window at the potential disaster that loomed just a few feet to the side of the bus. I dialed up 'A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: The Audiobook' on Podzilla, and let it distract me.

Once we were through the mountains, the bus kept up a surprisingly good pace. The landscape as you drive up Vancouver Island is scenic and was made even more so by the liberal coating of white snow it received that day: The bare branches of millions of trees support more snow than seems physically possible; fields of grass are transformed into vast plains of white snow and grey ice extending to the base of white mountains beyond; in some places the road passes near the ocean and the white ground runs right up to the edge of the dark, choppy, and surely frigid waters.

I got off in Courtney and managed to catch the last bus running out to the ferry. I was the sole passenger on the bus driven by a guy who liked to chat and, when no-one was watching, kick the back end of the bus out sideways in the snow. It was a fun ride and at the end of it I ran off the bus and on to the ferry with only a minute to spare before it departed.

Since then it's been a nice week of relaxing at home in the company of my parents and Marley, our friendly black lab who likes to dig holes and ignore what you tell him to do. I've been spending some time toying around with my new computer, trying to learn some of the programs I've loaded and find illegal cracks for the others. As I edit and arrange some of my beach pictures from Ko Lanta, I can't help but thinking that the resort which I called home for about a week is no longer there. The beachside bar, the pool table, the barbecue, the sitting platforms have all surely been swept away. I left the island no more than a week before it, and numerous other places along the edge of the Indian Ocean, were devastated by the tsunami. Many of the people I met left around the same time as me, but many more stayed, including, of course, the fantastic group of Thai guys and girls that made my stay such a pleasure. I knew them only a few days, but something about the warmth and kindness that is an integral part of the Thai persona, made them feel like good friends. Being a smaller tourist destination, the extent of the devastation on Ko Lanta hasn't been a main focus in Western media. I can only hope everyone was ok and my heart goes out to everyone whose friends or family aren't ok. With the late night, alcohol fueled schedule I kept while there, I can only guess what would have happened to me had I been passed out in my bungalow when the killer wave struck. It certainly puts things in perspective. I'm happy to see Canada and the world being so generous with not only money, but also time and care. Perhaps this is something that can unite those once divided. You have to look for the silver lining I guess.

No Man Is An Island

2004-12-16T02:35:00.000+09:00

Khao San road caters to that lazy slob in everyone. The cafes are open for breakfast at 6:00am but most of the customers are hold overs from the previous night's bar cruising. It's rare to spot dreary eyed backpackers emerging from their hostel before 10:00am at the earliest. Whenever traveling between any other places on my trip in South-East Asia, the bus has always departed around 7:00am. My bus to Ko Lanta from Khao San Road left at 6:00pm. Sweet serenity! I killed the afternoon watching pirated DVD's at the cafe next to my guesthouse then hopped on an incredibly lavish bus for only $10.

On the way down south I sat next to a professional welter-weight boxer from Persia. I'm neither female nor homosexual but I can comfortably admit that this was one handsome guy. What didn't he have going for him? The mysterious middle-eastern charm, the dark, rugged complexion, the cool accent, the fact that he could clobber the hell out of all but the most hardened fighters. With all that, and a fighting name like 'The Sultan', I expected at least a touch of arrogance. The wasn't a trace. He was truly one of the nicest and most down to earth people I've met on my travels and we had some interesting conversation on the road. He was heading to Ko Samui to fight a Muay Thai (wildly popular Thai kickboxing) bout, something he does every few months to stay limber and in shape for his other fights. It would be televised locally. I had picked the right seat and got to hear all sorts of fight stories from his fledging career in Asia. I'm not the biggest boxing fan, but it definitely beat some of the self-indulgent blabber I've been subjected to on other bus trips. We parted company at Surrat-Thani and I made the final leg of the trip to Krabi then Ko Lanta in a sleepy daze.

After 14 hours, 3 buses, and 2 ferries, I finally arrived at the Coconut Bungalows on Long Beach. Finally the type of Shang-Ri-La living I've been waiting for all trip. I took a nap and was back up in time to sit at the beachfront bar playing pool as the sun set. For about an hour the little drinking and entertainment shelter called the Monkey Bar was filled with the most warm, vivid, and colorful light I have ever seen. I could feel it washing away all the accumulated travel stress and fatigue. As the sun disappeared off the edge of a breathtakingly colorful sky, the tin buckets emerged from behind the edge of the bar, soon to be filled with a balance impairing concoction of ice cubes, Sang-som Thai Rum, Red Bull, and Coca-Cola. Lines formed around the pool table, fresh seafood was taken off ice and thrown on the barbecue, and large, strange smelling cigarettes dangled from the lips of many patrons (apparently containing some local herb of international repute). A group of local Thai guys manned the bar, cooked the crabs, distributed the strange smelling cigarettes, and generally acted as hosts to keep the good times rollin'. Once darkness had completely fallen, two of them lit up their firesticks and put on a hypnotic display of firespinning set to throbbing techno beats. A good time was had by all.

Not all, however, had to wake up at 6:30am to take their Open Water diver certification. I did. Bleary eyed and still processing last night's alcohol, I emerged from my bungalow, ate breakfast, and got picked up by the SP dive shop (you're welcome for the free advertising) pick up truck. Thankfully, I was the first to be picked up and got to sit up front rather than have to suffer Cambodia border crossing flashbacks crashing around in the back. The first day consisted of watching educational videos in the morning and, in the afternoon, practicing some of the skills in confined water (for all you non divers, that's a pool).

Diving was called off the second day due to unseasonably stormy weather so I used the time to watch more videos and study the Recreational Dive Planner. Though my instructor Nik didn't seem to place much importance on the videos or books, I would need to write a final exam before I could get my card.

On the third day, we finally set out into the open ocean. After a couple of hours we arrived at the dive site of Ko Ha. Other more experienced divers went off to explore caves while me and Nik went through some underwater skills such as regulator recovery, mask clearing, equalizing, and emergency ascents. I was worried I would panic but, keeping in mind the fundamental rule of scuba diving, 'never hold your breath', everything went smoothly. Once I had demonstrated my basic skills, I followed Nik through the coral gardens on the ocean floor.

Not more that 12 meters below the surface, lies a completely different world. In five minutes floating next to a reef, you can see more different species of creatures than you would in five hours hiking through a forest. The sheer diversity is mind boggling: schools of fish pulsate and shift like clouds in a strong wind, vibrantly colored clownfish swim among the cloying fingers of sea anenomes, the menacing faces of eels protrude from small fissures among the coral, other divers beckon and point to let you know they've spotted something big like a sea turtle or a pair of octopuses (or is it octopi?). My kingdom for an underwater camera!

The next day we took another boat trip to Ko Bidah where I dove down to 18 meters. After a final check of all the skills I've learned, me and Tolva (another instructor) swam over, around, and occasionally through the coral reefs. I still had an unhealed exhaust pipe burn from one of my rental bikes in Vietnam. Alerted by a sharp pain from my inner calf, I looked down to see a school of bright yellow fish feeding on the wound. I know you're supposed to observe the underwater environment without leaving any impact but these little bastards were being persistent. I kicked one of my fins at them and managed to knock them back but more swam in to take a bite. I'm not sure whether they were deterred by the barrage of flippers I threw at them or they didn't quite like the taste of my leg, but the finally gave up. This was a good example of the way creatures interact in the underwater world. I had expected fish and other marine animals to disperse and avoid me when I swam by. Not so. Everything seemed to just flow together and I was just one more big, strange looking fish. For little fish, it's not the massive fish that cause concern. It's fish that are slightly larger for which little fish would make a filling meal, rather than a tiny morsel, that are the ones to be scared of. For this reason, I often found myself engulfed by puny, but beautiful, little creatures, some staring at me through my goggles in a moment of interspecies fascination.

Besides my $450 Cnd ticket home, my diving class was the most expensive single purchase of the whole trip at about $250 Cnd. It was well worth it. I enjoyed the whole experience, from dozing off watching informational videos to interacting with animals that look like they come from another planet. If you get a chance, do it. I spent the evenings repeating the same routine described above (sunset, seafood, Red Bull, firespinning, etc.) It is with much pain that I will board the bus this afternoon to return to Bangkok.

Firespinning on Long Beach, Koh Lanta:

The Long and Winding Road to Khao San Road

2004-12-10T18:40:00.000+09:00

The fairly smooth, surprisingly short, bus trip from Pnohm Pehn to Siem Reap had made me complacent. I simply wasn't prepared for the ordeal of getting to the Thai border. Granted, I did take precautions. When booking the ticket I attempted to ensure myself the least painful trip possible:

Travel Agent- "New border crossing or old border crossing?"
Me-"Which one has the more comfortable bus?"
TA-"New border is cheaper."
Me-"Yeah, ok, but which way is more comfortable?"
TA-"New border is only $10. Very cheap!"

(I couldn't really fault her for trying to save me some money. I think the general view of young foreign tourists in South-East Asia is that they have money but are reluctant to pay any more than the bare minimum for anything. In most circumstances, this applies to me aswell. On this day however, I was facing a journey of several hundred kilometers across terrain I expected to be anything but smooth. While rough roads where an inevitability, total discomfort was not. I wanted to be sitting on as much protective padding as possible)

Me-"Money is no problem. Which bus is better? More comfortable?"
TA-"Ahhh bus?"
Me-"Yeah, I want the better bus. I don't care which border I go to."
TA-"Ahhh you don't worry, bus same same!"

And with those oft heard words of persuasion my chances of having a comfortable seat quickly evaporated (although I did not immediately realize it).

When the bus pulled up I knew I should have flown. I half expected to see holes in the floor for the drivers feet to protrude through 'Flintstones' style. That's how primitive this thing was. The seating arrangements made a sardine can look spacious. The surly passengers were cramped into their tiny fold down chairs while the mass of baggage was piled in behind. My seat, with a little more legroom and the ability to slightly recline, was one of the best. Then again, that's like having a mild case of crabs, still not that pleasant. I was beginning to wish I'd learned a little transcendental meditation from the monks at Angkor Wat. I could just send my mind off to another plane of existence and let it return when I needed to clear Thai immigration.

The bus was uncomfortable at a standstill, but once it started moving was when the real fun began. Looking more like a crater marked, lunar landscape than a road, the route to the Thai border crossing at Duang stretched out ominously ahead of us. The rolling and lurching of our rickety bus was made only more uncomfortable by the copious amounts of dust blowing off the road and through the windows. Before long, everything inside from bags to passengers was coated in a thick brown film. In an attempt to alleviate this problem, the driver closed the windows and turned on the air conditioning. It was well intentioned, but the results only made things worse: all the a/c ducts were completely full of dust and when opened, they dumped their payload all over the waiting passengers. Not much later, a particularly severe pothole impact jarred the back door open. Three bags had tumbled out into the road before the driver noticed and stopped. Luckily, no-one else had followed us down this road to run them over. We recovered the lost cargo, secured the door with a piece of rope, and set off again.

Several hours dragged painfully by and I consoled myself with the thought that every passing minute brought us that much closer to the paved highways and new buses of Thailand. "I just want to get to the border and get off this bus," was my only wish. Unfortunately, only half of it was soon to be fulfilled. With a pitiful whirr and a defeated clunk, the engine died and we rolled to a stop. I was off the bus but not where I had hoped to be. It appeared we were out of fuel. A surprising thing to happen on a scheduled bus route driven every other day. Then again, it wasn't that surprising. We took a few minutes to stretch our legs and try to make light of the situation. We were in the middle of nowhere. On either side of the road stood a few rickety dwellings in scrubby fields with palm trees protruding above the long grass. A couple of local kids rode up on bicycles and the bus driver gave them some cash to go get gas. I doubted we would ever see them or the money again but, within minutes, they came back with a couple of gallons of much needed fuel. I walked a short distance down the road to be out of view while I 'watered some of the local vegetation'. I was about to take a few steps off the road but then thought better of it. The last thing I wanted to do was piss on a landmine.

When I arrived back at the bus it was ready to go. The gas was all in the tank, everyone was aboard, and the driver was turning the key. Only, nothing was happening. The engine churned and squealed but refused to turn over. Apparently we hadn't run out of fuel. Another delightful turn of events. We were back off the bus but now, with only about an hour and half until the border closed, we didn't have much to joke about. Groups started to form and discuss hitchhiking strategies and what would be a reasonable offer to get us to the border. The planning proved unnecessary as a small pick up truck emerged before us through a cloud of dust. The driver looked at our group of 17 and gestured to the truck bed. "I guess we just through all our bags in there and then something bigger will come for us," I rationalized. The bags were all in and decently secured and I was still fairly confident in my initial assessment. As you may have already guessed, I was completely wrong. The driver pointed again to the back of the truck and, since we were no longer carrying anything, it was generally assumed that we would be joining our bags for the trip to the border. We got in and adjusted to the new seating arrangements which were only marginally more uncomfortable than the old ones.

Perched on the 4 inch edge of the truck bed, I gripped anything I could to keep from being hurled out. The road was still just as bad but we were more acutely aware of it due to the hard metal under our already sensitive rear ends. As we lurched and banged over every new pothole, the passengers let out "ooohhhh"s and "ahhhhh"s to articulate the general feeling of dread and discomfort. From small houses set back in the trees along the road I could hear the mirthful cackle of locals splitting their sides at the sight and sound of us. It lightened the mood a little watching children see us and instantly collapse into laughter as if it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. Perhaps it was.

Dusty, suffering, and several hours behind schedule, we finally arrived at the border. We squeaked through with about 20 minutes to spare before the gates closed for the night. Because it was so close to the end of their shift, I think the customs officers were in a rush to get us through and didn't bother trying to bilk us for a few bribes (which, if one can trust the word of fellow backpackers, are almost considered customary). It was a great relief to sink into the plush seat of the new minibus and pass out for the final leg of the trip into Bangkok.

I was woken up by the bright glow of millions of yellow lights dangling from trees along the main streets. The city was lit up in celebration of the King's birthday. The King of Thailand is a beloved figure and the mood for his party was literally electric. Finally escaping the bumper to bumper traffic, the bus dropped us and our dusty bags on Khao San Road, Bangkok's backpacker haven. I dragged myself and my bag from one guesthouse to the next in search of a cheap room. I watched enviously as other travelers, already set up with accommodations, whiled away the night at patio tables covered with beer and savoury Thai food. I eventually found a room and went out to join them.

As with most places I've been on this trip, it would be hard to fully convey Khao San Road in words. Of course I'll try. Perhaps a list of some of the things you can see: Volkswagen vans converted into traveling traveler's bars; pots and plates of bubbling, fragrant Thai cuisine; English Premiership matches or the latest Hollywood offerings playing on every TV screen in every bar on the street; dogs and cats that rival stoned backpackers for their level of laziness by sleeping in the middle of the street and barely flinching as cars, tuk tuks, and people navigate within inches of them; tailor shops where one can shed the scruffy facade of budget traveler and slip into a custom made suit for less than $50 US dollars; ongoing social and political discourse scrawled on the walls of dingy bathrooms (examples: "If you give up peace as a goal, everything is fucked! Don't believe any idiots who say otherwise.";"I'm German and I hate only two things: racism and Israelis") by Khao San's diverse international population; thousands of gravity-ignorant geckos chirping, crawling, and hunting flies at impossible angles on walls, ceilings and signboards; travelers getting their hair braided, their bodies pierced, or their skin inked at the many hair salons, piercing studios, and tattoo parlors; the list goes on and on.

On Khao San Road, authenticity is a four letter word. At every turn you can find a fake something: street stalls sell knock off brand name clothes and shoes; bulletin boards advertise fake ID's and press passes that can be made in less than an hour; bookstore shelves are loaded with photocopied editions of Lonely Planet and popular novels; pirated software and burned CD's and DVD's can be picked out of bulky catalogues for less than a dollar each; if a guesthouse earns a recommendation in a popular travel guide, within months, five others have popped up, all with the same name in an attempt to attract uninformed visitors; even some of the women aren't real! Where as a 'not-so-North Face' bag can be spotted by its shoddy stitching and crooked logo, the low pitched voice and massive hands are dead give aways of a transexual. In both cases, you can only tell from close range: "Good from far, far from good," as one fellow traveler put it.

This is the environment in which I've passed the last few days. I needed some time to recover from the brutal trip from Cambodia and this was an entertaining place to do it. This afternoon I'm off to Koh Lanta down in the south to catch some sun rays on the beach and hopefully see some manta rays in the water when I take my open water diving course.

Human traffic flows up and down Khao San Road, Bangkok:

Three Days at Angkor

2004-12-06T16:17:00.000+09:00

Somehow, I successfully woke up before the crack of dawn and made it to my bus for Siem Reap. A van picked me, and four American guys, up from the guesthouse. Striking up conversation, I asked if they would be joining me on the bus. They told me that they would not. They had decided to take the boat up the Tonle Sap river instead of chancing a hellish ride on one of Cambodia's loosely named 'highways'. We shared travel stories briefly before being dropped off at our respective forms of transportation. At $22, the boat trip was more than five times the cost of my $4 bus ticket. Anticipating a rocky ride, I quipped, "I'll let you know if it's worth it".

I boarded the bus filled with mostly Khmer passengers. Despite an irritating local soap opera that was playing on the bus's forward mounted video monitor, I quickly fell asleep. I woke up a couple of hours later aware that the bus had stopped. Most of the passengers had gone to use the toilet facilities and old women lined up at the windows selling fried spiders and scorpions. I didn't have the urge to relieve myself and I wasn't all that hungry (although hunger was not my main reason for declining what was on the menu). I soon fell back asleep. Not much longer we were stopped again. I was still content in my reclining seat and drifted back into unconsciousness. To my surprise I was poked back into reality by an elderly Khmer woman. She was the last passenger getting off the bus and was letting me know we had arrived. I couldn't believe it. It felt as if we had just left. I got a ride to a guesthouse and spent the afternoon relaxing.

About three hours later, the American guys arrived. "Did you just get here?" they asked. "No, I've been here for hours". What followed was the sound of four pissed off yanks saying the phrases "Shit!", "Fuck!", "Son of a bitch!", and "Damn!" in perfect unison. A chorus of profanity. It sounded hilarious. Their significantly more expensive boat ride had not been nearly as smooth, or as fast, as the bus. With their rooms arranged and cold beers in their hands they managed to get over it.

I went out to the Angkor temples to watch the sunset and buy my $40 pass for the next three days. I made the steep ascent of Pnohm Bakheng, a temple mountain with a good view of the sun sinking below the flat, broad horizon. I was not alone. The temples of Angkor have become a huge destination for visitors from all over the world. They are something like a Mecca (although they are actually significantly larger) of South East Asia and it seems most travelers you meet are either heading to, or coming from Angkor. One of the more popular activities is climbing Pnohm Bakheng to watch the sunset. I found a small section of temple step to use as a chair and sat down. A minute later someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to see it was Jochen. We had split up in Saigon about a week earlier and, by lucky chance, met up again here. He was leaving the next day so we went for some Cambodian curry together in town and then split up again.

I had the ambitious idea of getting up at 4:30am to ride a bicycle the 5 kilometers out to the temples for sunrise. My guesthouse woke me up on time and had the bicycle (rickety as it was) ready to go. I, however, was not quite so prepared. A self-confessed night person, I didn't have the mental faculty to operate a fork, let alone a bicycle. I caught a few more hours of sleep and headed to the temples around noon.

I parked my bicycle infront of the most famous and recognizable temple, Angkor Wat. The five spires rose in the distance as I approached them on a large pathway, first across the outer moat, and then through the inner walls. Angkor Wat is the world's largest religious building and I was determined to reach its summit. There are nine options for ascending to the towers in the center of the structure. Eight are frighteningly steep staircases with extremely narrow steps. The ninth route is also a staircase made only slightly less frightening by the addition of a metal railing for holding on to (or in my case, gripping for dear life). I, like most rational people, chose this one. It was a dizzying ascent but to see the view from one of the seven wonders of the modern world was definitely worth it.

I decided to keep walking on to one of the lesser temples, Prasat Kravan, set back behind Ankor Wat. After thinking I could successfully wake up at 4:30 am, this was my second misjudgment of the day. The scale of the map makes everything appear as if it's within easy walking distance. The reality, as I soon found out, is that the main temples are spread out over a massive area. In most cases there are several kilometers separating one from the next. Either out of stubbornness or optimism, I believed I could walk around the circuit and makes it back before sunset. I was about 10 kilometers from my bicycle when I started to run out of daylight. It was time to accept defeat.

There are many forms of transportation seen moving along the roads at Angkor: bicycles, motos, tuk-tuks, cars, trucks, tour buses, elephants. I figured one of these would have room to take me back. I flagged down a moto driver and he dropped me off next to my waiting bicycle for $2. My first day was a bit of a misfire but I was still able to see a few things and suck up some of the aura of Angkor. I was determined to be more efficient my second time out.

I dragged my self out of bed at 4:30am, mounted my bicycle, and set off. I decided to head for the front of Ankor Wat because the sun would rise behind it and create a nice silhouette. Again, others had the same idea and I had to be a little creative to find a spot that wasn't completely over run with camped out tourists and travelers. Shortly, after 5:00 am the stars disappeared and the sky started to lighten. For the next hour, the rising sun cast its rays across the landscape and revealed the majesty of Ankor Wat. This was only the second time I have intentionally watched the sunrise this year. The last was the morning of January 1st from the East Sea off Korea as part of the local New Year's Day celebrations. Granted, I did see the sunrise several other times, but usually after a night out that only ended because it became day. I took countless digital pictures and slides then set off for Angkor Thom.

Today, I had decided, the bicycle would accompany me around. Angkor Thom contains within its huge grounds a number of attractions. I parked the bike and walked around. I saw the Bayon temple where 216 large stone faces smile at you from the walls. Every corner reveals more of the enigmatic visages. If ever you had the feeling you were being watched, this would be the place. Like a number of the temples, the Baphuon, was undergoing some extensive reconstruction and was off limits to visitors. I walked past the edge and then over to the Elephant Terrace. This 350 meter long terrace is set in the middle of Angkor Thom. Into it is carved a massive parade of elephants in various positions. At it's far end lies the Terrace of the Leper King. Here, there are more astounding examples of the relief sculptures carved from the rock. The sheer size and vastness of the Angkor temples is matched, and even surpassed in some places, by the artistry and detail put into the carvings.

I rode on to Tah Prohm where the age old competition between civilization and mother nature is dramatically on display. Massive trees grow from the roofs of buildings 15 and 20 feet off the ground. Their huge roots grip the crumbling stone work like giant fingers threatening at any moment to rip the buildings from their foundations. Many of the roofs and walls have fallen in and left colossal bricks strewn on the ground and in the halls. In some places nature has clearly helped this process. In others, it seems to have prevented it: the roots of a tree wrap around the bricks of a doorway which otherwise would have long ago collapsed. It was truly something to behold.

Though there were a few hours of daylight remaining, I was feeling the fatigue from a day of pedaling and decided to head back. A floating yellow ball in the sky caught my eye. It wasn't the sun but rather the Angkor balloon. For $11 you can ride below the big helium filled balloon to a height of a few hundred feet. The landscape around Angkor is incredibly flat and this is one of the few ways to get an aerial view of the temples. I paid my cash and waited about 15 minutes for the next flight. Below the balloon is suspended a donut shaped basket. Through the empty center, a line connects the balloon to the ground. The line is gradually let out and then reeled back in as the balloon goes up and down. One of the other passengers pointed out that there was only one rubber cord connecting us to the ground and that the pilot really had no control over the helium filled balloon. "What happens if that cord snaps?" she asked. "I guess I won't need to take a bus to Thailand then," I answered. My sense of humor was a thin veil for the growing anxiety I felt at the time. It was only a 10 minute ride though and I managed to control my nerves, enjoy the view, and take a few good photographs.

That night I joined the American guys who had decided to pay a visit to the local discoteque. They were four fairly strapping lads and, although there wasn't really much to worry about, I didn't mind having safety in numbers. The club was built around a big, circular dancefloor. For about half an hour, the lights went up, traditional Khmer music blasted, and people moved around in some strange sort of Asian line dance. Then there was a break, the lights went down, and the DJ started spinning the type of dance tunes I'm more accustomed to hearing. Two of the American guys had local girls on their laps while the rest of us had turned down the flirtatious advances of others. I assumed they were all hookers expecting to come back to the hotel. The two guys 'with company' just assumed they were local girls who had been magnetically drawn to their charm and good looks. We were all wrong. When the bill came it read something like this:

Item: Stella Artois Quantity: 3 Total: $6
Item: San Miguel Lager Quantity: 2 Total: $4
Item: Girls Quantity: 2 Total: $8

Luckily, I was only in for a few beers but I wasn't too shocked to see what else we were being charged for. The Americans were not quite so open minded. A long and heated argument ensued between the staff, the girls, and the guys. I hung out on the steps. Much better to be a spectator in this sort of thing than a participant. It seemed it was futile to dispute the charge and they ended up paying. As we walked back one of the guys remarked, "I should have bitten that bitch!". "Yeah, but that probably would have cost you double," I interjected. They had a good laugh and the tension abated.

For the final day of my pass I wanted to visit a few more temples that were further afield. The bicycle was a viable option but I decided to help out the moto driver who also worked at my guesthouse and let him take me for the day. It wasn't much work for him. He would drive me from one temple to the next, and while waiting for me, he either slept, had a drink, or just chatted. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.

I visited Preah Kahn, Preah Neak Pean, Ta Som, Eastern Mebon, Pre Rup, and Sras Sang. They are dotted along the 'Big Circuit' which is about 26km long. There are some even further but I didn't really have the time or the temple fetish that would be required to see them all. Despite many similarities, each temples has its own unique charm and features. It was an incredible visit and I managed to see all that I wanted to in three days. I had been dreading a swarm of tourists, but had found only some crowds at the main monuments and, in some places, no other people at all. From here it's on to Bangkok by bus. My last border crossing in South East Asia for this trip. Hopefully I can get through without having to 'grease any palms' but you never know around here.

From Apocalypse Now to the Heart of Darkness (Redux)

2004-12-06T16:08:00.000+09:00

"I watched the coast. Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you, smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, 'come find out'." -Marlowe, Heart of Darkness

"Never get out of the boat. Absolutely goddamn right. Unless you were goin' all the way." -Willard, Apocalypse Now

Lately, it's been a case of life imitating art. I spent my last night in Saigon drinking beers and shooting pool at a bar called Apocalypse Now. I spent my last night in Pnohm Penh doing very much the same at a bar called Heart of Darkness. I just couldn't resist the novelty (something I'm sure the savvy owners of these establishments are cashing in on). I really should have resisted though, as on both of the following mornings I had to wake up and travel at 6:00am. I'll try fill in the intervening four days without dragging it on too long.

Saturday: Too lazy to figure out the Mekong Delta on my own, I booked a two day/one night tour. There was a lot of driving involved and not too much sightseeing. The Mekong fans out into several smaller rivers and streams before draining into the Pacific. We were ferried through the delta by bus, boat, and motorbike and got to see some of the local industries that thrive on the banks of the river. We visited a coconut candy factory, a honey farm, and a tropical fruit orchard. Samples were plentiful and the pressure to 'try then buy' was not too strong. I was tempted by the banana wine but the prospect of adding its weight to my already swollen baggage changed my mind.

We were back on the bus in the early afternoon and spent about 6 hours driving to Chau Doc near the Cambodian border. Lush, tropical vegetation thrives along the banks of the Mekong, and so do people. As we drove on through the dusk, there seemed to be an endless procession of people, dogs, bicycles, shops, and little homes. It always seemed as if we had arrived somewhere but we just kept on driving. There was a brief drama as we ran to jump aboard a ferry. Most made it in time, but for an unlucky few, the gap between the boat and the dock was too much to risk jumping. As it turned out, the crossing was only about 5 minutes so we didn't have to wait long for them to catch up. We arrived in Chau Doc after dark, got our hotel room, ate some of the local grub, and fell asleep.

Sunday: As double rooms were the only ones provided in our tour package, I ended up sharing a room with a Welsh guy named Rhodri. We couldn't extract from the English impaired hotel staff when we were supposed to catch a boat in the morning. Not trusting them to wake us up we set an alarm for 6:00am, "Just in case right. Couldn't be any earlier than that surely." The alarm proved unnecessary as we were awakened by a loud knocking at about 5:30am. I went out into the hall to see how long we had to shower and shave. The old, toothless Vietnamese guy simply smiled, nodded, and continued pounding on doors. It seemed they just sent him up from below. Everything worked out and by 8:00am we were on the boat and bound for Cambodia.

The border crossing involved two stops. First to clear Vietnamese customs, and then to officially enter Cambodia. I had my visa stamped and bags cleared in no time. Others were not so fortunate. I spied more than a few people engaged in heated arguments with the border guards or customs officials. I walked across onto Cambodia soil and got a drink while waiting for the rest of the passengers on the boat to come through. After a few minutes of getting acclimatized to Cambodia I was reminded of a local mantra that I've heard more times than I could possibly remember, "Same same but different". Cambodia shares many things with Vietnam: crowds, climate, vegetation, a violent history, and French influence to name a few. But the first noticeable difference about Cambodia was, for me, that I felt much more relaxed. The vendor kids from Vietnam had followed us all the way to the border and from there were still shouting, trying to sell things to people standing in a different country. At the same time, the Khmer kids in Cambodia simply offered to sell us drinks or snacks and, if we weren't interested, gave us a polite smile and left us alone. Incredible. Aswell, the people here look very different from their neighbors in Vietnam. Where as the Vietnamese have a more Asian appearance, the Khmers are much darker and look more like they come from India. It was interesting to note such differences in ethnicity between such close countries. After an hour bus ride into Pnohm Penh, and a few minutes finding the cheapest guesthouse, I was ready for bed.

Monday: The Okay Guesthouse, where I stayed, seemed to have an arrangement going with local moto drivers: they help out around the restaurant and guesthouse in exchange for first crack at taking the travelers out for tours of the sites. I think it's a good system for all involved. The guesthouse gets some cheap labor, the drivers have easy access to a constant pool of potential clients, and the travelers don't have to worry too much about getting screwed around or over charged by the guys that just pick you up on the street. There was, of course, a little friendly competition. Just to be fair, I agreed to go with the first guy that came and talked to me. Here's what I saw:

The Killing Fields of Cheung Ek: a few kilometers out of the city, this is where the Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge executed and buried thousands of Cambodians in an attempt to erase any elements of society that would question its brutal rule. The mass graves have been exhumed and are now large pits in the ground. Most of the remains have been enshrined in a large monument but in some places bones can still be seen in or on the ground. The chirping birds, fluttering butterflies, bright green grass, and warm sunshine all seem at odds with the brutal acts which took place here. I was glad to leave but our next destination was not much more uplifting.

Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum: Most of the victims who died at the Killing Fields spent their last days here, on the grounds of a former High School transformed into a prison called S-21. Their faces stare out from the black and white photographs on the wall. In some rooms, there are photographs on the wall of lifeless victims on old bedframes. It's quite chilling to look down and realize that you are standing in the same room as the photograph and that the bedframe is sitting right infront of you.

Wat Pnohm: I was glad to visit somewhere a little less emotionally draining when my driver took me to Wat Pnohm. Phohm Penh is very flat, and this little hill from which it gets its name, is the highest point. I walked up to the Buddhist Wat sitting on top and observed some of the park's inhabitants (including playful monkeys and colorfully clothed monks).

Russian Market: The last stop. There was plenty to buy from pirated DVD's and software to the silk scarves called kramars which the locals wear around their heads as protection from dust and sun. I cruised around for about 40 minutes but my only purchase was a bowl of noodles from the little stalls outside.

Tuesday: My last day in Pnohm Penh. I decided to see a few more sights on foot. The traffic is much less insane than Vietnam and there are far fewer people harassing you as you walk down the streets. I used one of the city's main arteries, Norodom Boulevard, to navigate over to the lake front. I knew I was getting close but couldn't seem to find it. As I walked through dusty little streets lined by playing children, chattering women, and little wooden houses, I realized I was, in fact, right next to the lake. It was completely lined by stilt houses. I figured the only way to actually see the lake was to go through to the front of one of these buildings. Luckily, I soon found one which was an Indian restaurant, and sat out front eating Chicken Tikka Masala and enjoying the sun reflecting off the lake.

I meandered my way back to the river front via the impressive Independence Monument. This towering brick structure sits in the middle of a big traffic circle and was erected to celebrate Cambodia gaining independence from France 50 years ago. The Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda were closed for lunch from 11:00am-2:00pm, so I made it there around 3:00pm. Cambodia has a constitutional monarchy and their king, Norodom Sihanouk, still resides in the vast and beautiful Royal Palace. Of course his section of the Palace is off limits to the public, but the flag flying atop the pole indicated that he was at home.

Adjoined to the Palace is the Silver Pagoda, named for its floor of solid silver tiles. Though some relics were looted and sold during the reign of the Khmer Rouge, many still remain to dazzle visitors. The most impressive is a solid gold, nearly life-size Buddha with a 20 karat diamond in its chest and a 25 karat diamond in its forehead. Between the silver floor, the gold and platinum statues, and the many jewels, the value of the treasures in the Silver Pagoda is mind boggling.

As I mentioned, I spent my last night in Phohm Penh's notorious Heart of Darkness with Rhodri and another Brit named Mark. When we arrived at 9:00pm the place was empty but for the tables, chairs, and a few staff. We got some beers and staked our claim on the pool table. Our attention was mainly focused on the table and our beers for the next few hours. We were all surprised when we turned around and found ourselves in a brothel. Well, not quite, but the crowd of people that had filled the place up consisted mainly of middle aged western men and young Cambodian prostitutes. All mixed together in various raunchy partnerships. It wasn't a tough decision to stay where we were at the pool table, but people had started signing up on the whiteboard and so the loser would have to give up their spot and sign up for a turn. A couple of Khmer girls were eager participants. The thing with girls who play pool is that they seem to either be terrible or incredible. There is rarely an even match. In this case they were incredible and barely took more than a second to line up their shots. We all put up a good fight but ended up losing and waiting for our names to come around on the board again. I headed home before the other two because of my 7:00am bus. I'm hoping there is enough juice left in my alarm clock battery to wake me up or I won't be able to escape from 'The Penh' for another day.

A smaller boat was required to tour some of the Mekong Delta's narrower reaches:

Happiness is a Warm Gun

2004-11-26T23:43:00.000+09:00

Five days in Saigon and I'm loaded up like a mule. Not the type of mule that tries to smuggle drugs out of South-East Asia concealed uncomfortably in bodily orifices. Rather the type that has to bear a burden of textiles, handicrafts, bags of coffee, and other items accumulated in the shopping frenzy that is Ho Chi Minh City's District 1.

Most of today was spent spending. I managed to check off a large portion of my Christmas list as well as pick up more than a few personal indulgences. As in many places around the world, the Christmas shopping season is kicking off here in Vietnam's largest city. Probably not quite to the extent of North America, but the usual festive elements can be seen and heard here in Saigon. It's a new feeling for me to be walking down the street, seeing Christmas trees in store fronts, listening to Christmas carols pumping from speakers, and at the same time be drenched from head to toe in my own sweat. Not that I'm used to a white, blustery Christmas back home, but this time of the year here in the tropics is really scorching. The weather seemed to play in the advantage of the local entrepeneurs whose air-conditioned shops provided respite from the baking sidewalks, as well as a place to part with your money.

I don't mean to give the impression my whole time here has been devoted to consuming. On Wednesday I took a day tour to the Caodai Temple and Cu Chi tunnels about 3 hours outside of the city. Caodaism is a Vietnamese religion with about 2 million adherents. They worship Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed, and a number of other gods and deities. Aswell, Chinese revolutionary Sun Yet-Sen and French author Victor Hugo are among their saints. I guess they like to have all their bases covered. Our guide (Slim Jim) gave an adequate overview of this strange theology but I'd imagine you would need to read a book to understand it fully. The temple, which is about fifty years old, is a surreal sight. It seems to incorporate architectural styles from each of the different religions present in the Caodaist belief system . The prevailing image is a glaring eye on a pyramid which was apparently inspired by the US one dollar bill. I've heard of worshipping money, but come on.

We arrived about half an hour before the daily ceremony at 12:00pm (they worship every six hours at 12:00am, 6:00am, 12:00pm, and 6:00pm). There seemed to be almost as many tourists taking off their shoes and filing into the temple as there were Caodaists. Dressed in cheap beer company T-shirts and baggy shorts, the foreigners watched and photographed a congregation dressed in red, yellow, blue, and white robes. The interior of the temple was cavernous. The tourists lined the rails of an upper gallery and the Caodaists occupied the vast floor below. As the choral and string music began, they filed in, took their places (assigned by seniority) on the floor, and began to pray. While the Caodaists prayed to Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed and the rest of their assorted pantheon, the assembled tourists gave thanks to Nikon, Canon, Sony, Kodak, and Fuji, for giving them the tools to record this captivating event and for a brief moment feel like some glamorous National Geographic photographer. I was just waiting for a lens cap to fall to the floor below and send the whole place into the worlds most unbearable awkward silence. It didn't happen.

I left the temple wondering why these Caodaists would allow hordes of foreign tourists to enter their temple everyday to gawk at, and photograph, them. I couldn't see them getting much of a cut of the $4 tour cost. Probably, their Public Relations people told them it would be a good idea to have an open policy towards the public or word might spread that they're a cult. Given some of their rituals and beliefs, such a policy might easily backfire.

The second half of the tour was spent visiting the infamous Cu Chi tunnels. Viet-cong guerrillas in the Cu Chi area north of Saigon used an elaborate underground tunnel network to conceal themselves and aid their combat against the Americans and the South Vietnamese Army. Once the Americans discovered the location, they deployed half a million tonnes of bombs and left the area thoroughly pulverized. What remains is now a popular tourist attraction.

After viewing a grainy propaganda video, we walked through the nearby forrest and saw tunnel entrances, bomb craters, and booby traps. Most of the traps involved sharp spikes being driven into various parts of the victim's body. Infront of a mural depicting American soldiers in various states of impalement, our guide used a bamboo pole to demonstrate how the traps worked. The 'rolling leg slicer' (as he called it) looked particularly nasty. Although most of the original tunnels have been collapsed by the impact of bombs, some have been reconstructed at about twice their original size to allow visitors a chance to experience life underground. We were given a chance to go through a 100 meter length of tunnel with exits for the claustrophobes (like myself) at 30 and 70 meters in.

Above ground, waiting to enter, I imagined I would be making use of the first exit. As it turned out, I didn't need to. Crouched over with my knees up near my shoulders, I made it about three steps down the tunnel before turning around and heading back out. I'm a man who can accept his limitations and this was definitely one of them. Not to sound defensive, but I think I would have been ok if we didn't have to go through the tunnel in a closely packed line. The thought of someone ahead spraining their ankle and leaving all those behind stuck (if only temporarily) in such a tight and sweltering space was enough to turn me off. "Not your cup of tea?" some one asked as I turned around. Got that right. My cup of tea was waiting for me at the reconstructed dining bunker along with a plate of tapioca.

The last stop on our tour could be heard as we approached. It was a firing range. It's a little disturbing to learn about all the destruction this area has witnessed and then be given the chance to destroy a little more. For the price of one dollar per bullet, visitors are given the chance to fire any of the weapons on the rack. The most popular were the assault rifles. It was bizarre hearing the attendants pitching their product, "M-16. Who's up for the M-16? You there. Wanna fire an Ak-47? Come on!" I passed, but others in our group jumped at the opportunity. One poor guy chose the machine gun and in less than half a second had literally 'blown' $5. Covering my ears from the deafening blasts, I discussed backpacker economics with another guy on the tour. In Saigon, draught beer can be found for as low as $1 dollar for 4 liters. "Shit, that guy just lost 20 liters of beer!" Such are the workings of the budget traveler's mind. He was from the States anyway, so the idea of firing a gun wasn't a real novelty.

The Avtomat Kalashnikova 1947 automatic rifle, known throughout the world as the AK-47:

On Thursday, I decided to arrange my own transportation to see the city rather than taking another package tour. I found a moto driver, negotiated the price, and set off. We first went to Chinatown and visited three Pagodas. Joss sticks (incense burned as part of prayer) wafted fragrant smoke through the open courtyards as locals came to bow and pray. Hanging from the ceiling above were coils of burning incense with names attached. For 6000 dong I bought my own, attached my name, and had it hung up where I was told it would burn for ten days. Who's to say they won't just snuff out the end, tear off my name, and sell it to the next curious traveler that shows up. Guess you just have to trust these Buddhists.

Next, I was taken to the War Remnants Museum. Its former name was the Museum of American Atrocities, changed, no doubt, to accommodate the boom in foreign tourism. Some of the displays certainly were atrocious. It's hard to describe the images of carnage and deformity wrought by Agent Orange and artillery shells, and I don't intend to. One exhibit was dedicated to photo journalists who worked on the front lines of the war. Many lost their lives shooting, not with a gun, but a camera. Even though the moments depicted in the pictures are more than 30 years in the past, there is something about the look of fear or despair in a person's eyes, the power of a grenade blast, the menace of an approaching tank, that feels very 'immediate'. You come to understand why many people equate the word Vietnam with a war and not a country. The museum isn't all negativity. The final section covers some of the American veteran's movement and shows the solidarity other nations showed towards Vietnam in times of war and peace.

The last stop on the improvised city tour was the Reunification Palace. Something equivalent to the White House, this huge structure was once home to the South Vietnamese president. That was, until North Vietnamese tanks entered Saigon rolling for its very location. The Palace doesn't look to have changed much since it was evacuated. The decor is like a spread out of a 1960's Modern Living magazine. Kind of groovy, kind of chic, but definitely dated. I navigated through groups of French tourists and Vietnamese school kids trying not to get stuck in one of the many chambers with them while their guides delivered long winded histories. It took some co-ordination, but I managed to make it through at my own pace and get back out to meet my moto driver at our agreed rendezvous point.

I was driven back to my hotel and then came the thing which I had half expected, but hoped would not occur: the catch. We had agreed in the morning on a rate of 15,000 dong for an hour. Quite specifically I asked ''one and five right? fifTEEN not fifTY, right?'' He assured me then and we set off. Now, however, he was informing me that I must have had a hearing problem because he had clearly said 50,000 dong for one hour. For those not familiar with the exchange rate, this is the difference between $5 for the afternoon tour, and $30. Considering my hotel room only costs me $3 a night, that is quite a significant discrepancy. I think the strategy is to throw such an outrageous figure at you, that you feel relieved to even get away with paying double what you agreed. As such, he acted as if he was doing me a favor by coming down to $25. I gave him the 75,000 as agreed (omitting any gratuity I had previously considered) and walked off. He didn't follow me. I took this as a sign that he had accepted his plot had failed. The scams and double dealing seem to have become a theme of my last few entries and I really don't mean to dwell on it. Although Vietnam is a beautiful country full of amazing things to see and interesting people to meet, it just feels impossible to trust anything you are told. To avoid becoming a cynic, I try to keep an open mind. It seems whenever I do though, the result is always the same: I end up haggling or arguing or just being generally harassed. Granted, when I have made the effort to venture off the well beaten tourist track, I've been rewarded with some genuinely warm and welcoming encounters. I guess you just have to take it all with a grain of salt. At any rate I won't be sticking around long. Tomorrow I'm heading up the Mekong River 'Apocalypse Now' style into Cambodia. I'm not, however, intent on assassinating a power-hungry, renegade Colonel. I just want to find a cheap place to rest my head.

A popular 'hackey sack' style game being played in Saigon:

Life's A Beach

2004-11-24T21:03:00.000+09:00

Splitting the last five days between Mui Ne and Ho Chi Minh City has been a study in contrasts.

Let's start with Mui Ne. A small, beach side town on the southern coast, Mui Ne often gets skipped on the tourist trail from Nha Trang to HCMC. Drawn by the sand and surf, and the prospect of breaking up an 8 hour bus trip, I decided to spend a few days. An avid windsurfer, Jochen was more than happy to join me. We got into town in the afternoon and not much later had found a place on the beach for $5. As you enter town, a unique landscape greets you. First you pass through hillsides blanketed by bright, multicolored tombs. Then, as you wind your way down to the water, you see, on one side of the road, large, white and red sanddunes, and on the other, a palm tree lined beach hugging the Pacific.

As you can imagine, the three days I spent here were relaxing ones. The main road is dotted with resorts and guesthouses ranging from 5 star to 5 dollars. You already know which end of the spectrum I was staying in. Never-the-less, the experience was excellent. With a restaurant, bar, bungaloes, and a nice little strip of beach, there wasn't really much reason to stray far from where we were staying. I fought the urge to totally vegetate, and rented a motorbike to cruise the coastline.

My first stop was the Fairy Spring: a lush, but extremely shallow river that runs down to the ocean from a set of waterfalls a couple of kilometers inland. I parked the bike and started walking towards the source in water not much deeper than my ankles. One bank of the river is formed by the sund dunes for which Mui Ne is famous. On the other, banana plants, palm trees, and other tropical vegetation thrives. Something else which thrives in this area is children. Throngs of local kids flow up and down like the water around their feet, most carrying food, drinks, and decks of cards. When I reached the rather disappointing waterfalls, they were all around me. Scattered everywhere from the little pools of water, to the sloping sanddunes, to the patches of shade offered by the the palms trees. Many were playing cards (and, from what I could tell, gambling). It looked like a teenage utopia where everyone went to escape their parents. Those seeking a tranquil, secluded waterfall might have found this scene disappointing but, to me, it was intriguing. A much better place to spend one's free time than at a mall. The more outgoing kids approached me to practice their English and indulge their curiousity in the foreigner in their midst. Their interest was genuine and untainted by the desire to make a quick buck. Although a few of them did ask me to give them my ear-rings. The $5 each I requested seemed to be out of their price range.

My next stop was a nearby fishing village. I could smell it before I could see it. A result of the huge clay pots filled with fish oil, a local speciality. Sitting in a bend at the far end of the beach, the village was buzzing with activity. As I rolled through I could see people processing last night's catch and preparing the nets for the multitude of fishing boats lying at anchor in the water. The beach front was littered with all the debris generated by the village. That, and the permeating stink of fish oil, aided my decision to hit the road.

I had the bike until 4:30pm so I decided to make the most of my remaining time. I drove down along the water and up into the local hills which offered a panoramic view of the ocean and the surrounding towns.

The evenings in Mui Ne don't warrant much description: eating dinner, drinking beers, playing cards, watching the sunset for half and hour, and otherwise recovering from a day of doing not too much.

The next day Jochen and I and few other travelling companions of late (Tom-UK, Lily-Australia, Ida-Sweden, Revital-Israel), made our way down to the beach front of Jibe's Cafe. Jibe's seems to have the local market cornered on surfing. windsurfing, and kitesurfing equipment rental. It also has some of the nicest, and not surprisingly busiest, beachfront. I ruled out kitesurfing and windsurfing (for cost and inexperience factors), and surfing (for unsuitable wave conditions), and settled for a boogie board at the rate of $2 for the afternoon. Tom and I spent a few hours in the surf trying to catch the incoming waves at the perfect spot that would allow us to ride them all the way into the sand. We failed more often than we succeeded but it was still a great time. Back on the beach we watched the many windsurfers (Jochen among them) and kitesurfers with a little envy, and then stayed as the dying sun painted the sky with surreal shades of pink, yellow, orange, and red.

It was a blissful few days on the beach and now it's over.

Yesterday I arrived in Saigon. Technically, Ho Chi Minh City but the main district is called Saigon, a name which is often applied to the whole city. Whatever you choose to call it, it's a huge change from Mui Ne. The motorcycle traffic in Saigon puts Hanoi to shame. The bus dropped us off on Pham Ngu Lao in the early evening. Jochen, Ida, and I picked one of the countless budget hotels on the street and found a room with three beds and two fans for $8. The rent doesn't split cleanly three ways but the proprietors of the guesthouse didn't buy that as a reason to give use the room for $6.

The area is a self contained backpacker land similar to Bangkok's Kho San Road. Everything you need, from bars to restaurants to internet cafes to souvenir shops, is at your doorstep. Of course, spending all of your time here would mean missing all the other attractions the city has to offer. With that in mind, I spent my first full day wandering the streets on foot.

Walking around, guidebook in hand, made me a prime target for moto and cyclo drivers touting rides around town. It's fortunate I have plenty of experience blowing them off because I had to do it today more times than I can count. I didn't visit any museums or major attractions. Just strolled and sucked up scenery. Saigon is a place where the honking and beeping of a million motorcycles echoes through streets lined by luxury hotels like the Caravelle and the Sheraton. Old world charm meets New World Order on boulevards lined by lush, drooping trees and glowing corporate billboards. The smells wafting from market food stalls, the insane traffic which tests your reflexes and your nerves, the girls on the street whose winks and smiles tell you that the 'full body massage' probably lives up to its name, the architecture which ranges from French Colonial to Ultra-modern, all combine to make Saigon a feast for the senses. And that's just my first impression. I'll let you know how she's treating me in a few days.

This video shows an example of the organized chaos that is traffic in Saigon:

Putting the 'Tran' in Nha Trang

2004-11-19T00:06:00.000+09:00

Still sharing common travel plans, Jochen and I boarded the 6pm bus from Hoi An to Nha Trang. The 6:30am arrival time was looking in doubt as two hours passed and we still hadn't left the town. All the passengers (95% of whom were travelers) were aboard and it seemed as if we were ready to leave. Then came the cargo run around town. We stopped at about four different locations picking up stuff (mostly boxes and big tour company sign boards) which was slotted in where there was room on the bus. Another good scam that seems to be going: fill the bus with paying tourists and then use the extra passenger space to transport goods. On the bright side, there wasn't any livestock.

I learned that there is one major problem with catching a bus in the early evening; the three beers I had with dinner were quickly looking for an escape route. It wasn't dire but certainly made the beginning of the journey quite uncomfortable. The appearance of each gas station brought new promise of relief, and then consistent disappointment as its lights faded away behind our passing bus. I soon learned that I was not suffering alone. Over the next hour a number of people stepped over the back-up driver sleeping in the aisle and pleaded their case to the driver. All were turned back to their seats without a clear answer of when we would stop.

Finally, at around 11:30pm (five and a half excrutiating hours after leaving Hoi An), we stopped. It quickly became apparent from all the waiting vendors and the little restaurant that this rest stop had paid some sort of commission to the bus company. I had suspected as much. I made my way straight for the water closets (as the toilets are called here). The line moved along quickly with all of those leaving the stalls in a much better mood than those still waiting to enter. Free of the pain in my bladder, I grabbed a snack and got back on the bus.

I managed to catch a few hours of sleep before being awoken by the quiet chatter of the other passengers who, like me, were wondering why we were stopped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I went outside, stretched my legs, and saw the reason we were stopped. One of the four rear wheels had a puncture. Not a big surprise considering the condition of the roads. Soon about half of the passengers were off the bus stretching, smoking, and watching the driver hoist off the blown tire. Many were curious where the spare was kept on the bus. They soon had their answer: nowhere; there was no spare. This became clear as the driver pulled out the inner tube of the huge tire and, with a small flame and some spare rubber, started to patch the hole by hand. I waited outside with a few others to watch and discuss the half hour process of getting us road worthy.

By 4:00am we were rolling again and I went back to sleep. The next time I was awakened was a little more rudely. The new driver who had taken over was roaring through some small town with one foot planted on the accelerator and the other constantly hammering the horn to warn anything or anyone that might be foolish enough to get in his path. I guess this is how they make up lost time in Vietnam. Whatever the reason it made sleeping an impossibility and I stayed up reading until we arrived in Nha Trang at about 7:00am (only 30 minutes behind schedule).

At that time in the morning, after a restless trip, we were in no mood to be hoofing our bags around town looking for a hotel. We settled for the second one we visited and dropped off our bags. 'Settled' is a bit misleading considering Jochen and I split a beach side bungalow with cable TV and a shower for $5 US a night ($2.50 each).

We slept until noon, got up, had lunch, and went looking for motorbikes. In Hoi An you couldn't walk five feet from the entrance of the hotel without being offered a rental, but here in Nha Trang it was a different story. Several blocks down we found a place but the only bikes on offer seemed to be Honda P.O.S's (pieces of shit, that is). It's scary enough riding a motorbike in Vietnam under normal conditions let alone getting one with breaks that are totally shot. We finally tracked down some higher quality rides for $2 and set off to see what there was to see in Nha Trang. Fortunately, most of the things there are to see (besides the beach) are set on hilltops and are thus quite easy to find.

First we drove to a set of Cham ruins overlooking the city and the water. From here we got some pictures and spotted our next destination: a big, white, seated Buddha. It took some trial and error to find the road leading up to the Buddha but we eventually got there. The Lonely Planet says that you'll meet some interesting characters on the way up the hill. What they don't mention is that it's mostly young children and elderly people begging for money. It's always the same dilemma when you find yourself surrounded by outstretched palms: give to one and you have to give to all; or don't give to any and feel like a bit of an asshole. While I may be more well off, if I were to give money to every needy person who asked, I likely wouldn't have enough to get home myself. Thankfully, they were not too persistent and, after a minute or two, let us visit the seated Buddha (and its sleeping counterpart just down the hill) in peace. I made a donation at the nearby temple in hopes it would be spent to help the unfortunate people we had met.

Lacking foresight, Jochen and I drove down the hill and found ourselves in full on rush hour traffic. I learned to ride a bike in quiet Hoi An, and now I would be tested in crazy Nha Trang. The surroundings are almost like a video game. Everywhere you look, you can see every combination of people and vehicle imaginable: a family of five on a motorbike with the little ones wedged between their parents, a crew of construction workers packed into the back of a transport truck, old American army jeeps left over from the war, packs of school girls riding their bicycles, the list goes on and on. Despite all the chaos, there does seem to be some order. The basic rule seems to be this: avoid everything in front of you and let everything coming from behind avoid you. Sticking to this system we made it back to our bungalow safely and got ready to go out for some drinks.

The common consensus on the street was that the Sailing Club is a good spot. We walked there, got a couple of beers, and sat outside on the patio chatting with some fellow travelers. The venue was really nice. A spacious bar set right on the beach with a big patio and busy dancefloor. On one side of you the waves of the Pacific crash against the sand and the palm trees, and on the other side a mix of locals and foreigners shake their stuff to some slick techno beats. Some of these local girls were real lookers too. Except their was something just not quite right about the Vietnamese beauty sitting at the next table down. I was trying to figure it out when it struck me like an epiphany. Something about the bone structure of the face and the set of the shoulders told me that this girl was carrying one Y chromosome too many. Yes, it was a lady-boy. He-Shes are kind of like grey hairs: once you spot one, the next thing you know, you've found another ten. I looked around the joint and quickly realized that most of what I thought were local girls had, up until fairly recently, been local guys. And, a little more disturbing, the foreign guys they were chatting with didn't seem to notice. I guess after a few drinks you believe what you want to. Regardless, it was still a good place to hang out and we stuck around a few more hours before heading back to the bungalow (unaccompanied).

The next morning Jochen and I got up early as we had both booked the "Tour to Four Islands" that was advertised at most of the local cafes. We soon learned that the name of the tour was a bit misleading. It was, in fact, one of Nha Trang's infamous 'Booze Cruises'. Our visit to the first island consisted of some snorkeling and then drinking beers back in the boat . We got to see some decent corrals and marine life but the visibility was bad and confirmed my decision to hold off on anymore diving until I'm in Thailand.

Our next stop, the second island, was where the real debauchery started. First, the captain (who insisted on being called 'Strongman') sang a song from each of the countries represented on the boat. Those were England, Australia, Sweden, Norway, Germany, France, and Japan. He didn't know any Canadian songs so I was skipped. I don't think it mattered much because most of the other people couldn't seem to understand a word of the songs that were sung in their own native languages. The musical portion of the tour ended (thankfully) after about twenty minutes and then came the much touted "big surprise". The crew tossed out a life ring for each person aboard and then a crate full of cheap wine. Strongman, a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other, joined us in the water and began dispensing the wine. After eating, you should wait half an hour before going in the water. Apparently, the same does not applying for drinking. Floating in a life ring with a glass of wine (which soon contained a fair amount of seawater), and chatting with the other booze cruisers, it was quite a scene. One of the Brits summed it up well, "So wrong, it's right! In't it?" We all agreed.

Next we arrived at the third island. This was actually the first (and only) island we would set foot on, rather than just get drunk next to. It cost 5000 dong just to get onto the overcrowded little stretch of beach. Once there, your options are: go parasailing, hire a jetski, swim, rent a beach chair for 5000 dong, or sit on the sand for free. Not having tried it before, I took one of the jetskis at 200,000 dong for 15 minutes. That's a little less than one US dollar per minute. I lied and said I was an experienced jet skier and they let me take it out alone rather than with a guide. It was the best 15 minutes of the trip. It was very simple to operate and after about two minutes I had the throttle fully open and was launching off of waves into the air. My only regret was that I didn't have enough time to take it out again.

Our final stop (the fourth island) was a bit of a let down. For 5ooo dong, you can be rowed about a little harbor in a traditional Vietnamese basket boat. Seeing twenty of these circular dinghies full of tourists, I realized it wasn't much of a unique experience, and decided to wait on the big boat. We were back at our hotel by 5:00pm and by 5:30pm I had booked my ticket out of town. I was planning to stay one extra day but now I've reconsidered. Where as Hoi An takes its toll on your wallet, Nha Trang threatens an all out assault on your liver. It's a real party town where the moto drivers offer you drugs and prostitutes after you turn down a ride around town. Not that I mind a good party but this place can be a bit much. My next destination, Mui Ne, is a little stretch of beach and sand dunes about halfway to Saigon. I'm planning to spend a few days there just soaking up the sun and surf before heading into the fray.

The Motorcycle Diary

2004-11-15T19:45:00.001+09:00

Yesterday morning I joined a tour to the My Son ruins just outside of Hoi An. The $1 charge covered the hour bus ride there and back but naturally not the 50,000 dong admission fee.

Erected from the 3rd to the 7th Century A.D. by the Cham civilization, the brick temples look to have seen better days. Between the slow decay provided by the passage of over a thousand years, and the quick destruction provided by American bomber jets, the condition of the buildings isn't too surprising. A lot of fairly impressive brick work and sculpture, overgrown in many places by thick, tropical foliage. It was a good way to spend a few hours but I don't think it will be much match for Angkor Wat in Cambodia. I'll let you know in about two weeks.

Like most tours, this one left early at 8:00am so today it was quite a relief to be able to sleep in until 10. Today's schedule was pretty relaxed: breakfast at 11, second fitting with the tailor at 12, and rent a motorbike at 1. To be honest what I rented would more properly be classified as a scooter but there's no need to get technical; they can pack quite a lot of power into 125cc's these days. I got a quick tutorial from the old woman renting them out, bought a dollar's worth of gas, and steered my wheels in the direction of the closest beach (about 4km away). Jochen, my temporary roommate in Hoi An, joined the excursion. We haggled a bit with the parking attendants and got them down to 2000 dong.

Although a little touristy, the beach was not too busy and actually quite scenic. We took a dip and then dried off on a couple of the reclining beach chairs rented out by the local resorts. They wanted to charge us 10,000 dong each just for using the chairs but we managed to get that fee waived by buying beers and food from their restaurant. The golden rule of Vietnam: (almost) everything is negotiable. Dry, full, and feeling the buzz from a couple bottles of Tiger (a popular brew from Singapore) we hopped back on our bikes for a cruise through the countryside.

With a motorbike, a full tank of gas, and a few hours to kill, you can get a good glimpse into the more rural life of Vietnam. We went through small villages and neighborhoods where everyone from the youngest children to the oldest grandparents seemed to know the word "Hello"; and they shouted it enthusiastically as we rolled by. Most of these people were genuinely interested to see a couple of westerners on bikes driving by their remote houses, but more than a few had something to sell. In these cases it's nice to have your right hand resting on the throttle of a motorbike. Before they can finish speaking, their sales pitch is drowned out by the roar (or maybe growl) of a Honda engine. It's not that I mean to be rude or insensitive, but there really is no better way to convince people that you're not interested in buying anything. In the end it saves both parties a lot of wasted time.

I spent a few more hours on the bike just driving around and occasionally pulling over to snap some pictures. After that Jochen and I grabbed some dinner and booked our tickets out of town for 6:00pm tomorrow. Despite the relaxed pace, beautiful scenery, and excellent dining, it will be relief to leave Hoi An. The fact is I will be leaving here significantly heavier in the clothing and textiles department, and significantly lighter in the currency department. My purchases include: two pairs of trousers, three shirts, one blazer, two jackets, one pair of leather boots, two silk ties, two paintings and also a few more minor items. By western standards, what I paid for all of this was an incredible value considering all the clothes and shoes were hand tailored specifically for me. I think being in the mind set where you haggle down the price of a 50 cent beer or a five dollar hotel room makes it seem more painful when you drop over $100 on clothes. I'm really happy with my purchases but I'll also be glad to hit the road before this place bankrupts me.

The next stop is Nha Trang, a larger city down the coast spread along a six kilometer stretch of beach. The main attractions are the beach, the scuba diving, and the 'booze cruises' which run to some of the islands not far off the coast. You'll soon be hearing which of these activities I've decided to indulge in. The only painful part will be the 12 hour bus trip. It leaves at 6pm and arrives at 6am. Supposedly there are comfortable, reclining chairs and full air-conditioning. I'll believe it when I see it.

Traditional Vietnamese dancers put on an incredible show near the My Son ruins:

Same Same but Different

2004-11-14T22:45:00.000+09:00

I've made it to the third stop on my improvised itinerary: Hoi An. It sounds remarkably similar to Hanoi but in reality it's very different. A little tourist enclave about half way down the coast of Vietnam, Hoi An is the land of a thousand tailors. The catch phrase here is 'Same Same but Different'. The implication being that you can buy the same array of tailored clothing as other stores but there is something which makes this particular establishment unique. Of course, after some comparison shopping, I've discovered it's hard to find much difference; just a lot of 'same sameness'. In such cases its always best to defer to the bible, Lonely Planet that is. I found the place they recommended, grabbed a seat, and opened the catalogues. I had a pretty good idea what I was looking for and within a few minutes I had a coat, two pairs of trousers and three shirts picked out. I was all measured up and told to return tomorrow at 4:00pm. I'm looking forward to seeing the results.

With that task accomplished and plenty of time to kill I strolled around Hoi An's busy waterfront and market. One of the few places in this area to have been spared by the war, Hoi An provides some really well preserved examples of old French and Vietnamese architecture you might not easily find elsewhere. Plenty of bars and restaurants full of foreigners line the main street and back alleys. Besides these, and of course the tailors, there are plenty of funky little art galleries and bookshops. Thankfully absent are the insane traffic and crowds of Hanoi. This is definately a nice place to chill out and do a little (or a lot of) shopping. As with most cities or towns in Vietnam, it is also spread along the edge of river.

I took the first one hour boat ride offered and settled on a price of 20,000 dong (just over a US dollar). A woman of about 60 rowed me down the river and around Hoi An islet in her modest wooden vessel. In decent English she told me about the ship building yards visible on the banks and explained that all Vietnamese boats have eyes painted at the front (even our own leaky, little craft) for good luck. She was a little surprised to hear that Canadian boats don't share this feature.

Basking in the late afternoon sunshine and taking plenty of pictures, I was enjoying the experience until.... I spotted a gang of river pirates at 12 o'clock preparing to board us. Actually it was just a boatful of young girls being rowed about by their father and, big surprise, they had plenty of cheap trinkets to sell. It's easy enough to avoid vendors when you're walking down the street, but it's quite a different story in the middle of a river. I could see my guide was going to be of no assistance. I quickly realized this was all part of the trip. The only thing worth getting was some Vietnamese Tiger Balm (which is actually quite effective on mosquito bites). So I lowballed them down to a dollar and they went in search of their next victim. As their boat was pulling away I figured I'd take their picture as a memento of the experience. As soon as they saw the camera come out they quickly informed me that pictures would cost 10,000 dong. "I'll give you 1000 or forget about it," I countered. They settled on that but the moment I snapped the photo the next thing I heard was "5000 dong, 1000 dong each person." They had a good ploy going but I wasn't falling for it. Begrudingly they took 1000 dong and sailed off for good. In some ways it's humourous to see such cunning in children so young, but in other ways it's quite sad.

After the unexpected visit from the floating vendors, I had lost some faith in my guide. Not surprisingly, when we returned to shore, our verbal agreement had gone out the door and the price had doubled. I had no intentions of paying more than the agreed 20,000 dong, but I was relieved when another couple of travellers showed up looking for a boat ride. It doesn't look good to potential customers if your last one is complaining about the unexpected jump in price.

After that I haven't done much. The pace is very leisurely here and I'm just trying to enjoy it before I make my way to Saigon. After dinner, I picked up a couple of books and an interesting painting depicting life in Vietnam in bright, bold colors. I'm sharing a hotel room with a German guy named Jochen for $3 US a night. Tomorrow morning I'll probably give in to the entreaties of the women across from my hotel and rent a motorbike from them. It's only two bucks for the whole day and the beach is 4km away so I figure it's worth it. I better check my insurance coverage tonight.

Going South

2004-11-12T19:45:00.000+09:00

I've finally left Hanoi and started the journey south which will eventually land me in Ho Chi Mihn City (Saigon). It was a toss up between the train and the bus for the 13 hour trip to Hue. I went with the train, figuring a bed should be more comfortable than a semi-reclining chair. It probably was. Unfortunately, the metal wheels on the track were so loud that I hardly slept. Joining me in my soft-sleeper cabin for four were a Norwegan couple (Bjorn and Eleanor) and a Vietnamese couple. Ok, so how's your math? That's one extra person, and Bjorn and Eleanor, both clearly in their sixties, didn't look like the types that would try to hustle Vietnamese train conductors. Personally, I would have let the old 'pay-for-a-seat-and-then-share-a-bed' scam slide but the Norwegans were of a different opinion. Within 20 minutes the conductor had brought our cabin down to its proper occupancy and we turned out the lights.

Arriving in Hue (pronouced Hway) at about 11:00am, I booked a hotel ($5), dropped my bags, and rented a bicycle. For 10,000 dong (about 70 cents US) I didn't expect much. My expectations were 'right on the money' so to speak. It did have a basket for my gear though, and the chance to check out some sights at my own pace made up for the increasing discomfort of sitting on a 3 inch wide seat. I tooled around the citadel and the Forbidden Purple City most of the afternoon. The architecture was impressive and made for some excellent photos.

The blisters on my feet seem as if they will be constant companions for this trip. At least wearing sandals all day gives them a bit of air. A kid on the street actually offered me a shoe shine. "Very cheap!" he assured me. It better be cheap since the only thing on my feet is a couple of straps of leather. No thanks. Having decided on spending only one full day in Hue, my next decision was between the Perfume River boat tour and the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). Having seen the DMZ in Korea and not being a huge fan of military history I went for the boat tour. I booked it through my hotel for the rock bottom price of one US dollar. But, as with most bargains here in Vietnam, there was the inevitable catch. We had to pay admission at each of the five pagodas and tombs (three were worth it, two weren't). Also two of them were so far from the river I had to hire a moto for the trip. And of course there was the usual gang of high pressure vendors selling film, water, postcards, beer, cigarettes, you name it. The trip ended up costing significantly more than a buck, but in the end it was still worth it to spend the day being ferried from one exotic ruins site to another. It would just have been nice to know the total cost before you find yourself five miles down the river with no choice of turning back.

We got back to port about 3:00pm. I went and snagged my laundry from a place between a poolhall and a dogmeat restaurant then went and got some food (not at the dogmeat restaurant). Interestingly, there was a little mutt sitting in the alley not far from the sign reading 'Dogmeat restaurant 5m->'. I tried my best to coax him infront of the sign so I could get what would surely have been a hilarious picture. No such luck. He didn't seem to trust humans too much. Can't imagine why. I tracked down a different eating establishment and got some grub. While I was eating, a couple of local hoods thought it might be fun to play harass the tourist. They asked me for Canadian money and on finding out I was without any they suggested we fight. These two little thugs probably didn't even match my weight combined and (at least in my appraisal) wouldn't have been much of a contest, but I was still a little relieved when Hng, the 16 year old waitress at the restaurant, came to my rescue by telling them to bugger off. I'm comfortable enough with my masculinity to feel ok about being defended by a 5'4" Vietnamese girl but it did sting a little when she later kicked my ass at pool.

And thats about it for Hue. I'm booked on the 2:00pm bus to Hoi An tomorrow so I'm just going to spend a leisurely morning around the hotel then set off. The days have all been scorchers since I arrived and my skin is getting nice and bronze. I've also noticed a nifty benefit provided by my new 'Rolex' watch (actually its technically a 'superlative chronometer'; says so right on the face): The residue left on my wrist by the cheap metal is almost identical in color to the rest of my now tanned arm and hand. No embarrasing white strip to worry about when I take off my watch. And I only paid 15 bucks for the thing. Unbelievable!

How Long to Ha Long?

2004-11-10T13:33:00.000+09:00

I've learned when booking package tours that you can never predict who you will end up with. With that thought in mind I was neither surprised nor disappointed when I found myself on a bus for Ha Long City with six couples (four German and two Malaysian). After a three hour busride, spent mostly passed out in my seat, we arrived at the dock and boarded our double decker pleasure boat for three nights and two days in Ha Long Bay.

Part of a formidle armada of similar tourist boats we set out into the liquid labarynth formed by Ha Long Bay's 3000 islands and islets. Beers in one hand and cameras in the other our group attempted to capture the scenic vistas that lay on every side of us. You could have pointed your lens in almost any direction you pleased and the results would have been amazing.

We made our first landfall in the afternoon on an island in the center of the bay. We toured picturesque caves and grottoes formed by nature and time. Of course some not so natural colored lights had been added just for effect. Many of the visitors stopped for a good chuckle and a few photos of the large, protruding stone phallus which was the reason for the nickname 'Surprising Cave'.

Back on the boat we dropped anchor and went for a swim. Jumping from the top deck of our boat I forgot we were floating on the ocean rather than some massive lake. I was reminded of this fact by the salt water which rushed into my nose and mouth. Besides the high salt content, the water was really pleasant. Afterwards I showered in my own private cabin (one perk of being the 13th member of the tour), ate dinner, and joined everyone up above for some drinking and stargazing. The Germans had a good laugh comparing the alcohol content of our local brews to apple juice, but I can admit that after a few I had trouble not falling off the boat as I made my way to bed.

Now I don't mind travelling alone (to paraphrase Leo in 'The Beach': "If thats the way it's got to be, fuck it, that's the way it's got to be") but the romance factor of our night spent on the water was definately lost on me. Instead I helped the crew fire the generator back up so we could watch the Manchester United-Manchester City match down in the kitchen.

The next morning we were up at 7:00am and by 9:00am we had landed on Cat Ba, the largest and most inhabited island in the bay. Thankfully our tour was joined by three brits (two men and a woman). It wasn't that I minded the rest of our and group and in fact most were fluent in English. I was just glad to see the couples/single people balance tip a little in my favor.

Our newly enlarged group took in expansive rice paddies and grazing water buffaloes as we made our way through Viet Hai commune and up a mountain trail. It wasn't the most brutal trekking I've ever done but I did regret my decision to wear sandals. The view from the top was well worth it though and provided more excellent photo opportunities. Even from the peak I couldn't see where the islands ended and open ocean began. They cover a truly vast area. Unfortunately our tour didn't include a helicopter ride down from the summit. Joined by the three brits (Paul, Barry, Loraine) I slipped and slid my way down the rocky terrain. A tropical shower turned the path into a slick, muddy waterslide. The silver lining of that was that it didn't happen on the way up.

Wet, dirty, uncomfortable, and considerably behind the rest of our group, we finally made it back down to Viet Hai commune. Our timing seemed perfect as lunch was laid out not more than a minute after we sat down. Only later were we informed that they had waited a half hour for us to show up before serving the food. This proved to be a setback for English/German relations as those members of our group gave the cold shoulder treatment the rest of the afternoon.

Next on the agenda was kayaking. While I could really have used a shower I wasn't about to pass up the chance to explore some of the islands up close. Unfortunately they wouldn't let me take a solo ride in the two seater kayaks and since I was the odd man out my only viable partner was our guide Thgy. He was an excellent guy and informative companion but not much of a rower. As the French might have said after getting kicked out of Vietnam, "C'est la vie". We actually managed to cover some decent ground (water) before our alotted 45 minutes expired.

Back at Cat Ba Hotel I showered up then watched the one channel on the TV while waiting for dinner time to roll around. It was a two minute busride into town where we chowed down and cruised the main drag. With about an equal number of travellers to locals walking the strip it seems Cat Ba is on the brink of a tourist explosion. The bars, hotels, and restaurants popping up in every direction are sure signs of an expected infux of visitors. Better come before it's over run. Between the bushwacking and the beers I was pretty beat (but still capable up making idiotic alliterations) and fell asleep before 11:00pm.

The next morning we stopped for a last swim in the warm, emerald waters before heading back to Ha Long city flanked by the rest of the tourist fleet. As luck would have it, ours was the first tour to include lunch at a luxury resort being constructed on the mainland. Peering out the windows of our bus at the five star bungaloes, most on board figured we were lost and asking for directions. Much to our surprise we were dropped off and ushered into a large, breezy dining room. The meal was fantastic but to do credit to our cooks on the boat and in the hotel, it was on a par with anything they made. The food alone was worth the $45 price of admission. Knowing I'll be 'slumming it' for most of this trip, I absorbed the decadent atmosphere as much as possible before we headed back to Hanoi.

We were dropped back in town a little later than the scheduled 4:00pm but I didn't mind. Besides finding a 6$ hotel room I didn't accomplish a whole lot last night. My major purchase of the evening was a Rolex. Being that I'm travelling around South-East Asia sleeping in 6$ hotel rooms you can probably wager a pretty good guess as to the authenticity of my new timepiece. I could care less really. It looks slick and keeps excellent time (at least so far). As the talented Mr.Ripley admitted, "I'd rather be a fake somebody than a real nobody". Well for 15 dollars I'd rather have a fake Rolex than a real Timex.
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*The images accompanying this entry are not my own. Having burned my digital shots from Ha Long Bay onto CD, I unwisely labeled the disc with a fine tip felt pen. The sharp point pressed through the top layer of the CD just enough to scratch the data track and effectively erase all of my images. I only made this mistake once and the rest of the photographs from my trip are all originals taken by me. To add some substance to this entry I borrowed a few images from this informative site: Visual Tour of Ha Long Bay. The lesson I've learned: use a large, soft tipped felt pen and press lightly. Good advice for anyone archiving information digitally.

Just Say NO (First Dispatch From Vietnam)

2004-11-06T20:26:00.000+09:00

How to sum up my first night and day in Vietnam? With difficulty. I've been in Hanoi for less than 24 hours but it would be hard to do it justice in words. There's no harm in trying though.

After a hop over from Busan to Seoul I arrived in Hanoi last night around 11:00pm local time. Both flights were fairly short and pretty good. A little turbulence but nothing too out of the ordinary. From Seoul to Hanoi I was somehow bumped up to business class. I didn't realize this until I was at the back of the plane looking for seat 10E only to be directed up front. No complaints from me. I had a fully reclining aisle seat with my own video monitor and wine and beer on demand. Too bad it was only a 4 hour flight.

Perhaps due to fatigue or maybe naivete I ended up spending a fair bit more than I had planned to for the taxi into town and the hotel for the night. Had it not been the middle of the night when I got to Hanoi's Old Quarter I would have searched a bit more for a cheaper hotel but I just settled for the 25$ US Hang Mai hotel and got some rest. In fact, it was worth the price having a double bed, air-conditioner, sunroom, balcony, and cable TV. Regardless, this is intended to be travelling on a budget and one night there was enough.

I found a cheap guesthouse this morning, dropped off my pack, and took a rest. The accomodations are a little more spartan now but I'm not complaining. In the apartment across the alley I watched a cat cleaning itself in the morning sun on the balcony. When I looked back across about five minutes later the inhabitant of the apartment had gotten up and was cooking soup which apeared to have some bones and meat floating in it. I couldn't see the cat anymore. Was there a connection? I can only speculate. Even though this hostel was only 7$ a night they still had cable TV. I kicked back for an hour, flicked it to MTV (EmptyV), and watched Bam Margera mindlessly harass his parents then watched Xhibit 'pimp' some girls 'ride'. That was enough for me. It was time to detach from the idiot box and go suck up some of Hanoi.

Time to stop the detailed narrative. To fully convey the day would take longer than I, and probably you, really feel like sitting infront of a computer. Point form time. Here's some of what I did and saw:

-ceasless rivers of motos (scooters)
-sidewalks lined with lush drooping trees and countless beautiful examples of French Colonian architechture
-rode around on the back of a moto taxi(xe-om) for 3 hours checking the sites
-among many attractions I visited the Ho Chi Mihn museum and infamous 'Hanoi Hilton'
-was offered the chance to smoke opium (which I declined)
-had an amazing meal for about $1 US.
-learned how to negotiate the insane traffic (walk slowly across the street in order to let oncoming motos see you and maneuvre around. Sounds crazy but it works)
-got ripped off

That last one deserves some elaboration. Mostly it was my fault I dropped more money than necessary today. My first mistake was not counting the number of zeroes on the currency. More than once did I pay 100,000 dong for something that was actually 10,000 dong. I can't blame the lucky vendors for not informing me of the error. I'll just have to make the most of my 9$ postcards and put it in the past. My other mistake was not confirming the price of my moto ride around the city. That's something I'll be sure to do in the future. All in all I ended up spending about 30$ US more than I really should have but it was my first day on the road and it's better to discover that now than in a week when my money prematurely runs out. I guess mistakes are the best way to learn and in the grand scheme this was a fairly minor learning experience. I've learned its just necessary to say "No thanks" and keep moving. Unless you're seeking something out or are completely comfortable with the situation it's best to just decline and not look back. Wether it's a ride around town, drugs, prostitutes, or postcards, if you don't want it just turn it down and don't feel bad. I was consoled by an Indonesian guy I met named Bob. He related a story of drinking a drugged Coca-Cola in Singapore in the late 7o's and being subsequently relieved of all his money and belongings. "Learn from your mistakes," he said "just don't make the same mistake more than once." There's a mistake I don't plan on making the first time. I'm switching to Pepsi (just kidding, Pepsi sucks!)

On the back of a moto is the cheapest, fastest, and certainly most interesting way to get around Hanoi (watch for my cameo appearance at the end):

A Day at the D.M.Z.

2004-07-30T21:26:00.000+09:00

As with most attempts to kick back for a casual drink or two with some foreign pals here in Korea, this one failed miserably. The gargantuan pitchers of beer and ridiculously cheap bottles of lemon soju seemed to constantly be materializing on the table. Conversation, much like the copious amounts of alcohol, was flowing. Until.... "Shit! I've gotta be up at like 6:00am to tour the DMZ tomorrow!". Of course I hadn't actually forgotten this fact. Just tucked it away comfortably in some compartment of my mind where I could neglect it all night. After a few drunken farewells I made my way back to my friend Jess' (who was my host for this weekend trip to Seoul) place and got right to the task of savoring all three and a half hours of sleep I would have that night.

Maybe it was my peaked interest about seeing the most heavily militarized and hostile border in the world that kept the hangover at bay the next morning. Or perhaps I have finally adapted to the Korean alcohol culture in which marathon drinking sessions followed by brief periods of sleep are common. Whatever it was, the hour subway ride to downtown Seoul where I would rendevouz with my tour group was not nearly as brutal as I had guessed it would be when I went to sleep at 2:30am.

After finding the tour desk and producing my passport I managed to get a glance at the tour attendance sheet. The nationality column on the far left read approximately like this: Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, USA, Japan, Canada, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan. You get the picture. I have no problem with Japanese people (a fact which separates me from a large number of Koreans), but I thought it would at least be interesting to have a few other people I could converse with. At least there was the one American guy whom the tour guide not so discreetly insisted sit next to me. His name was Webb and he was a technical rectruiter from San Francisco in his sixties. With a little prodding from our English speaking tour guide ("You're both from fairly liberal cities, what do you think of John Kerry's nomination yesterday") we got into a little bit of policital conversation. This killed the time (about an hour) it took our bus to arrive at the entrance to the infamous 'Third Infiltration Tunnel'.

Discovered in 1978, this tunnel is a kilometer and half long. About a third of the length lies on the South Korean side of the military demarcation line which bisects the DMZ. While an armistice was signed between the two Koreas in 1953, it seems the North thought they would get everything ready just incase the uneasy peace came to an end. The tunnel is capable of moving a full North Korean division (weapons included) every hour. Enough with the statistics, what was it actually like to check this thing out? Along with the 40 Japanese tourists, Webb and I hopped on the little monorail that would carry us down the 73 meters underground to where the tunnel rested in solid bedrock. At about the same moment I lost sight of the entrance my claustrophobia set it. It was too late to do anything about that now.

When we reached the bottom the space opened up a bit more, much to my relief. The Japanese contingent with their own guide had already headed down the tunnel while me and Webb were given a few more interesting, although quickly forgotten, facts about the tunnel by our English guide. "Ok guys, go check it out. I'll wait here. And remember no smoking and NO PICTURES!". Once we were far enough down the tunnel not to be noticed we pulled out the cameras and disregarded that warning. We carried on along the tunnel to its eventual end. A pile of barbed wire protecting a solid concrete wall with a tiny door in it. The subterranean border to North Korea. Just as an extra deterrent to anyone thinking of defecting to the North (besides the lack of a good nightlife) the other side of the wall is loaded with dynamite. After snapping off a shot of this eerie portal into a country where the late Kim Il-Sung is still revered as 'Eternal President', we turned around and headed back to our waiting guide and, much to my relief, the wide open parking lot above.

After a quick trip to the souvenir shop where I dropped 15,000 won (about $16.00 Canadian) on a t-shirt, we got back on the bus and made our way up to Dorasan Observatory. Sitting atop a mountain not far from the military demarcation line (the North-South Border which bisect the DMZ) Dorasan observatory offers a vast panoramic view into North Korea. A large, windowed amphitheater leads out onto an adjoining observation platform where a row of coin operated binoculars await the 500 won deposits of curious visitors. The view (sans binoculars) is something to behold. In the distance, the North Korean city of Gaesong is visible. Unlike any mountains I've seen thus far in South Korea, the ones surrounding Gaesong are almost bare, the trees having been uprooted as a source of heat in the winter. Its hard to see much of this city which, if all goes according to plan, will be opened to foreign investment in the near future.

Nearer the border lies the famous Propaganda Village and it's gargantuan flag pole. Erected with the intention of luring South Koreans over into the North, the uninhabited village was apparently not quite as persuasive as might have been hoped. The village is maintained by a few caretakers to appear welcoming and appealing to southerners. Looking at it through a pair of binoculars it appears pretty much as it is, a series of empty (although nicely taken care of) buildings. Atop the 160 meter tall flagpole flies the world's largest flag. We weren't told the dimensions, only that the flags weighs about 600 pounds and requires 20 men to hoist. From a few kilometers away the red, white and blue of North Korea looks enormous (although I imagine it would take a gale force wind to actually unfurl it). The story behind the flag is that it was a response to a 100 meter flag pole erected in Freedom Village, a small farming community lying nearby in the South Korean side of the DMZ. A bit of a strange scene really: two small villages, one home to a few farmers, the other uninhabited, but both striving to build the worlds largest flagpole. Who ever said those communists weren't competitive?

No longer satisfied with the panoramic view, I got out my change and commandeered myself a pair of binoculars. I scanned around the facades of Propaganda Village, the distant apartments of Gaesong, and the bare mountain sides before focusing on a large empty field where a few North Korean farmers were going about their work. It was mesmerizing in a way. I stared at them until the tell tale clunk of my coin in the binoculars told me time was up. Though I regretted not bringing my new zoom lens I still figured I could snap off a few good shots with the digital camera. As I pulled out my camera I was approached by a South Korean soldier who explained all photos were to be taken from the behind the photo line. He indicated the yellow line inconveniently located about 10 feet back from the edge of the platform. Rather than leaning over the edge and getting a nice unobstructed shot, I would have to contend with the row of visitors and binoculars blocking the view. I realized the only way to overcome this obstacle was to either be born extremely tall (no luck there) or to stand on tip toes with your camera extended at arms length above your head and hope to take a nice picture. Luckily digital cameras allow you to see the results instantly so I could experiment with my tip toe reaching technique a little. In my own silent protest to the photo line I tried to stand near the edge unnoticed and snap a few shots with the camera protruding slightly from my sleeve. The close proximity of the soldiers and the resulting apprehension I felt caused me to take a couple of pictures of the sky. As I walked back to the bus I was glad I at least made an attempt even though the results were blurs of blue and white.

Our next destination was Dora Station. A few minutes away by bus, this is the last train station in South Korea. Optimistically, the rails leading out of this station will soon be reconnected with those in the North from which they were severed over 50 years ago. Our guide didn't explain what sort of political reunification or co-operation would have to precede the railway being reconnected, but by the appearance of the station, it seems to be an inevitability. Everything from the platform and rails outside to the waiting benches and ticket counter inside has a just finished, ready to go feel. For now however it is simply a tourist attraction and perhaps a glimpse of things to come on the Korean Peninsula. Remnants from a 2002 visit by George W. Bush take up one corner of the station. The speech he delivered is on display in both English and Korean with a few photos of the event. A glass case nearby holds a railway tie signed 'The President of the United States of America'. I stood infront of the display for the five minutes it took to read the speech.

Before getting back on the bus I snapped a couple of shots of the 'next stop: Pyeong-yang' sign (a little surreal) and got a novelty Dora Station stamp in my passport (half of which smeared off from using too much ink).The tour winding down, we made our way to the last stop, a restaurant over looking Imjin River and Freedom Bridge which crosses it into the DMZ. In a nearby guard tower two South Korean soldiers could be seen reclining with their guns. There was not much for them to observe except the coming and going of tour buses and their passengers. The meal, which was a buffet of Korean fare, was included in the price of the tour. The beers, of course, were not. The seating arrangements (Webb and I across from a young, affectionate Japanese couple) were a little awkward but shortlived as we were soon ushered back to the bus for the return trip to Seoul.

It wasn't quite 1:00pm (only seven hours into my day), but last night's alcohol consumption combined with a morning of being bussed around in the middle of a humid Korean summer had finally caught up with me. I spent the hour long ride back to Seoul with my face pressed uncomfortably against the window and the edge of my seat. Not having the foresight to draw the curtain closed, I arrived back at the tour office with a sunburn covering half of my face. I mused at how, divided down the center, one side significantly more 'red' than the other, my face had become an uncomfortable symbol for the Korean peninsula.