But Honestly...

My own blog is officially behind a firewall and I cannot view it, at least not in Vietnam.

This is part of my current frustration with this country. Traveling alone, I am constantly being watched, sized up. It is paralyzing to know that every time I go outside someone is going to see me as a walking wallet and do their best to get some money out of me.

So as Lizzy, my friend in Cambodia, said "it ain't all sunshine and Buddhism out here." Being white in a place where nationality is indicated by race can be tiring.

The other day, in Hue, I went into a place called the Camel Cafe. They gave me a menu which was entirely in English I ordered, in Vietnamese, Ca Phe Su'a, (coffee with milk). While they weren't looking I found a Vietnamese menu and saw that the coffee was priced 1000 dong less, which is about 2.5 cents -- nothing. Maybe it was low blood-sugar, or maybe I was just looking for a fight, but I pointed it out to them when they brought the bill, charging me the English price.

"Why is the price different here?" pointing to the Vietnamese menu.

"This is Vietnamese menu."

"So? It's the same coffee"

"For Vietnamese people."

"So I pay more because I'm a foreigner?"

There was some discussion and eventually they gave me the Vietnamese price, 9000 dong. I handed them a 10,000 dong bill and told them to keep the change.

In Hue, I think I was also nearly hustled into an arranged marriage. While eating dinner at a little guesthouse, a twenty year old Vietnamese guy started talking to me. He was nice enough but his English was terrible, and I would soon become the victim of a terrible miscommunication.

Telling me he had some friends in town, he suggested that we go out for a cup of coffee or a beer somewhere and meet up with them. He knew some girls too, maybe they would join us. I said "fine." It seemed like a good way to kill the few hours between dinner and bed time.
But the next thing I know, I'm sitting at the kid's house, on a leather couch across from him and his parents, next to a girl, who is not the kid's sister but lives in his house. She will not look at me, but the father, an old tough guy with a fresh wound under his eye that looked like he had been raked with a fork, eyed me up and down, not smiling. There was no way I could face this as regular ol' gabe joselow so I tried a variety of different personas. As I switched from tough guy, to dandy, to seventeenth century British lawyer, to latin-scholar, I went through a variety of facial expressions; I tried a frown, a stern but understanding nod, a smile -- just to see if I could get an agreeable reaction from the parents.

Nothing worked. And it didn't matter what I said since they didn't speak English. So, in a very calm voice and with a suave smile I said, "homo sum, nil humani me et alienum puto." Finally got a smirk out of the father.

It turned out, however, that the kid was trying to convince his parents that this girl should come to Hanoi with me -- which I didn't want.

"Maybe you come back, three or four days, get coffee, she go to Hanoi with you."

"I don't want this. "

"OK, she go and maybe girlfriend, then go to English school, no problem."


The situation was very strange, and I did have to bite my lip a bit to keep from laughing out loud at the whole thing. It seemed like the girl and the kid were arguing with each other, but he would keep saying to me: "she say you very handsome."

So who knows what that was all about.

But that was Hue, a horrible little city near the DMZ, which no, I did not want to take a tour of. Now I'm in Hanoi which is a special kind of city. It's the only city in Vietnam that is still divided into different merchant districts, at least in the Old Quarter where I stay. Each street has a different trade: I live on Hardware street, just before it turns into Chinese medicine street, and around the corner from bamboo road. It is a complete maze here and easy to get lost. Now, to walk around, I just choose one street and walk straight down one side and straight back on the other.

It can't be that big, but it feels enormous. The sidewalks are crowded with people frying chicken and noodles. Motorbikes block the path elsewhere. It's like being in New York except that nobody speaks English -- so it's exactly like being in New York. (Did I use that line already?) It is also very French still. Men with Ho Chi Minh beards in turtlenecks and berets go ambling around or flying by on motorbikes. This afternoon while strolling around the lake, an older Vietnamese guy said "bonjour" to me. We spoke in French for a little while as we walked, it was exciting for me to try my high-school French out, and he was a sweet old guy.

I'll try to make the rest of the day about getting some photos of this place, I like it here.

Friday I fly out to Bangkok. I'm tired of bussing around, I'm tired of a different hotel and unfamiliar people every night so I'm skipping Laos for now and going back to Thailand. I'll meet up with Will, Liz and my friend Keith who happens to be flying in. I'll also be trying to get some work. Soon I should have a better idea of what the next 1-6 months will be like.

Electric Jesus

In the spirit of doing things that make me uncomfortable, which is how I ended up in Southeast Asia in the first place, I went to a midnight mass at a church in Hue, Vietnam last night. This whole scheme started when I was eating lunch at this little cafe near my horrible little hotel. I found refuge from the sleazy cyclo drivers, who circle the block like sharks and won't take no or fuck-off for answer (though screaming gibberish and smacking myself in the face seems to work), in a place that serves terrible food and plays great music. Eating my slime and listening to BB King, the owner and I got to talking and eventually she invited me to church with her. I agreed -- never letting her in on my dark secret.

The church was teeming with people who were busy taking pictures of eachother in front of a rock. The normal assortment of food vendors camped out on the street with fry pots bubbling with mysterious wonder. There were even a few Buddhist monks in the mix, checking out the scene -- I tried to get their attention so i could say, "hey, me too, buddy -- not catholic, yeah!" thinking we could start a little club or giggle and throw paper airplanes throughout the service together. Didn't work out.


The church was built by French people in the 1960s and I think it shows. The interior, which is sort of like a droopy teapot, is decorated with a lot of acute pastel rainbow triangles. There are some mosaics of the same ilk, even a jesus with sideburns or two. The walls are painted a bright blue and everything is illumintated either with strips of neon lights or multi-color low-wat lightbulbs.


I sat next to my friend in a pew (that's what you call 'em right?) and we watched children act out the story of the creation. The kids that were trees did a good job of swaying in the breeze and giving Eve the apple; the kid that was the sun started off pretty well, but he kind of gave up on hopping around and waving his arms halfway through.

Apparently religious services are a good time for more Vietnamese pop music and everybody started doing the electric slide to a viet-pop version of some Christmas carol or other.

Every so often, when I asked my friend what was going on -- ie, who is the kid with the Yankees hat supposed to be? She would say something like, "Elizabeth, Mary's cousin, remember?"
"oh her, yeah... she looks different!"
"Do they do like this in America?"
"Uhh, yeah ... oh yeah, definitely. Only its bigger and there are more bells and, uhh, we have real Arabs play the wisemen, their beards look better than that kid's."

The crib was brought out next ... and then the extension cord. The next thing I know, the priests are carrying around a glowing neon-haloed Jesus while an altar boy follows behind with a massive spool of extension cord -- like the cable boy who follows a screaming coach around the sidelines at a football game.

When the priests carried the Jesus up to a gigantic diorama of Bethlehem, I made my exit -- but not before I could get a few pictures. So now I know the true meaning of Christmas and I'll stick to eating Chinese food; or, as the case was today, Vietnamese.

Meanwhile, I can't access my own blog or anybody else's on Blogspot, maybe Vietnam has some block on it, because I think they do things like that -- the newspapers are hilarious for that reason -- so I hope y'all can get through and if you're leaving me messages, well, thanks!

Moto Viet

Well, here I am in Hoi An, having spent the last five days straddling a Vietnamese man named Yang as we rode his motorcycle from Da Lat, through the Central Highlands of Vietnam to this fairly touristy little town.
Da Lat, where I met Yang, my tour guide, is the government-appointed flower capital of Vietnam, so the flowers are all very beautiful and efficient. We arranged this five-day tour which I wanted very much to center around coffee, seeing as this area is the prime coffee growing area of Vietnam.

Coffee #1; outside a Pagoda in Da Lat which had a neon buddha and a dragon made of old French beer bottles.

"a robust and hearty blend which whispered in lofty plumes of rosewood."

After coffee #1 we had tea #1 which was an artichoke tea that advertises itself as a diuretic; so naturally we went to a waterfall after drinking it -- you can imagine how that went.

Coffee #2; about 2 hours outside of Da Lat, at the house of a coffee farming couple who, in 1987, moved to the area (Nam Ban) from Hanoi along with 90% of the other inhabitants as part of a communist economic recovery project between the provinces. We found the house in search of a rice-wine still, which was evidenced by a smoking chimney.

"Rich diesel tones yield to softer acorn aspirations amidst a sea of copper filings"

after coffee #2 we saw a flower farm, a silk factory and a mushroom farm, rolling fields of coffee terraced up the sides of the misty mountains, and elephant waterfall, all of which sounds like some kind of alice in wonderland thing -- just how far down the rabbit hole were we willing to go? Near elephant waterfall was a gigantic statue of happy buddha. Inside the statue, some monks were eating lunch and I noticed that the skylight and buddha's belly button were one in the same.

Coffee #3; at a longhouse in an ethnic minority village. We saw a couple of these minority villages; the funny thing about these villages is that when my pale face is walking around them, I'm the minority -- and actually, the way people stared or laughed or simply greeted me made me feel better about visiting the place, since their reactions were more natural and they weren't trying to sell me anything. I had my coffee by the lake which was swollen beyond its normal size and had swallowed up some of the tables outside the little cafe where I was sitting.

"a medley of earthtones confused by hazelnut's shadowy hand"

Coffee #4; the next morning in the minority village. We woke up to the sound of a thousand roosters crowing a thousand times. There was a barnyard outside our house, pigs snorting around, chickens clucking with little chicks following them. The weather was perfect as Yang and I prepared for day 2 on the road.

"brooding and quirky"

Coffee #5; that night at the next longhouse where I spent much of my time talking to a monkey who lived in a very small cage. I brought him rice and he threw his beer can toy at me.
I conspired to free him but my efforts were thwarted by the ever conservative Yang who wouldn't let me do things like free the monkey or wear my pants inside out (which sound like metaphors for the same thing ... don't they?) Here is also where I found out that even though they grow a lot of cofee in this region -- which is true as you can tell by the fields and fields of it, the carpets of beans drying out on the side of the road -- they don't actually roast it anywhere near here. So, despite all of my little descriptions of the coffee, it was probably all just Trung Nguyen, Myheco, or G7 coffee -- the three major Vietnames companies.

"disapointing and stale, gray with the pallor of whithered vanity and unmeaning dreams"

Coffee #6; in a gazebo which overlooked a waterfall, the weather is perfect. We are on our way to Kon Tum, little town by the mountains, by way of a tiny town, four houses long, where the central concern is cock-fighting. Here we saw a group of toothless men throw two birds at each other in the middle of a ring made of motorbikes. This was not a legitimate fight, just a practice round. The birds would be strapped with razors for the real deal. Here they just ruffled each other's feathers a bit.



"a flirtatious aroma combined with a gossipy glue-flavor glows with sandalwood jealousy."

The trip was cold and rainy after that point, though there were some great mountain views. There was also much karaoke singing at night, seems that Take Me Home Country Roads is pretty popular out here, though nobody is really sure what West Virginia is.

Children waved at us. We saw a battlefield or two; some of the hills are still a bit bald from the defoliants used in the war. In Kon Tum we ate something that Yang could only describe as "a porcupine without quills" so my best guess is some kind of wiesel. I Also had Kangaroo in Saigon, so add those to the list.

In one town, sometime after coffee #8, we stopped to stretch our legs. Within five minutes of doing so, I had a girlfriend who had introduced me to her father and some of her 16 brothers and sisters. We had a little rice wine but I politely refused the plate of pig intestines.
The trip ended after we rode a good deal of the Ho Chi Minh trail, which twisted and turned through the compact and cold mountains that separate the highlands from the lowlands and the dry season from the rainy. So now its raining and it won't stop until February.

To Hanoi!

Ride the Snake

Good morning beard
Originally uploaded by Gabe Joselow.

Saigon... shit.

I'm still only in Saigon.

Every time I think I'm going towake up back in the jungle.

Of Marx and Minh

On peaceful, sunset-perfect Sam Mountain, in Chau Doc, Vietnam -- a town which crowds a bend of the Mekong River -- I found myself simultaneously in the most beautiful surroundings, and the most uncomfortable situation. In other words, it happened again; I met some folks that I thought would be normal, maybe good for a drink and a conversation, and they turned out to be completely nuts. All I know is that I made plans with this British / South African couple to go to a place called the Bamboo Bar, on the second floor of glitzy hotel in Chau Doc. Turns out the guy wants to watch The Matrix instead and the next thing I know these two are fighting and I hear the words "Fine! If you want to go get drinks with your American, go ahead!"

Thus furthering my future as a sociopath: all set to move to Montana, grow a big beard and a little garden, eat what I can shoot, write letters to the "govment" which accuse the ""Jew run media" of ruining my life, and call my new independent nation "Lobstertonia" -- I've got the flag all figured out.

I hightailed it to Cam Tho. Now, when I decided to go to Cam Tho I had no idea that there was only one thing to do there, which is, go to the floating market. I thought of the town as just another small stop in the Mekong Delta where I could mess around, take a picture of the giant tin-man "Uncle Ho" statue and proceed merrily on my way. But no. Instead, when I arrived at my guest house, I was immediately harassed about this floating market thing by a man who spoke English incredibly quickly as he pointed to a grubby, laminated, hand-drawn map detailing the floating market trip:

"you leave 5 in the morning, watch sunrise, go to market, very busy, go to another market, see fruit orchard, very nice monkey bridge. 15 dollar."
"uhh, no thanks, I don't think I want to go to the floating market."
"ok, ok, for you, since you are guest at this house, 10 dollar."
"no, it's not the money, I just don't think this is my thing, not into it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to the bathroom."

Which I did. He was gone when I came back to my room, but 5 minutes later: knock knock. It was a goddamn intervention! Four people came to my door.

"Why you no go to market? You want to go, just four hours."

I should explain something here. There are two reasons that I don't want to go to the floating market:

#1 As much as I'm hassled to buy things on the street (and I hate things) by every single person who passes me, I can only imagine what I would face, stranded in a dinghy, by myself, in the middle of a floating market. Great, I'm buying things while I'm on a boat. (mom, guess what?? I'm calling you from an airplane!!; It's a bowl and it's bread!; a potato-powered clock!!??)

#2 I hate being pressured. Their insistence only fueled my resistance. No, I''m not going. Fuck 'em.

"Look, it's just not my thing alright?"
"just four hour, please, you pay 9 dollar"
"look, why is this so hard for you to understand -- no market!"
"but, all tourists go to floating market"
"yeah, well."

I actually liked Cam Tho town. (Cam Tho races ... doo dah doo dah) The town had a good flow to it, with a nice promenade of sorts by the river, and a floating karaoke barge which I like to imagine pirating other ships on the Mekong, forcing their captives to sing "Hotel California" at knife point.

With no one to know and nothing to do, I ended up playing pool with the bell hop of a nice hotel -- we became friends and now he wants me to invite him to the wedding (?)

But I bought a ticket for Saigon and left in the morning. On my way out, the owner of my guest house took me aside and assured me that the floating market was in fact a ripoff.

Here I am in Saigon, refusing to call it Ho Chi Minh City, though I was greeted with giant billboard depicting a bust of Marx and a bust of Minh in heroic profile. There are gold stars and sickle and hammers everywhere. The economy seems to be pretty sharp here too, they've introduced a lot of private businesses into the city -- very few of which are American.

The best thing here so far was Reunification Palace -- formerly Presidential Palace and at some point Independence Palace. If Elvis had been the president of South Vietnam in the 60's, this is what his Palace / Command Center would look like. Stuffed tiger in the shag carpeted office; barrel shaped bar in the gambling-centered game room; private movie theater; and an indoor garden with a waterfall.

I'll be sticking around Saigon for a while, very much enjoying this city as I re-read Michael Herr's Dispatches and telling people "no thank you" every five goddamn minutes.

Yes, I Will Do the Opposite

I ate some snake. First I played with it a little bit, then I ate it. The skin was really rubbery, hard to get through, but the meat underneath was tasty. In the morning I ate a frog. It was also quite tasty. After that I had a cricket which tasted like a peanut. So for better or for worse there are a lot of things that I like about Cambodia.

Phnom Pehn is as hard to like as it is to pronounce -- but I'm getting the hang of it.

My first night here, I met up with my college friend Lizzy and we went to the Foreign Correspondents Club. This club is situated in a French styled building by the Tonle Sap (river). Sitting by a railing at the top, listening to the tinklings of light acid jazz, you really feel imperial. Like some colonial field officer who has returned from the frontier to join his gentleman friends for a snifter of brandy. Here I met an American woman who has been living in Bangkok for 2 years and was traveling to Phnom Pehn on business -- she is an editor for a travel magazine publishing group. We talked for a bit and I told her I was a writer and all of that and she suggested that I could try to write something on Phnom Pehn. Something positive and culturally sensitive. This is like the seven-ten split of writing and pushes even the limits of creative non-fiction.

Phnom Pehn, to say the least, is a lot closer to Baghdad than it is to Zurich on the Mercer list of best places to live. To write a positive piece about the place seems like a real challenge. As far as I can tell, people really only come here as a stopping point between Vietnam (or Thailand) and Angkor Wat. So aside from me, the only people that seem to enjoy this city are drug addicts and sexual predators.

So I started taking notes and think that I might come up with a kind of story on the educational benefits of catastrophe tourism. The most interesting thing about this city is its sad and tragic history. The city is impressive in the perspective of the Killing Fields. Without seeing those, I would not be able to appreciate the seemingly small progressive steps this place has made. And, like going to the Foreign Correspondents Club, you have a much better time enjoying your personal luxuries here after you've been coughing on Diesel fumes and dust all day.

Meanwhile, Cambodian people have been extremely nice in the city. The best night I had was hanging out in front of the Royal Palace with my guide's friends joking around and cheersing our beers every six seconds. And if there is one thing I've noticed it's that they are all very positive: by which I mean affirmative: by which I mean, if you ask for a menu, the server will say "yes" and not bring it to you. "No ice in my beer please," "yes," plink...plink... Or, try asking a moto driver if he knows how to get to, say, independence monument, he will say "yes, yes" and drive you in whatever direction you are facing, then say back to you "you know?" slowly pull over and shrug his shoulders. From what I can figure, you have a 50% chance of someone actually doing what you ask them and 50% that they will do the opposite.

Another thing that really gets you down about the city are the number of beggars and street children. The kids are so young and they are very sassy with their English. Very cute and I try to help out a few a day but just can't help everyone. Then there are the boys sniffing glue outside the pharmacies, the saddest sight of all. They stumble around with these fishbowl eyes and it really is difficult to take buuuuut good for the catastrophe tourist to see.

Oh, and if my accounts of Cambodian street people is not enough for you, you can always read Nikki Sixx's thoughts: http://www.nikkisixx.net/Graveyard/

Education leads to job creation? Brilliant Nikki! Why didn't we think of that in the first place, well we can save the whole damn country now can't we? Nevermind the fact that the executive branch is too corrupt to function and that every intellectual the country had was murdered in the 70s or that electricity is luxury. The economy sucks; if there was a market for naked children, open fires and herds of sheep rooting around the gutter outside your guesthouse, Cambodia would have it cornered! But at least you always know when things get bad you can count on Motley Crue: a good name for an NGO too.

Aww golly, now I've got myself all political -- another 5 minute expert on Cambodia. Anyhow, I'm leaving with or without a story. Maybe before I go Lizzy and I will see another Filipino, rock-cover band, they seem to be in abundance.

Its been dandy, but its off on the early boat down the Mekong to Ho Chi Minh City... I've been waiting a long time for this.