Tag Archives: Travel Journal

Journal entries from my travels, whether they be by bicycle, train, plane, or automobile.

Version 0.51 (False Piety)

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04/04/19

Yesterday went with Minh to the colossal statue of Avalokiteśvara and the pagoda complex on Son Tra Peninsula north of the city. He tells me everything there is no more than ten to fifteen years old. I’m a bit incredulous about that, so I want to research it a little bit.*

In addition to the older Linh Ung Pagoda there was a brand new pagoda or shrine built on a nearby lot (the temple grounds are quite large). A very tall tower which the costs of must be fairly astronomical. Impossible for the monastery to afford I would think, but Minh tells me they get donations and sponsorships from large companies, similar to how in the U.S. so many sports stadiums and arenas are bank rolled by large corporations or banks, and thus, as a sign of their hubris and ego they negotiate with the city to have their name on the stadium. It’s unfortunate because I feel it sucks the soul right out of the thing, not that I feel there is much soul left in team sports; it’s basically just a transactional relationship between ownership and players around who gets paid what. This I find repugnant, or, if not repugnant, unattractive, and so I find myself repelled from popular team sports in general. The fact that this doesn’t exist is what draws me to ultra trail-running. I also happen to enjoy the act of trail-running myself. The biggest names in that sport are the easiest people in the world to find inspiration in, but not just inspiration to become a better runner or athlete, but inspiration in being and becoming a better person, for they all are compassionate, warm-hearted, empathetic, grateful, humble, sincere, human beings without the inflated egos of the stars of the popular team sports. In short, they’re just great people who, because of the notoriety they receive for being the athletes that they are, cast a broad net and pull many people into their life-affirming orbit. Nor is there a need for giant sports complexes to be built, thank God, or better and more advanced training facilities just to keep up with the Joneses, so to speak. There are only races to be run through some of the most beautiful natural places on Earth. So, I wonder if one day these temple complexes will be named after a sponsor or a donor of a large sum of money.

The fact that there is all this money that flows into these pretentious little palaces completely turns me off of them (except for the photographic opportunities afforded by the hordes of tourists who visit and make a mess of the place by leaving litter all over). They’re no different than the tacky mega-churches seen all around the U.S. Is it necessary to build something so tall? No, of course not. What is the purpose? If the spirit of a people lay in the height and size of a temple or church structure, then the city of Changzhou would have the most spiritual people, and the rest of the world would be struggling to catch up, to outspend ($38.5 million) and outbuild (~154 meters) the Chinese. These are not, unfortunately, structures built by the toil and sweat of the monks living on the grounds, or the populace of the city or town that might benefit by it, but are built by companies with cranes, employees, and huge bank accounts. There is no spirit. It’s mere commodity, and this is reflected in the tourists who visit them with their false piety, striking poses around the various Buddhas and statues of ancient sages, or anywhere there might be a beautiful view behind them. I saw a woman yesterday posing on the steps leading up to the main courtyard who stood with her back to the ocean hundreds of meters below and behind her. Her palms were pressed together against her breast as if in prayer or a bow, and I could feel my face flush in anger at her hollow pose. This woman was like an empty, rusted watering can which, because it can hold no water has absolutely nothing to give, serves absolutely no purpose. Place it in a corner of your garden though and it might look like a nice bit of decoration. If you get close enough you can see that it is useless. So much of this posing and posturing, largely by the Chinese and Korean tourists, I witnessed here that it turns my stomach (The fact that they leave their trash—snack bags, and plastic water and soda bottles—littering the grounds of the complex doesn’t encourage a friendly attitude towards them either.). But this of course makes it an excellent place to witness a strange, to me, sort of human behavior, no matter how repulsive it may be at times.

*the complex itself dates back to the nineteenth century, however parts of it have been renovated and rebuilt over the years, other areas are new as the site has been developed further, and the giant statue is only nine years old dating from it’s completion, or fifteen years old dating from when the first stone was laid.

Version 0.50 (Feeling Fortunate)

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Patiently waiting.

Waiting for the moment to strike. I’m not completely sure what I mean by that. I just know that there are countless places in the world I wish to travel to. But I would also like to open a cafe in Hanoi or Da Nang, and run a coffee farm in the mountains. Can I manage at least two (three if you count the traveling) of these things simultaneously? And how long will these desires last? I have a habit of getting excited over an idea only to not pursue it, or for the excitement to ebb away (which likely means that I wasn’t that excited about it to begin with). I suppose this is true for most people. That initial thought is like a rush of sugar or a jolt of caffeine, but if there is no way to sustain that energy and excitement it will be doomed to fail. The idea itself needs to be one which you want more than anything to nurture and cultivate, so that it continues to grow within you until you are able to mate it to some action, some physical impulse that sees its first steps, and then it must continue to be cultivated so that those initial steps lead to further steps and not just down a blind alley. From there, with careful nurturing it begins to take on a life of it’s own, but until then the idea requires much care lest it dry up and wither away.

A European House Sparrow has just flown down from a tree to the patio of the cafe. Such a pestilence! Can one go anywhere in the world without these damnable birds following? It pains me.

I’ve been meeting people and making friends since being here in Da Nang. It started with the lovely hostel staff, and extended to a kid I met one night at the market across the river who was looking for someone to practice english with. In return he said he would be willing to act as a sort of tour guide for me, asking if there were any places in particular that I wished to go, and perhaps I would like to be driven around on his motorbike. So the next day we took a spin up to the top of a local mountain that was hidden away in the clouds; and the day after that he, I, and a few other people went on an excursion to Marble Mountains and Hoi An. I feel very fortunate to have met such good and kind people who have introduced me to some very peculiar foods (from a westerner’s perspective) that I otherwise would not have tried, and have taken me around the Da Nang area with no expectation of anything given in return but for my company. Yet this sort of occurrence happens every time I travel. I can say that it’s not terribly surprising anymore, but it is not and can’t ever be expected, and so it goes without saying that I continue to find it a wonder.

There is an art museum enticing me that I plan on going to today. And then, since the weather is so fine, I think I may visit the tall Bhodisattva statue on the peninsula nearby.

Version 0.49 (A Zen Tale)

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03/30/19

Life seems so simple here. People are either throwing themselves into work (even if that means standing at attention while waiting for customers, like soldiers lined up waiting for the command to attack), or doing absolutely nothing; just sitting around on the omnipresent little stools, chewing the fat amicably (often with tea and sunflower seeds, or tobacco). This of course seems an obvious observation on the surface, for what do people the world over do? They work, then they relax. But as an American, the peculiarity I see is not so much in the doing, but in the when of that doing. Mostly Americans are all on the same, or very nearly so, schedule, meaning everyone is either working or not working at very specific times throughout the day. Here at times it seems as though half the population is doing nothing, and this in the middle of the day, while the other half is hard at work. Well, those are some thoughts and observations.

I suppose I could also say how much closer they seem to nature, and by this I mean the human animal in its natural state, simply eating, drinking, sleeping, socializing. I look at many of the Vietnamese as I walk around Hanoi, mostly the older generation, and I look at their dogs, and I watch their chickens strut about a garden or pick through a trash bag on the curb, and the similarity is utterly astonishing. I can’t get it out of my mind. Their behavior looks so natural, so completely free of pretense, of thoughts of needing to be elsewhere doing something. There is at times a sort of zen-like essence to it, like one old story that goes: There was once a disciple of one Zen Master having a chat with a disciple of another Zen Master. The first disciple was explaining to the second how his master could perform all sorts of miracles, such as, for example, performing calligraphy in the air with a brush as the characters appeared on a sheet of paper on the other side of a river hundreds of feet away. After recounting this and other supernatural feats he asked his friend what his master could do. The other disciple replied that his master could perform amazing feats as well. “As an example,” he said, “when my master is hungry, he eats, and when he grows tired, he sleeps.”

Version 0.48 (Mountain Slope Train Views)

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03/27/19

To Da Nang.

The train has begun winding along the coast, high above the ocean, beaches, and boulders that comingle in such a spectacularly dramatic fashion below. Between trunks of trees, homes, and shops I catch glimpses of a smooth, glistening blue expanse nestled in the arms of lush green hills reaching out into the ocean like cupped hands gathering up water to drink. Through the opposite window of the train are the green, cloudswept mountains of Bach Ma National Park, a place I may visit while in Da Nang (if the weather cooperates).

The train is moving along quite slowly here, creaking and groaning like an infirm, rheumatic old man, as if to provide us passengers with substantial time to enjoy these new surroundings and a song to listen to as well. Out in the bay small boats scoot, and empty fishing towers stand like men in waders looking for a good place to cast their lines or nets. Everywhere around this creaking, squealing monstrosity is thick, heavy vegetation—a jungle— broken up only by the occasional stream streaming and winding down the mountain to the sea, and small concrete tin-roofed structures, many of which are joyfully and colorfully painted.

In less than an hour we ought to be pulling into the train station in Da Nang, and I will disembark, likely into some very warm weather, and will be off to eat (I already have a place picked out), as it will be that time, and too early for me to check in to the hostel I have booked. And then…

And then?

Version 0.47 (Drawn Back in Time)

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03/24/19

Hanoi continues to surprise. The juxtaposition of old and new, aged and modern is more remarkable here than anywhere I’ve ever been. Perhaps that is because I’ve never traveled to a “developing country” before, or perhaps because I’ve never been to one with an economy growing at such terrific speed—~7% annually, which is absolutely stupendous. I’ve written before how everyday I see the beginnings of a new building; whether it’s the destruction of an old one, a hole in the ground for a new foundation, the skeleton of a new building and the sounds of the laborers ringing out from the depths of the hollow structure; or the renovation of an older one, concrete patios and balconies being chiseled away by jack hammers.

I’m sitting in Hanoi Sandwich House thinking about all this, and just now I am struck by a smell in the air that is drawing me back into the life of a past self: my high school years and those couple of years after graduating as I floundered about confused, with no direction, and without purpose (some things never change!). It is not just a particular time that I am brought back to, but a very specific place that I spent many hours of my life in during this period, also: Pedal Pushers Bike Shop. It is a smell I smelled so often as a teen, and a boy in my earliest 20’s from spending so much time in the repair station of that shop. It is a chemical smell, like a cleaner or a lubricant, and a not unpleasant one at that. And so I’m drifting back in time twenty years or so, and I see the tires—some old, some new, some hanging from hooks on walls, others littering the floor or propped up against a wall, and still more protruding from the open mouth of a trashcan. I see the brake and shifter cables and their housings, the assortment of tools used for repairs, cardboard bits strewn around the floor, empty boxes leaning against the walls, the repair stand in the middle of the floor—the hub that everything and everyone must move around—the faces of friends, their voices joking, laughing, shit-talking; music that I no longer listen to or enjoy on the stereo; cheese-steaks from Jeno’s atop their paper bags that they were picked up in on the work surfaces; old chains dangling from the lip of the trashcan; inner tubes hanging from the ceiling… All of this from one peculiar smell in this sandwich shop. A smell that is no longer. A smell that came and went like a dream, like the memory of a past life that seems so much like a dream, but which unlike a dream I remember so vividly.

Version 0.46 (Needing a Break, Leaving Soon)

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03-21-19

Oh Hanoi, Hanoi, Hanoi, you weary me with your noise, your pollution, your noise pollution… your stink, your humidity, your scooters and motorbikes and the smell of their exhausts and the sounds of their engines; your crumbling roads, your crumbling sidewalks, your lack of sidewalks, your sidewalks that are not sidewalks but are parking lots instead, your incessant horn honking, your puddles and mud on and alongside the roads, your polluted lake littered with trash and dead fish, and its murky, milk-coffee-grey color; your solicitations from untrustworthy taxi drivers.

You’re cool. You’re beautiful (on the whole). You’re great! I really like you, but I’m not doing anything here with you any longer. You no longer stimulate me in the way you once did, and my life here no longer feels purposeful. I need to leave. At least for a little while. I’d love to come back though. And don’t forget it! I love watching you grow, and the frenetic, insane energy contained within your walls, streets, and alleyways. I love your little shops, and eating stalls and cafes found through the doorways, the living rooms or dining rooms or hallways of families’ homes, up a back staircase to a second or third floor. I love how so much is hidden away, tricky to find, but still discoverable if you know where and how to look. Often times it seems walking down an alley or through a door must be like walking into the bedroom closet of a certain professor, parting some clothing and finding yourself in a strange new land. I love the smiles of your people when smiled to. I love all the varieties and tastes of your food, especially the fresh fruit I can find on many a street corner. But I fear so much of this I can find elsewhere, and right now I need an elsewhere because at least the discovery of a new place will stimulate and renew the sense of purpose in me (I hope). This stagnancy must not last.

Version 0.44 (Present and Future Ponderings of Doings and Possibilities)

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03-14-19

Long time, long time. I have arrived at Kafeville after walking for nearly two hours—twice as long as it should take, but there was an incident at a buddhist festival that required spending some time photographing. It always seems to take longer to walk from origin to destination than Google Maps estimates, anyway. However, I have arrived, and I am very happy with some of my photographs, so all is well. I also picked up my passport with a fresh stamp extending my visa for another month. So far the day has been quite productive.

Earlier in the morning Troy and I visited Bat Trang, a small village across the Red River and a short distance south, famous for its pottery and ceramics. We apparently timed our visit poorly because the town was asleep, one might even say comatose, with nary a soul out and about. When we arrived though, a couple bus loads of children had been dropped off but they vanished as quickly as they appeared. Beyond that there were only two western couples that we saw there. My guess is there is a schedule of sorts to follow if one wishes to catch a view of more than half open shops. Often, and the reason most people, by my understanding, visit Bat Trang is that one may watch these skilled ceramacists and potters create, and also have the opportunity for a small fee to make something themselves. This was not the case while we were there. It still turned out to be a pleasantish and interesting enough stroll. Vietnam is currently undergoing an enormous economic boom, and this is growth has not been relegated to only larger cities it seems, because Bat Trang has numerous construction projects underway that we saw while there.

A local Tay Ho cafe is hiring english speaking baristas and a cafe manager. It’s a place I frequent, and I’ve spoken with one of the two owners on several occasions, so I am of the mind that she posted it expressly so that I may see it and enquire (which I did at Troy’s insistence; he in fact is the person who alerted me to its presence). The next time I wandered in she began asking me probing questions about why I was in Vietnam, how long I might stay, if I liked it, and if I would consider moving here! Another reason why I think that even if the notice wasn’t specifically for me (because they’re obviously in need of the help) there was at least a hope that I would express interest. As I wrote, I’m interested but this requires some thought. I didn’t necessarily leave the U.S. to take up residence in another country, not that that thought is out of the question, but just now seems too soon, at least as a place of semi-permanent residence, but in the mid-term it could be a brilliant idea, for the desire to travel will surely not wane (this is one reason the decision is as difficult as it is, because normally I would jump at an opportunity like this). On the other hand, I’ve met a beautiful and adorable Vietnamese girl who lives in a town about an hour away. That we could continue to see each other is a good reason to stick around longer to see where that may lead. However, I DO want to get out of Hanoi for a bit—either to Da Nang or Hoi An—and with the cafe owner’s partner not going to be back in town for one or two weeks the timing for all of this is a bit, shall I say, not ideal. As well, our apartment lease is up on the 18th, so I will be needing to do something by then. Hopefully my suit will be ready to pick up.

Version 0.43 (Some Thoughts on Being a Foreigner)

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03/06/19

I’m a little shocked, for I haven’t journaled in two weeks. Truthfully I haven’t had much to write about.
No.
Scratch that.
There’s been much to write about, but my camera has been doing the journaling this time. Right now I just want to sit quietly and think back on whatever I think back on. Down whatever merry lane my mind might carry me.

I’m at Ella Cafe in Tay Ho having a coffee as I usually do around this time, six in the evening. An hour ago I had my first ever massage by a professional massage therapist: Swedish, 90 minutes, $30 (or 680,000 dong). It was a nice treat to myself, though I have a hard time imagining it being worth the quadrupling in price it would cost in the States. Perhaps that means it wasn’t particularly good? Oh well. It’s impossible for me to say as I have no prior experiences to compare it to.

I have successfully applied for and paid for my visa extension. I assume it will be filled. In less than two weeks I’ll be in Da Nang. This is something to be excited about. I haven’t been out of Hanoi since arriving, and though I planned to rent a bike and drive down to Ninh Binh for two days, I realized the visa extension was more pressing (passport used as collateral for the bike). I really love this country, though, but I can’t place what it is that speaks to me so plainly and loudly and happily. Sometimes I wonder if it’s the fact that as an American with American money, everything is so inexpensive here. Now, it’s not just that, but I can’t in all truthfulness claim that that doesn’t have something to do with it. There is also the explosive growth I’m seeing in Hanoi. Everyday it seems a new business is opening or a new building being erected, or ground being broken somewhere. It looks to me like there’s a freedom to do almost anything you like, with little red tape and restrictions getting in the way. Little money required as well. One of my favorite sandwich shops is little more than a closet next to a convenience store. I imagine most of their business is to-go for they only have two, small, round tables out front.

But I think too, about the fact that I’m a foreigner with a fair bit of money relative to most Vietnamese (I guess) and think about this position of privilege that I am in because of this, and I can easily see how my judgment is skewed as a result. But how might I judge any differently? For I am who I am, and I come from where I come. Certainly some things that I see as inexpensive, many Vietnamese citizens will disagree, and for them i have very real empathy, because I come from that place in the U.S. Yet I don’t think they are unhappy because of this. I think the Vietnamese are some of the happiest and friendliest people I’ve come across, and the most communal and social, and I believe this is the driver behind their general happiness. Having more or less here doesn’t seem to matter so much because they are all part of various very tightly knit communities of family and friends.

These are all just observations made by a white male tourist from America over a two week period.

“Poem”
Lights flashing, streaming by in the dark
Others making shimmering daggers across the lake
The honking of horns like notes on a musical staff that is that same line of cars and motorbikes
Fruit hawkers on the sidewalks with their wares resting in woven baskets: sliced pineapple in plastic bags, enormous crescent shaped bunches of bananas, passion fruits, dragon fruits, lychees and still others unrecognizable to me.
Blue and red plastic stools everywhere, speckling the sidewalks, some their seats split, cracked, and taped together, and others brand new.

Screaming, shouting children pouring out of the gates after school like ants from an anthill.
Throngs of parents on scooters packing the streets, backing up traffic all around,
or nearly nonexistent the children left to their own devices to wander off and get a snack or play games.
Two old men, a tea pot, tea cups, a board game on the sidewalk, and several other onlookers exhorting, advising the players on strategies and next moves like the groups one might see in the United States surrounding a barbeque pit, or arched around the engine bay of a car, the hood up, attempting to diagnose a problem and prescribe a fix.
The mist over the lake and the cloud in the sky merged in the distance, becoming one.
Corn grilling, corn kernels battered and frying, bananas battered and frying.
A barber asleep at his spot on the street, the back of his head reflected in the mirror hanging on a wall.

Version 0.41 (Meetings and Language)

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02/23/19

A quiet Saturday for me so far. Sleeping in. Cafe. Hanoi Sandwich Shop. Coffee. Croissant. Dreary, nasty weather. Scooters, cars, pedestrians all over, like swarming ants. Really would love to be at Kafeville right now but wasn’t in the mood for a long walk or a Grab ride.

I went out yesterday evening with a beautiful Vietnamese girl I matched with on Tinder. We communicated well messaging over Instagram but she admitted to using Google Translate. Not a big deal of course—I don’t care. I mean, I can’t speak a lick of Vietnamese, so I am certainly in no position to judge. Besides, as I get older I drift further and further from passing judgment. I mean serious judgment. It’s certainly okay to have opinions and preferences as long as one doesn’t wrap himself up in them, like wrapping oneself in a heavy coat to ward off the chill of a cold wind—something unpleasant, unwanted. However, it made for disjointed conversation, and I found it necessary to pull out my phone and translate from time to time. She found no need, or perhaps just did not desire to do this, which to me seems a bit strange because it would have improved and smoothed conversation. I’m unsure how she feels about our few hours together. How does one spend an enjoyable evening with another person who he has only just met, and extract something meaningful from it when those two people are unable to communicate on a deep level (or even a very rudimentary level)? This inability to communicate leads to many long silences, so that an observer might take us for a pair of mutes or people having taken an oath of silence. It’s true of course that we share a common ancestry, that we are both humans born out of this Earth, out of this cosmos, but one can’t help but wonder, having only just met, “what is he/she thinking?” during these long pauses in talk.

She picked me up on her scooter near to my apartment and we drove to Thanh Nien Bridge for coconut sorbets, and began walking a bit around the lake. Then we went to dinner somewhere. Where that was I had no idea until I looked at a map and saw how close we were to where we parked, but with the rabbit warren of streets that is Hanoi, after taking several turns down streets fairly unpronounceable I felt as though I was lost in a maze. After dinner we had another meander through the mist, and then spent the next thirty minutes driving around looking for a cozy bar or cafe, to no avail. By then it was growing quite late, and she dropped me off at my apartment.

All in all the night was an enjoyable and interesting, if somewhat awkward and uncomfortable, experience (experiment). I was uncertain about what the point of it was, and still sort of am considering we met through Tinder, which may imply something, or nothing at all. In this case it was nothing, but I’m curious about why bother going out? For my part, I was curious about where the night would lead, how well we might communicate, and where she would recommend we eat. I suppose there was a similar reason for her. When I enquired as to why she matched with me she said it was a hard question, and not easy to answer.

Verison 0.40 (Chaos and Speculation)

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02/22/19

Hanoi, Vietnam.

The chaos.

Finding oases in this city is crucial, and if you’re just arriving may seem like an impossible task. However there are more than one may think, from small cafes down mysterious alleys and quiet lanes, to those mysterious alleys and quiet lanes themselves. Sometimes a more obvious place, like a public park. Even a gym may be considered as one. And hopefully one’s own home. Wandering around Old Quarter on foot (wandering around anywhere in Hanoi on foot, with the exception of certain lanes and streets, I’ve found) is an exercise in awareness and maintaining an inner tranquility. Not a problem for me, but I imagine for some people this could be a struggle, thus, this stressor that for some is minor or negligible for others may be like cymbals crashing in their ears, and after only minutes of this they’ll want to run back to their apartments to cower under the bed sheets. It doesn’t help that even when shopping employees are apt to hover by one’s side like a pest, or at the very least stand at a sort of military-like attention. This I find more exasperating and bothersome than the simple act of weaving through traffic letting the horns wash over me like so much spray from a waterfall.

My laptop is still dangling from the chains of Limbo. Three days and still not repaired. Maybe not ever. I wonder if they can at least extract the contents from it so that if/when I do purchase a new one I will have not lost anything. I am now uncertain about my time here. The purpose that I established for myself was one of using my laptop as a means of potentially making some money trading crypto and forex, but more importantly (maybe) as the only way of soliciting an agent or a publisher for my stories. Cultural immersion is of course the other reason for being here, but I don’t know that I would have opted to rent an apartment for a month otherwise. Who knows what I’d be doing. The thought of something else never even crossed my mind. So, all this leaves the question of what do I do to occupy myself now? (assuming the worst). There is an art supplies store about four miles south of here that I will probably pay a visit. I’ve been wanting to paint for some time. Maybe this is an opportunity to begin. I may also look into clay throwing as pottery is something else I am curious about. And there are a good deal of pottery works here. There is much for me to think about in this regard.