Oodles of Noodles

Usually it's the idiosyncrasies of a country that I simply love discovering. Other times it's those quirks that drive me crazy. Vietnam is a land of quirks to be sure!

When sorting how to get from Doc Let to Hoi An - at nine hours, a rather long journey - I naturally gravitated toward an overnight transportation option. With four overnight trains to choose from I figured I was set. But wait, the overnight trains only have hard sleeper berths and the one daytime train has soft sleeper berths?! This was similar to my sleeper bus experience which was the only option between Saigon and Dalat; regardless of the time of day or night you were required to recline!

Forced to Relax - Vietnam Sleeper Bus

Hoi An is an over-the-top sort of tourist destination to be sure but I loved it! Mostly because I could explore the surrounding countryside with a morning run or a leisurely bike ride. The only organized tour I got sucked into was a cooking tour, and that was just because I wanted to learn the proper way to make a fresh spring roll.

No Gluten Here!

The tour started with a meander through the market and an explanation of the various kinds of rice noodles. Personally I love market shopping - it's one of the things I miss most about living in Ecuador - but I'm pretty darn sure if markets were to replace the American supermarket most of the population would eat a lot less meat. There's just something about witnessing the butchering process that makes it so much more personal.

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Following the market, we boarded a junk for a meander down the river where we came across some fishermen tossing out a net. Although purely for our benefit, it was fun to cheer them on as each toss became a little more dramatic.

When the mangroves started to narrow we swapped the big boat for these crazy round boats. I'd seen the larger fishing boats using them to haul supplies out to their boat and was curious as to the purpose of the round shape. Turns out you simply cannot flip the thing! Plus they're woven from bamboo and coated with dung from a water buffalo making them about as eco-friendly as it gets.

Sun, Sand and Russians

Doc Let Beach

Walking onto the sand, I was sure I was in Hawaii. Then I noticed the men were wearing Speedos, the gals wearing thong bikinis were solidly in their 50s, and absolutely everyone was sporting the tourist tell - lobster red skin. Okay, so I'm not in Hawaii - but the water is warm, the sand is white and the seafood is still alive when you order it up!

Apparently neighboring big city Nha Trang is the winter holiday of choice for Russians and a few of them manage to trickle on out to Doc Let.  Every menu is available in Russian and all the shop keepers speak the language. I'm pretty sure I was the only non-Russian tourist in the place!

For three days I did nothing but sit on the beach with a good book and a cold beer. Interrupted occasionally with dips on the super-salty (equals super buoyancy) water and walks along the tide line in search of treasures. Somehow I managed to collect a few the beachcomber extraordinaire Ms. Sheryl Collmer has never found!

Stormy My Last Day

Bringing in the Catch

Mekong Delta, Vietnam

After several days of the crazy traffic in Hanoi, I was super excited to be venturing out into the Mekong Delta. While it was a fun experience, if I had a do-over I would skip Can Tho and head directly for a homestay somewhere off the beaten track. 

Riverside Gardening

The touristy thing to do in Can Tho is take a boat tour to check out the floating market at Cai Rang. I opted for the full monty and spent six hours cruising around with a rather funny chap who spoke absolutely zero English and would utter "whoa, he he he" anytime things got a little crazy. Like the wake of a tanker rocking the boat or a little boy taking a time-out from relieving himself into the river to wave and shout hello as we passed. Yep - it was that kind of adventure!

I'm pretty sure the floating market only exists for the tourists as I didn't witness any transference of goods between locals. Since there wasn't a fruit or vegetable on offer that I hadn't previously tasted, I was mostly there to get a glimpse of life on the delta. 

Spreading Rice Goo
on a Hot Griddle

After bumping our way through the boats gathered at the market, we took a meander up one of the tributaries to explore a rice noodle factory. 

I'm always a fan of seeing a process in action so this was right up my alley. From the huge vats of soaking rice down to the hand-crank noodle machine, it was interesting to watch this little factory turn out their product.

Though I am guessing (hoping?) the noodles we buy packaged at Safeway take a different route. I'm just not so sure about the cleanliness level of this whole operation given at one point my guide grabbed my hand and pressed it into a just-cooled disk to show me how sticky they are! 

Off the Griddle onto the Drying Rack

Band of Brothers

Two weeks traveling with forty-five Theravada monks wasn’t at all what I expected it to be. My first exposure to the rules and regulations of Theravada was during a trip to Thailand, where it was drilled into my head not to touch them or even hand them anything. As a woman, in order to give something to a monk you set it down on a surface and they pick it up.

So you can only imagine my trepidation of traveling in a bus full of them! 

Turns out I needn’t have worried. Within days I was like an adopted sister and they wasted no time in messing with me. Especially the Burmese monks; every time I was attempting to get them on a bus, on a plane, into the temple, they would smirk and either not move or move in the opposite direction. 

I also had my preconceived notion that monks just hang out doing monk things all day completely squashed. While some monks do dedicate all of their time to studying the dhamma, more often they have other interests or causes they are engaged in. 

One Burmese monk is a social activist through the poems he writes! His poetry has been so controversial that it had never been published. But with the election of a new government this past November, one of his poems about the farming class and poverty in Burma is being published this spring.

Another monk dedicates his time to ensuring the children in his local community receive an education. He has set up schools in three different locations which teach over 350 kids! He has also found a donor to give free eye exams and surgeries once a year in his remote village.

Forms of exercise purely for the sake of exercise are strictly forbidden - which is crazy given the rate of diabetes among monks - and is actually punishable by the government in Burma. Working around the monastery - no problem; go for a jog, lift weights, play volleyball or football - problem. Thankfully common sense reigns and most of the monks under 40 that I spoke to are avid footballers (soccer, that is) and a few have a weakness for volleyball. Come to think of it, I forgot to ask what they wear when they partake in sport. Can't imagine playing volley in robes!

U Zawana teaching me the Abhidhamma

The best part about all this monk time was the ability to ask burning questions about the dhamma. U Zawana became a personal favorite after one of his dhamma talks where he assured the crowd that the Buddha's teachings are really very simple. Do good things. Don't do bad things. 

Of course doing bad things also refers to thoughts, not just actions. I was sharing with U Zawana that, generally speaking, refraining from harmful actions isn't a problem, but stemming the flow of negative thoughts is a real challenge. "Oh Shantel, you clearly have a mental condition that is beyond the scope of Buddhism. I suggest you seek professional help in the form of a psychiatrist," he quipped completely deadpan as he patted my head. Love you too, U Zawana! 

Oy Vey, My Head

Today was one of those life-in-a-developing-country-recovering-from-disasters-head-exploding sort of days. The kind of day where I spent hours winnowing the wheat from the chaff and am still unsure which pile to keep.

It all started off well enough. I had a great conversation with the director of Shechen clinic about the challenges of managing donor expectations and beneficiary realities. He had story after story of well-meaning donors wanting to give - but with strings. Wanting to give what they felt was needed without taking the time to learn what was really best for the beneficiary of their supposed generosity. Wanting to “turn Kathmandu into New York” without any consideration for what Kathmandu would like. 

My second meeting left me feeling like an enabler. I had read before jumping on a plane that the Nepalese government had yet to distribute one lousy rupee of the USD $4.4 billion in aid they have received from various aid organizations, governments, et al. Chatting over tea with a Bangladeshi-born Princeton graduate and Nepali resident I learned that I am potentially just a cog in the wheel of the larger problem. (Well, not me exactly - but NGOs as it were.) You see, the more NGOs step in and raise money and fix Nepal, the less likely it becomes that $4.4 billion will ever be used for rebuilding. The various political parties can go on for ages not agreeing on a reconstruction plan and that aid money will go the way of Ecuador’s fund to prevent oil drilling in the Amazon. Slight of hand, wave of wand and money is gone. 

The day rounded out with a discussion about a post-earthquake camp of residents from a certain mountain village. A camp I visited my first day in Nepal. Turns out the “representative” from the village who filled me in on events has a house in Kathmandu and has never actually lived in the village. He claims the villagers are unable to return home and they need to make a life in KTM for at least a year. Yet the new information I received today is that rebuilding of the village has begun and the people from this camp want to go home now.  Given that my source for this information is the head of a large, reputable organization that supports communities in creating cooperatives to become self-sufficient, I’m sort of inclined to believe the original story was the chaff. 

By four o’clock I was having flashbacks to a night in college where I was literally banging my head on a frozen Minnesota sidewalk alongside my roommate’s boyfriend as we chanted, “What am I doing here?” (Note: that night involved the consumption of what was clearly more than the recommended dosage of Two Fingers - the beverage, not the band.) I was sent to Nepal to get the story on projects that had already been agreed to. Projects I thought had been vetted. Now I’m seriously questioning, what am I doing here? 

Monk on a Bike

If ever you find yourself being picked up at the Kathmandu airport by a monk on a motorcycle, I strongly encourage you to just roll with it. Especially if the monk in question has a seriously mischievous twinkle in his eye. You just know it's going to be a crazy ride!

Two months of a border blockade with India has made petroleum products of any form pretty damn tough to find. I recently counted 75 buses, trucks and cars lined up at just one gas station - waiting up to two days for just a small bit of fuel. Thus the reason for my motorcycle tour of the Kathmandu Valley; hiring a car just wasn't a feasible option.

The first day we bumped along a potholed rode to Pharping. Aachung wanted to show me Asura Cave and the shrine containing a self-arisen Tara. I consider myself a pretty open-minded gal, but I'm afraid my belief in the supernatural just doesn't extend to images magically appearing in stone. It simply exceeds the boundaries of my woowoo-ness - although I fully respect those who have the faith.

Day two was when the real adventure began. Four kilometers through the forest on a road that can only be meant for walking. Midway up a particularly steep and rocky section, Aachung's twinkling eyes were super sparkly as he asked, "Are you scared yet?"

The few days I spent with Aachung reminded me what I love about travel. Finding myself wondering how the heck did I get here and why can't I just take a normal vacation? 

When Things Fall Apart

Pema Chödrön

“Rather than letting our negativity get the better of us, we could acknowledge that right now we feel like a piece of shit and not be squeamish about taking a good look.” 
― Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times

It's been years since I've read Pema's book. I think I originally picked it up when I was going through a painful divorce. Not that there's any other kind, really. Given that this is the messiest my life has been since that other life-changing event, it is apropos I am once again drawn to her matter-of-fact-get-over-yourself words.

A few months ago, I was climbing the stairs to the bell tower of the Basilica in Quito chatting with a guy from Dallas, TX. I was amped up because I had just accepted the perfect job (retreat manager) in my favorite country (New Zealand). Mr. Dallas was curious when I said I'd been living in Ecuador since January teaching English. When the conversation shifted to my new venture he was down right envious. New Zealand seems to be the Holy Grail of countries for so many people, even those who've never been.

Assured by the person who hired me that they had successfully navigated the immigration process many times, I submitted my visa application and returned to California to wait out the process. Then everything came crashing down.

After months of answering questions, waiting, following up, submitting more documentation, more waiting, and working with my immigration case worker in Washington D.C., last Friday I received an overnight package with the verdict. I was so confident I'd been approved I had to read the letter four times before it sunk in. VISA DENIED.

“Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all. When there's a big disappointment, we don't know if that's the end of the story. It may just be the beginning of a great adventure. Life is like that. We don't know anything. We call something bad; we call it good. But really we just don't know.” ― Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times 

For the past eight days I've been learning to embrace the not knowing. Accepting this life is all a great mystery, that there is something even better just waiting to be discovered.

At first it was difficult and all I wanted to do was blame. Blame the person who hired me for not doing her part to meet the immigration requirements. Hell, blame her for not knowing what the new requirements even were! Blame my caseworker for not interpreting my documentation the way I thought she would, or should.

Could have. Would have. Should have. Dialog designed to keep me stuck in the past and mired in suffering.

With each passing day it is becoming easier to see the light. Easier to awaken my curiosity and begin asking what's next. I've also become rather adept at taking a good look at my negative emotions. Observing them, comforting them, and then watching them shift and fall away. Thankfully I have Pema keeping me on task!

“We can step into uncharted territory and relax with the groundlessness of our situation; [we can] dissolve the dualistic tension between us and them, this and that, good and bad, by inviting in what we usually avoid. My teacher described this as "leaning into the sharp points.” 
― Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times