Only Me

Eight days and more than 400 miles biking through Vietnam. No flat tire.
Ten minutes and two miles to the Saigon market where I want to sell my bike. Flat tire.

This type of thing would only happen to me. I had a few precious hours to sell my bike in Saigon before getting on a plane to Cambodia. On the way to an open-air market, I got a flat tire. Can you imagine trying to sell a two-wheeler with only one good tire???? I had no time or supplies to fix my bike, so I found somebody with a pump and inflated the tire for just long enough to unload it for $60. I felt a little bad as I high-tailed it out of the market on the back of a motorcycle-taxi; but then again the guy got a slightly used $100 bike for $60. I am just overjoyed to be getting out of this godforsaken country.

Lance Armstrong I am not

Today is the last day of biking in Vietnam. The three of us board a bus today-- Turek and Jemale bound for the southern coast and I for Saigon.

Vietnam turned out to be an overwhelming experience--both good and bad. Our bikes took us to rural Vietnam, where many of those born after the Vietnam War had almost certainly never met a foreigner. We were treated as celebrities. People dropped their farm tools to stare at us, brought their kids over when we stopped to eat (rice), touched us, invited us to spend nights in their home, freely fed us (rice), chased after us on bicycles, and shouted a million hellos to us. In eight days, we neither met a single English-speaker nor saw another foreigner. In that sense, the three of us felt like we saw the real Vietnam.

On the other hand, we had quite a few negative encounters. People tried rip us off in literally every single transaction, Turek and Jemale had things stolen from them, one Vietnamese held my backpack hostage on an isolated beach and threatened to kill us if we didn't pay him ransom (we gave him a tarp in the end), I got bitten by a masseuse, we ate the same meal all day every day, the weather was blazing hot (105), and I have lost all feeling in my ring and pinky fingers on both hands.

Finally, I found it emotionally difficult at times to be an American in Vietnam. We killed more than a million North Vietnamese (we met one person whose older brother was killed by an American bomb in the war), deforested large parts of the country, left behind thousands of tons of unexploded ordinance, and set the country back decades. Evidence of the war is still fresh: we spent three days riding on the now-paved Ho Chi Minh Trail; we explored the Vin Moc tunnels used by North Vietnamese soldiers; we biked through the demilitarized zone (DMZ) and crossed the Ben Hai River; and we saw dozens of war memorials/cemeteries that lined our route in central Vietnam. It is hard to be here and not think about our involvement in Iraq.

So I am hanging up the riding shorts and getting on a bus with my bike. I hope to resell the two-wheeler before Tuesday, when I fly onto Cambodia. Ciao for now.

Cycling Pictures

I have quite a few stories from cycling, but not enough time to draft a blog entry. In the meantime, the attached pictures should whet your appetite. Ẹnjoy.

Vietnam Bike Trip

Happy 60th Mom!

Congratulations on turning 60. I miss and love you. I have much more to say when I talk to you in a few minutes, but I thank you for giving so much of yourself to Aaron and I. Happy 60th.

What a $100 bike looks like

This is the kind of bike $100 will buy you in Vietnam (see picture on left). My pedal fell off on the first day of riding. Fortunately, we found a metal working shop in one of Vietnam's small towns. A few minutes later I was back in business.

Not a Happy Ending Massage

Does this stuff only happen to me??

On the second or third day of the bike trip, Jemale, Turek, and I decided to get massages because we were fairly sore. We found a reputable-looking place and were led into separate massage rooms. My masseuse was an attractive 20-something Vietnamese woman. As soon as she came in, she locked the door and stripped down to her underwear. I wish I had a camera at that point--not to take pictures of her but to capture the look of sheer terror I had on my face. I was honestly petrified. Speaking no Vietnamese, I waved and shook my head (perhaps frantically) indicating I didn't want the kind of massage she might be offering. She must have understood my gestures because the massage stayed G-rated. The other somewhat disturbing part of the encounter came towards the end of the massage when she placed a towel over my forehead and then bit, with all her jaw power, on the fold of skin between my eyebrows. It was all I could do to keep myself from jumping off the table and shouting at the still half-naked masseuse; I was in extreme pain. Let's just say it was not the world's most relaxing spa experience...

Anti-chRICEt

I will be happy if I never ever see a grain of rice again. I have spent 10 days in Vietnam and this morning was the first time that I had a meal that didn't have rice as a headliner. That means the last 35-40 meals I have eaten have been white, soft, and sticky. Rice, rice with tofu, rice porridge, rice whiskey, rice noodles, rice cakes, and on and on and on... Vietnam itself is one giant rice paddie with a few mountains. All the places we have eaten while cycling have two things on the menu: "com", rice with a few pieces of spinach or pig parts thrown in, or "pho", rice noodles in broth. I am dying for a pizza.