“Buy from me! No! Not the same as one you already have. Same-same but different!”

Sapa is a small town so high in the mountains that the streets are perpetually covered in a sheen of mist and cloud. The entire region, when you can see through the clouds, is simply stunning. Miles of soaring mountains surround small villages where local hill people tend to the scaffolded rice terraces that were created by their ancestors over 2,000 years ago. It’s magical.

Beautiful Sapa!

Rice terraces in Sapa

Sapa is also a huge tourist magnet and the local people have learned exactly how to rid you of your American dollar.

From the minute you step into town, local H’Mong and Red Zdao women try their best to coerce you to buy their handicrafts. They follow you down the street, escorting you to a restaurant as they pitch their story, “I get married at 15! I have three babies!” The ladies compete with each other, shoving earrings and bracelets towards you shouting, “Buy from meeeeee!” They run after tour buses and stand in doorways, waiting for unsuspecting visitors to exit before attacking them with embroidered pillowcases and purses. These gorgeous women are rapacious!

While many people take a tour bus to the villages, we headed off to explore the countryside on our own. Suddenly it wasn’t just the two of us – we had attracted the attention of three local woman and they began quietly following in our footsteps. The silence was broken when women began to talk, asking the same questions over and over and over.

“Where you from!? How old are you! You no look so old! How many babies you have!”

It was clear that the H’Mong women were going to stick with us for the entire day, hoping to sell some handicrafts at the end. Our own private sherpas…

Our Sherpas!

The women led us down the mountain, easily maneuvering the wet landscape in flimsy jelly shoes while carrying huge bamboo baskets of handicrafts. It was only slightly embarrassing to see local people nimbly run past us as we slipped and fell through into huge puddles of standing water. It became obvious that I was not in peak physical condition when tiny woman with a child on her back pushed me up a steep, rocky hill.

Don't Fall!

After several hours of hiking we reached the village where we introduced to relatives, visited wood homes and negotiated a fair price for the handmade goods that we were destined to purchase.

Our H'Mong guides

The same thing happened every day as we explored the surrounding villages. Each time we would set off on our own, and suddenly a flock of women would surround us, asking us the same questions, showing off the same handmade goods, inviting us into their homes. The local people may come from different tribes, but they all have the same sales method!

Grandma and her grandchildren

Warming up by the fire in Ta Phin Village

We came to Sapa hoping to visit the hill people and instead found ourselves on private tours – personally escorted by from village to village by entrepreneurial women whose beauty rivaled that of the Sapa hillside . We visited the homes of local people, met their children and petted their pigs. How could we not spend a little money in exchange for such an experience?

Hopefully my loved ones won’t mind the matching blue purses and exact same “hand embroidered” pillowcases that I plan to offload on them.

Red Zdao woman in the Ta Phin Village

We’ve been traveling for over six months.  At this point we have slept in over 75 beds in 57 different cities and have taken 11 planes, 12 trains and 35 buses. We can now emphatically state that public transportation is gross.

Being cooped up with several hundred people for hours at a time is never a pleasant experience, but it’s particularly unpleasant when your social norms are at odds with those around you. Our most recent train ride proved too much to handle.  Now it is time for a rant.

Vinnie and our 24th bus ride (through Brunei)

Social Norm #1: Keep the stink to yourself

The 8+ hour train ride began with a stench worse than death. Our impeccably dressed seatmate had placed a 15 pound bag of human excrement above our heads – except instead of human stank, the bag was filled with a massive fruit called Durian that is disallowed in every hotel because of it’s long lasting, highly offensive odor.  The smell penetrates your every pore, leaving behind a stench fouler than rotten eggs and vomit even after it’s gone.

Every jolt of the train brought a fresh waif of creamy, nutty, baby shit in a bag. Puking in the bathroom wasn’t an option, given the predictable state of the train toilet.

No Durians. No live Chickens.

Social Norm #2: Headphones

And during that same odorous train ride a few old men decided to whip out their ancient cellphones to play each and every single ringtone at full volume. Adding to the cell phone cacophony, several teenagers decided to pump out Asia’s top ten from their shiny new Android phones. There is nothing worse than a 24 megahertz rendition of the Black Eyed Pea’s ‘Tonight’s gonna be a good night’ – now the most overplayed song in America AND Asia.

Cell phone nonsense

Social Norm #3: Throw your trash away

For some reason people in many places of Asia think it’s perfectly acceptable to chuck their trash right on the ground.  Not just out the window or onto the street or in the river but directly on the floor beneath their feet. The term “don’t shit where you sleep” doesn’t seem to resonate with people at all. Instead it’s perfectly normal to both throw shit and sleep in the same place – that place being a fucking train filled with a hundred other people.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to wake up to a train full of cigarette butts and banana leaves (but I was).

Floor of our train

Sleeping after throwing remains of meal on the ground

This doesn’t even come close to being our worst experience with public transportation, just the most recent. And none of this is really that bad on it’s own, but given a perfect storm of sensory overload, I lose my shit.

Asia can be one stinky, loud, dirty place, but somehow her charms get you in the end. As we got off the bus and wound up at our final destination, this was the view waiting for us –
totally worth an eight hour train from hell.

Foggy, Hazy, Gorgeous Sapa Vietnam

H'Mong people near the Lao Chai Village

Sriacha in Vietnam

In Vietnam every meal is accompanied with Chili sauce but it is certainly not the Chili sauce that so many of us have come to love. Though if you search hard enough, you can spot some Sriracha imitators!

Vinnie with his Pho and Chili Sauce

The chili sauce in Vietnam is mild with less garlic and heat. You can heap tablespoon upon tablespoon into your soup without burning off your remaining taste buds. That’s because each steaming dish of Pho comes with the real thing – super spicy chilis that make your eyes tear and your nose run.

I’m in heaven!

Pho and all it's delicious, spicy accompaniments

It’s absolutely sacrilegious to even consider mentioning mouth-wateringly delicious Pho without pairing it with that other Vietnamese liquid treat, Bia Hoi. Fresh Beer! Bia Hoi has no preservatives, no additives and no alcohol.  Or at least very little alcohol. And even less taste. We found this out the hard way – five hours of serious drinking rendered us completely sober.

Pouring out Bia Hoi

But we refused to give up! Hanoi is the tops for Bia Hoi and Vinnie tried his best to drink his way to sobriety. We sat at tiny children’s tables and drank fresh beer poured out by a middle aged momma with bare feet. I opted for the more delicious Bia Hanoi.

The night ended well.

Bia Hoi vs. Bia Hanoi

Urban Hikers in Urban Traffic

Traveling as a couple has it’s advantages – you tend to have less harassment from touts, there is always someone to share in the inevitable travel frustrations and it’s cheaper to stay in your own room rather than a disgusting communal dorm. But there is one serious hardship – you are NEVER ALONE.

Vin and I had spent 170 nearly-consequatiive days together – that’s over 4,080 hours of constant companionship. That broke our previous record by 3,192 hours. And frankly that’s too, too, too much time spent with anyone. Even your husband.

Possibly insane at the time of this photo

Another 24 hours together would have put us into the dangerous ‘teetering on the edge of sanity and divorce’ territory. And with no prenup, neither of us wanted to risk our fragile financial future on divorce lawyers.

So we agreed to split up for a few days.

But as soon as we booked the flights, fear started to creep in. I realized that I was essentially headed to a country that I have never been to, where I knew no one and didn’t have a place to stay. I was totally unplugged – I didn’t have a phone, I didn’t have a computer, I didn’t even have a jacket with geolocation so the authorities could find my body in case I died. As the day of my flight approached I began to really regret my rash decision to jet off to Vietnam. Suddenly being on my own didn’t sound so fun.

But it was!

A tour through the Mekong Delta is not complete without this picture

I met fabulous locals who took me out for great food and partied until the wee hours of the Saigon morning. I went to museums and discovered the history of the Vietnam war. I drank a $1 Beer Saigon, indulged in delicious strong coffee and ate at least a dozen Bahn Mi.

Some bún chả giò - I'll take more please!

Real Bread! Real Coffee! Vietnam is my Asian Heaven!

I'm more of a 'Make love, not war' kind of person

This is my "I'm totally claustrophobic" face in the CuChi tunnels

I even rented a scooter and took a do-it-yourself tour of the Mekong Delta.  And that’s when I came to love Vietnam and I have to say, Vietnam loved me right back.

My Scooter

Mekong Delta

As a single white woman scooting down the delta by herself, you cut an interesting figure and everyone wants to know what the hell you’re up to.

I sat alone at cafes in tiny off-the-beaten-path cities, and old people would sidle up to ask where I was from, why am I here and would I please meet their friends just down the street? The street food ladies would serve my meal, proudly presenting each dish and encouraging me to try new food. Even people at the hotels wanted to baby me, making sure my purse was carried properly and warning me about thieves.

The open road

As I scooted into CanTho, a fairly large city, I must have looked incredibly lost. Yet in all that crazy traffic a man motored up to me and asked, “Where are you going! To a cheap hotel? Follow me!” and he directed me to exactly the correct location, parting with the warning to “Protect yourself. Protect your money and protect your moto. Call me if you need help!”

Lost in CanTho

As I headed off on my own I felt vulnerable and more than a little scared. But instead of being killed and left for dead, person after person welcomed me to their small town and told me that they could help if I needed it. It felt like the world was looking out for me.

And I can happily say that after 264 hours apart, Vinnie and I regained our sanity and remember why we’re so happy to be traveling together.

Together again

As a college freshman there are few things more important, or more fragile, than the reputation that you create for yourself during those first few weeks at school. At Kent State the freshman are banned to the lowliest housing – the dorms furtherest away from any of the classrooms AND all of the bars.

The walk to class wasn’t so bad in the summer but when the lake effect hits and snow begins to fall, the ‘Small World’ dorms are a nightmare. That’s when the public bus becomes very, VERY important.

But more even more important is who is going to be at the bus stop!!

Babies on Board

My girlfriends and I would concoct special outfits and spy out the window waiting for a cute boy to head to the bus stop. We would book it out of the dorm and run to the bus stop, trying to casually stand beside him or get a seat next to him on the bus. We planned our day around what could, would, and did happen at the bus stop. We were little bus stop hussies.

I had a stellar bus stop reputation until the day I was hit by a car in front of everyone I was trying so hard to impress. More accurately, I hit the car, the car did not hit me.

The entire freshman dorm watched as I impatiently crossed the street, miscalculating how fast a moving car was going and instead of walking through traffic, I walked into it. In front of everyone, I walked into a moving fucking vehicle.

Moto-mania!

Luckily all I got was a hugely bruised knee and a reputation as the girl who was hit by a car in front of everyone. Not exactly what I was going for.

Now I can finally say that this little lesson on depth perception has come in quite handy: Saigon traffic is insane and never stops. The city has six million people and ONE HUNDRED MILLION motorbikes. Instead of waiting for the endless succession of scooter to cease, you have to simply walk through them.

This particular scooter was easy to avoid

I just want to tell the world, and especially Mark Lions who I had a huge freshman year crush on for 5 months and who saw me get hit by a car, that I am seriously capable of crossing the street these days. Check it:

And not only can I walk through traffic, but I can ride through it as well!  Take that freshman year bus stop people!

Xe om through Saigon!