Rimba Resort ~ A Remote Island in Malaysia

On one early Friday morning, Tim and I crawled into the back of a van bound for a small harbor in the southern part of Malaysia. We were headed to the island of Sibu and a small resort called Rimba. This was where I first met Shazz and Kea – a mother and daughter pair filled with life- and was reacquainted with Tim’s Australian mate Kristy who is a delightful woman. We headed off towards the boat that would take us to a deserted island in the South China Sea. I was elated.

The drive was fairly uneventful although I was pleased to watch the expansive palm fields breeze by while exchanging stories with my new friends. It was when we boarded the little boat and began our journey across the sea that I felt the true nature of what I was about to experience. The sea stretched out in brilliant glimmering blue and ended at the towering shadows of majestic mountains on the horizon. The men who drove the boat smiled sheepishly when water sprayed my face and Tim closed his eyes against the wind. I was exhilarated by the smell of the sea and the familiar feel of the boat as it rocked and bounced and seemed to hover just above the water. When we pulled into the bay I was able to peer deep into the emerald water and see the rocks and corals beneath the surface. The distant shore bore grass hut shelters – humble little abodes that I have come to call palapas from my travles in Latin America but Tim insisted that I refer to as chalets in the company of those on the island. As we ventured onto the sand and inward on the island I saw that a restaurant under renovation because of fire, a small dive/snorkel shop, a bar that doubled as a gathering place, a few hammocks, an small but amiable staff and a number of chalets were all that inhabited the island. I felt like I was in the Blue Lagoon.

The island offered endless hours of quiet. I found plenty of wonderful ways to pass the time: I took a run through the jungle to the far side of the island where despite mosquito bites and a stubbed toe I was rewarded with the view of an expansive white beach and crystal aqua ocean. I floated far out into the bay on a large inner tube for hours and dozed in and out under the hot sun. I lay limp in the large hammocks and listened to loud music in my headphones while writing line after line in my journal and reading about a woman’s adventure on the Nile. I stayed up late at the bar with the staff and talked about all kinds of things while drinking one Carlsberg can after another. It goes without saying that the sunsets were amazing.

One night, after a fairly heated debate with Tim and the owner of the resort about the state of the world – I of course fall on the side of idealism and insist that the world can and should be better and they of course pointed out all the flaws in my ideals – Tim and I stumbled back to the “chalet” but not before Tim coaxed me into the sea. In a moment’s time, I staggered over a rock and felt my right flip flop slide off my foot. Before Tim could devise a drunken plan to shine the flash from his camera on the water my lonely shoe had drifted away and was gone. We gave up searching, but not before Tim had succeeding taking a number of drunken photos of my mucking around searching aimlessly and my falling amidst hysterical laughter and completely submerging myself and all my clothes in the sea. Those photos I pray, will never be seen as Tim has recently lost his camera in a salt water accident. Needless to say, I spent the rest of the trip completely barefoot; even more like the Blue Lagoon!

And then there was the snorkeling…

The Common Wealth ~ Singapore

I returned to Singapore from Vietnam exhausted but enriched and grateful for the experience that Vietnam brought into my life. Part of acclimating to my new environment in Singapore - where Tim spent his days working (ridiculously hard I meant mention) and I was solita – was a morning coffee ritual I took to the local public housing community. Near Tim’s condo and known as the “Common Wealth,” the particular community center I frequented is one of many that are speckled about Singapore.

The Singaporean government has taken task to creating affordable housing for all citizens and calls them HDB’s, although I have no idea what the acronym stands for exactly. This social program is not extended to the ex-patriot communities nor immigrant residents who flock to Singapore for work however. These communities generally consist of a series of uniform high rise buildings and a central shopping/eating center referred to as a “wet market,” given this name from the wet cement floors that are constantly being washed with long hoses. Residents are able to purchase a home in the HDB’s with relative ease and more than 80% of Singaporeans own their home. I find it quite telling that although the buildings are conformist, the doors of each dwelling are different in color and design; all the while various plants and talisman decorate balconies. Clotheslines held by flag fasteners jet from windows. I am always drawn to the clotheslines…Somehow it reminds me that people are all around me – individuals with individual hopes and dreams and a red shirt or a pair of blue trousers – clotheslines help me feel connected to the people who actually live and work there; wherever there may be. I also feast on the sounds and often found myself sitting alone and still in the “Common Wealth,” soaking up crying babies, coughing old men, loud local tunes, running children, laughing women and televisions speaking a foreign language.

I always sat at the same outdoor café called “Two Chefs Eating Place” on the corner of the wet market. Each morning I ordered two cups of strong coffee sweetened with thick condensed milk. I habitually sat at a table among the same old men each day; drinking my coffee shyly while they went about smoking cigarettes, watching Chinese soap operas and chatting among one another. I was always the only white person and one of only a few women in the group; I smiled at those men every day I was there, even when I only received grunts and puzzlement in return. Somehow I traded the comfort of fitting in for the feeling I got at being among true community.

Final Thoughts in Saigon: A Journal Entry

Last Day in Saigon.
The coffee in Vietnam is absolutely delicious, every time. I leave HCMC tonight and return to Singapore. This has been an interesting and exhausting trip. The heat is oppressive and the odors have not ceased to overwhelm me. The city is so stimulating that I have gone to my room on occasion to lay silent in the dark; anyone who knows me understands the rarity of this. I have found it impossible to stay clean. I find my own sweat a blessing for the touch of a fan.
I've been messing about all day. Ducking in and out of art and handicraft stores along the dusty streets. I found a wonderful store filled with old war propaganda posters tucked back in an alleyway.
Last night a woman on the back of a motorbike tried to steal my bag. Ninja-like, a grabbed her arm with the hand that was not gripping my bag and nearly pulled her from her seat. My instincts did not fail me, I let go. I'm thankful to not have been in a scuffle in the streets of Saigon. My bag and person unscathed, I feel fortunate. I am not offended; desperation and opportunism are rife the world over. I however, was misjudged.
Early dinner on Bui Vien Street. Chaos. Pure Chaos. Tiger beer and steaming Pho in the sweltering heat. Women fuss over babies and toddlers that seem completely unimpressed. Street vendors sit idle and bored in tiny squares of shade from the harsh afternoon sun. Motorbikes. Motorbikes. Motorbikes. Every now and then a breeze dashes quickly through the narrow corridor and there is a collective sigh of relief. Uncontrollable sweat. Backpackers look lost. Toilet paper serves as napkins and I have over spiced my Pho again. The pain is more intense in the city heat. Strangely, I like it. Women wear patterned jumpsuits that look pajamas. I think they are pajamas.
I've just come from a beauty shop. A street side Vietnamese "spa" with pictures of drawn-on fingernails and white women with fancy haircuts taped to the windows. Waxing, manicure and pedicure for 18 USD. Better results than I have had in the states for ten times the price. Conditions were questionable. Guilt about the price. I over-tipped. My nails look perfect.
Dark now. They just put Beyonce on the radio. My meal cost no more than 2 dollars. Again I over-tip. How very American of me.

Retreating up the Mekong River

I rode in a speedboat up the Mekong River back to Saigon from the delta. Because the river acts as a commercial route, the trip was filled with tugboats, fishermen and communities growing from the banks. I felt ever so tired during the trip and only mustered up the energy to snap some pictures and wave at children who belted out shrill "HALO's" from the decks of boats and docks stretching from the shore.

Mainstay in the Mekong Delta ~ Culture and Capitalism

The Mekong Delta is well known for the narrow canals that connect the interior of the islands. The opportunity to ride in a row boat is ample for tourists as it seems a main income generating activity for the local people. I enjoyed my short trip through the mangroves; a weathered Vietnamese river woman perched in the typical squat at the helm, navigating through the bustle of thin boats and low hanging branches. Although cultural, and even somewhat picturesque, I was a bit discouraged by the nature of my time in the canals. My expectations may have been too much as I hoped for less white people, and more market activity. Yet, without the tourist access, I would not likely have gotten there in the first place. So I tapped into the storyteller in me and imagined riding in that boat fifty years ago. Before the war. Before the tourism. Before capitalism bullied the tributaries in the Mekong Delta into over pollution for the sake of money.

I visited two islands in the delta. The first was "Unicorn Island" as it is known by the locals, in the My Tho province. In addition to tourism of course, most of the people here make a living on bee farms. In fact, alongside honey, the famous anti-aging royal jelly is a main export as well as a delicious booze made from honey that reminds me a bit of nigori.

The second island I visited was "Coconut Island" in the Ben Tre province. Although suffering from the same type of exploitation as other parts of the delta, Coconut Island made me feel a bit different. Perhaps because it was located deeper in the delta or because of the company I met on the ride there, I enjoyed myself on Coconut Island very much.

Along the same vein: Coconut Island exports all things coconut. I stepped onto the island and immediately had a piece of the most wonderfully delectable coconut candy in my mouth. I was blessed to see the process of hand making this particular brand of candy. The family who produces it was quick to inform the tourists that it was only they who made it and anything that seemed similar was a forfeit. Regardless, it is simply the most delicious candy I have ever eaten.

I tend to mark my travels by the food I eat and the people I encounter. The Mekong Delta was no exception. I was so fortunate to meet a brother and sister duo on my way to the Delta; Phillip and Christy Pierce. They are from Boulder, CO (No Kidding!) and we shared a series of excellent conversations. Phillip (pictured here shopping for Burning Man goggles during a bike ride) has just graduated with a Master's in Social Work and we share very similar socio-political views and goals for personal growth. Also interesting and timely, Christy attends CSU in Fort Collins and we share a love for live music, specifically a local band called Euforquestra! Sometimes there is no denying you are on the right path.

Together, the three of us munched on fruit, listened to local music and discussed a myriad of topics. Phillip has some interesting things to say about self realization, anarchism, political participation and even feminism. Christy has a stunning yet unassuming presence and I enjoyed listening to her talk about her time in Thailand, where she has just finished volunteering as a pre-school teacher. It looks as though Christy and I will meet up at the Fox Theatre for a Euforquestra show in July. I will be thrilled to see her again!

Mekong Delta, Vietnam ~ May 30-31~ The Approach

Traveling to the Mekong Delta on Sunday morning was a long jaunt. The first segment by bus, passing by endless developing world strip malls. If you have traveled by bus in similar parts of the globe you know precisely what I mean.

The second part began at the harbor in My Tho. I will let the images of the harbor speak for themselves.

War Remnants Museum, 28 Vo Van Tan - Ho Chi Minh City

The War Remnants Museum was a remarkably painful experience. In fact, I needed to leave the museum several times to breath and contain my tears. The photographs and descriptions throughout were punishing; reminding visitors of the horrors of war, specifically for civilians. Of course, the exhibits focused on the occurrences and aftermath of the Vietnam

War and placed a relatively perverse spotlight on human torture and suffering.

I first visited the "Imprisonment System"; a recreation of the detention camps and prisons that were used during the Vietnam War by forces on all sides of the conflict. In addition to the shocking photos and descriptions of torture in the Exhibition room, I was affected incredibly by the life like and quite realistic models of prisoners and the actual "Tiger Cages," with accompanying descriptions. It is difficult for me to understand this type of brutality. I cannot help but question my intentions for including it here; is this torture porn? If it is, why am I engaging in it?

"Tiger Cages" were constructed by weaving barbed wire around the constructive metal frame of cages. Prisoners were held several to each cage and were unable to sit in the cages but rather had to lie on top of one another, pressed against the hot barbs.

Even as a tourist in this city I find the heat nearly unbearable. I cannot imagine the agony and distress being held in these cages must have caused. I move between anger and sadness.

As if this was not enough, I ventured into the main building and worked my way through the exhibits. Essentially, the focus is on individual massacres enacted at the hands of foreign troops and the effects as well as aftermath of the extensive chemical warfare used during the war. I felt overwhelmed; partially because of the human consequence but also because I, like many others in my generation, have a father who did tours in Vietnam. This is a hard pill to swallow.

The following is an example of one of the exhibits and then I am done with this...and I recognize my privilege; the people of Vietnam have never had such a luxury.

"From 8 PM to 9 PM February 25th, 1969, a group of Seal Rangers (one of the most selective rangers of the U.S. Army) led by Lieutenant Bob Kerry reached for Hamlet 5. Thanh Phong Village, Thanh Phu District, Ben Tre Province. They cut 66 year-old Bui Van Vat and 62 year-old Luu Thi Canh's necks and pulled their three grandchildren out from their hiding place in a drain and killed two, disemboweled one. Then, these rangers moved to dug-outs of other families, shot dead 15 civilians (including three pregnant women). disemboweled a girl. the only survivor was a 12 year old girl named Bui Thi Luom who suffered a foot injury."

It was not until April 2001 that US Senator Bob Kerrey confessed his crime to the international public.

ENOUGH.

Reunification Palace ~ 135 Nam Ky Khoi Nghia, Saigon

After a long walk through the city streets, I ventured into Reunification Palace (Independence Palace) in central District 1. The experience was so informative and interesting that I will post a seperate page on this blog dedicated to this historical site. Coming soon.

Exploring Ho Chi Minh City

I am always fascinated by the living elements: culture and day to day existence. While traveling by foot through Saigon I notice these things, the human components of life here.

Clothes lines hang still in window after window of buildings that seem to touch the sky. Traffic circles bustle with buses and motorbike riders donning helmets and face masks. Occasionally I feast my eyes on a leathery old man with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. The heat is oppressive and my clothes are soaked with sweat.

Women hold the position of trash collector in orange jumpsuits like prison suits. They wear rice patty hats and maneuver straw brooms in grimy gutters. I wonder how they bare the heat and the smells; realizing quickly that lifestyle is relative. Portable generators buzz up and down the sidewalks and every few feet a rooster is caged against the steaming cement.