Phnom Penh - Darkness and Beauty

15.06.15
Travel Day
Our early rise turned into an even earlierrise for me, thanks to people checking out at the break of dawn and not considering the acoustics of our hotel. After breakfast, we walked, fully loaded with bags on our back and front, for half an hour to the bus station in the backpacker area. Our bus was bright red and our seats all the way in front – traveling with a view (including the giant flatscreen tv). Right at the beginning, they collected our passports and asked for 35$ for the visa (though not for me since I’m traveling on my Philippine passport). We had read about this little scam beforehand and knew that the 5$ extra “visa processing fee” meant they would put our passports in a little basket for the duration of the trip and hand them over to be processed at the border. We didn’t protest though, since we had also read about travelers who decided to take care of it themselves and then ended up paying 8$ extra at the border (the “processing fee” of Cambodian immigration officials) or ended up being left by their bus out of spite.
We crept along at a comfortable 50km/h, between sleep and Rush Hour 2.

At the boarder, we watched our 5$ at work – arrival cards were filled out and the visa application form for foreigners (including a signature – haha, Mo’s read “Willy” in fancy script writing). Our passports were handed over in bulk and we stood waiting for our names to be called. It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling being at an official immigration point without passport in hand. After all Vietnamese and Cambodians, I was called. The foreigners had to wait. On the other side, we got back into the bus and drove for 100m and got out again. The first stop had been for the Vietnamese to check if we hadn’t overstayed our visas and now it was time to officially enter Cambodia. Same procedure. Only I had kept my passport and was able to go through immigration all by myself. The old lady, that kind of reminded me of the secretary character in Monsters Inc., barked at me for taking too long with the scanning of hand and fingerprints.
It is a funny system, this boarder crossing ordeal by land. Due to the scams on both sides, for them to earn an extra dollar or two (or five or eight), the records of foreigners entering the countries are almost all incorrect! They don’t have any pictures, as it is actually required, and all signatures don’t match the passports. Oh well… their problem, I guess.

Right behind the border, we drove by one casino after the next. One more hideous and less inviting than the other. We stopped for lunch, which required pushing yourselves in between a crowd hovering around a table and pointing at a dish, which was then plated and thrust into your hands. It was pretty good. When we finished, a Imelda-Marcos-lookalike with a fat wad of bills in her hand came to our table and collected our cash – half in US Dollar, half in the few Cambodian Riel that I had.
The rest of the drive lead though more or less rural roads, dusty and muddy at the same time. A blue sign that read “The People’s Party of Cambodia” errected every 100m or so. A reminder perhaps? The next movie screening was – once again – a Jackie Chan movie. If I remember correctly, many busses (and ferries) in the Philippines like showing them as well. Is it an Asian thing? Is it a bus driver thing? Either way, it’s quite funny.

Our first Tuk Tuk ride from the bus station to our guesthouse showed that there are definitely more cars – and fancier cars, and cars with strange brands I have never even heard of – than in Vietnam.
The Top Banana Guesthouse welcomed us with a glass of iced water and the warning that our room is near the stairs and the bar is open till 1am. It also faces the street. But for 8$ a night – whatever. It was comfortable and clean enough, had a working fan, curtains and was close enough to the bathrooms.

Our first agenda in Cambodia – walk down the promenade along the Tonle Sap river. To get there, we passed the Independence Monument and walked along the wide, green island, where people exercised and hung out and monks in orange robes and yellow umbrellas strolled around barefoot. Feeling a bit peckish, we bought two sticks of barbeque from a street vendor and enjoyed them on our walk. Chicken, a bit fatty, delicious marinade…and a little bone. Hmmm. I waited until Mo had finished the last piece before stating that our first Cambodian food had been BBQ-chicken-butts!
Along the way we saw many construction sights, smelled new smells and noticed the diverse faces of the Cambodian people. Many laughing children and dressed up ladies – definetely not as covered up as in Vietnam. Men passing woven balls or expertly passing a local version of the hackeysack with impressive backwards flicks, sending it soaring from behind. At the beginning of the promenade stood many stalls selling lotus flower arangements in young coconuts – offerings for the busy bustling temple a few meters down. Fortune tellers sat along the pavement, encircled by clouds of incense, tossing candy on the streets. Vendors carted around coolers with cold drinks and baskets full of steamed snails. The buildings were intricately designed Cambodian-style or built with balconies in old French-colonial style. We strolled slowly and took it all in, feeling somehow more comfortable and at ease than in HCMC. Many people spoke English (more or less) and exhuded a more welcoming and friendly atmosphere – like they seemed to enjoy the presence of foreign tourists more.

It got dark and we got hungry. We stopped at a place known for good pizza and Khmer food alike. My green veggie curry was excellent. We washed our meals down with 50cent beer and fresh passion fruit soda. Since the nightmarket was closed, we walked home, this time using smaller streets. After an alley of Happy Girls, Happy Men, Happy Ladies, Double D, Same Same But Different bars and uhm massage parlours, we walked by a closing market where an abundance of fantastic smelling food was being sold. Crickets and larvea, chicken heads and many unidentifiable goodies included.

16.06.15
Rise and shine – Phom Penh awaits!
After a night which definitely showed that the warnings about our rooms were valid – even earplugs weren’t a match for the backpackers’ nightlife going on above us, we had an overpriced breakfast at the hostel and walked to the Genocide Museum Toul Sleng, also known as S21 prison.
With the sun beating down and much of the city not made for pedestrians, we wove ourselves through cars, bikes, construction sights, food stalls, piles of garbage and the occasional person. Coming down the road, you can spot the museum – formerly a prison – formerly a school – from afar. A wall with thick barbed wire surrounding off-white-washed buildings gives it away. A strange atmosphere surrounds you the second you step in. The buildings surround a courtyard – imagine a typical Asian school setting. But instead of playing children (though while we were there, a school outing was taking place), there are grave-like memorials, well kept greenery and a former jungle gym that had been modified to “the gallows”, a torture instrument from which prisoners were strung up by their feet and dipped into barrels of filthy water. The classrooms have yellow and white tiled floors and in some even a chalkboard remains. As we wander from room to room, up three floors and from building to building, the true extent of the horrors that took place here unfold. From visuals – such as iron framed beds with shackles, rooms  divided into 0,8x2m cells by brick or wooden walls, suspicious stains on the bright floors and the many many rows of photographs of prisoners… To the mental – knowing you are actually in a school (all of which were shut down 24h after the Red Khmer revolution), imagining and feeling the atrocities that took place on the ground you walk on, knowing that all (except a literal handful) the people on those photographs were tortured and killed in the most inhumane ways… It was draining. The Pol Pot regime and reign of his Khmer Rouge began on April 17 1975 and lasted just under 4 years. That makes it around 40 years ago. Though the numbers vary, the estimated death toll in this wannabe-utopian socialist era lies between 1,6 and 3 million people. Meaning, of the Cambodian population of 8 million at the time, it is said that every 4th person was killed. Academics and anyone from the more developed cities were enemies of the state. From one day to the next there were no more schools, universities, hospitals, religion was forbidden, currency invalid and ownership anulled. Everyone was evacuated from the city within a day of the Khmer Rouge entering Phnom Penh and forced to work in the countryside. Only those who worked ate. And those who ate, ate next to nothing. People were killed for picking a piece of fruit or trying to supplement their diet of rice with a frog they caught. Even the poor farmers, who supported Pol Pot and his dream of a state in which all were equal, were off worse than before. Khmer Rouge soldiers were recruited as teenagers and forced to carry out every order, in fear of severe punishment if they didn’t. Innocent people were randomly accused of being CIA or KGB agents and tortured till they admitted it. If someone was found guilty, their entire family was imprisoned and killed – “No gain in keeping, no loss in weeding out”. Trying to wrap your head around this history and those figures is excruciating. Today, many Cambodians still suffer from having lost family and friends to starvation, illness and murder. Many people remain missing, families unsure of what had happened to them. Two survivors from the prison (two of seven!), both artists, sit in the museum grounds, ready to tell their tale. What a thought.
We left with heavy hearts, anger and not quite understanding (or wanting to understand) it all and first had find a place to sit and digest what we just experienced.

Dark clouds and the longing for some positive vibes made us postpone our trip to the Killing Fields. Instead, we visited the Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda complex in the city center. A stark constrast. Here we found beauty and culture and richness beyond belief. Light rain accompanied us all afternoon, a welcome change after the intense heat of the morning. Tuk Tuk driver laughed at us, as we refused all rides and enjoyed the drizzle.
One shrine more beautiful than the other, the pagodas intricately decorated, gold glimmering everywhere. The impressive buildings with their colorful roofs and well kept grounds were fascinating. Though I must say, the throne of the king did not look very comfortable ;) In the Silver Pagoda stood a lifesize Bhudda (the young, skinny version) made of 90kg of gold and encrusted with over 2000 diamonds, the largest ones having 20 and 25 carats. The floor is covered with 5000 1kg heavy silver tiles and the rest of the pagoda is filled with more bhudda statues, gifts from representatives of other countries and all in all – endless riches!

It was barely 4pm, but our legs were heavy and our backs tired. We planned our next days and onward travels and crashed early (only to be woken by an endless hoard of backpackers – pub crawl maybe? – making their way into and then out of our rooftop bar. Flirting and squealing, pumping up the music and continuing the party on the street. I wish I could sleep like Mo.)

17.06.15
Choeung Ek – The Killing Fields
The morning heat – thanks to a blackout – got us on our feet. We had breakfast in a little vegetarian café down the road, that we had found and had dinner in the evening before. A Tuk Tuk diver followed us there – talk about persistant – and in the end, we agreed to hop on for the ride to the Killing Fields. The road was dusty and smelly, a constant whiff of trash and stagnant water in the air. Just like Toul Sleng, Coeung Ek was quite confronting. The set up for tourists was well made, a memorial stupa and little museum the only added buildings on the grounds. Aside from that, you were left to wander the area on designated paths. The entrance fee included a very well made audio guide. Due to the fact that everyone had headphones on, the atmosphere was quiet and peaceful. The structures that once stood on the grounds had been removed by people that needed building materials after the liberation or expressed their anger toward the regime by demolishing all that reminded of it. In their place stood simple wooden signs explaining what had once stood there. All of the information was given via the audioguide. Craters, now largely covered in grass, indicated some of the over 160 mass graves in the area. Only some where excavated. Many still remain covered in the nearby fields. Some of the excavated mass graves are enclosed by simple bamboo structures and covered by thatched roofs. The ground in these are covered in money and the bamboo poles in colorful bracelets. The voice in your ears tells a very comprehensive history of the Pol Pot regime, supplemented by accounts told by survivors and former Khmer Rouge soldiers. It makes it quite personal and deep.
Even between the chapters, walking from one shady tree to the next,  words for real conversation are missing. Being on the grounds where systematic killings of hundreds of people a day took place, walking amongst their unmarked final resting places and not knowing how many more lie right beneath your feet… Thoughts like those don’t leave room for small talk.
On some paths, bits of cloth stick out of the ground – clothing of bodies still buried. When you look closer, fragments of bone peek out as well. Every few months, the employees of the memorial site gather up more bones and teeth and pieces of clothing that have emerged due to rain and erosion. It is a very constricting feeling and somehow you tread very lightly when walking around.
A map on our flyer shows where in Cambodia they have unearthed mass graves and prisons, some too remote or dangerous (due to landmines) to reach. Strange how mere colored dots on a 3x3cm map can send chills down your spine.
The most gut-wrenching sight, that constricted my breath and brought tears to my eyes was the Killing Tree. A beautiful large old tree that one cannot blame for its history. It was used to kill babies, by hurling them against it, before tossing them into a nearby mass graves reserved for the young and women. The bark was covered in bracelets, paying respect to the souls of the innocent and acting as a veil, as if to cover up this tree’s gruesome history.

It was during this tour that I found out what had become of the instigators of this horrid period in Cambodian history. So far, only the head of S21 prison has gone through a complete trial and found guilty of genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity. He is also the only leading acteur that has admitted and shown remorse for the things he has done, taking the responsibility for over 10.000 deaths. He got 35 years in prison. Many others are still on trial. Only now. Research and Investigation still ongoing.
Pol Pot and many of his Khmer Rouge fled to Thailand after the liberation by the Vietnamese. He remained the recognized (by Western countries such as GB, Germany, USA, France…) leader of Cambodia for many more years. Him and his party even got a seat in the UN. Only ten years after leaving Cambodia was he put under house arrest. He lived a good life with his family until he died at the ripe age of 73 (1998). More than unjust if you ask me.

The tour ended at the memorial shrine, a tall tower with glass walls from which more than 5000 skulls stare out. You can go in. Squeezed between the outer wall and the glass behing which the bones are marked according to the weapon used to kill that person – it is a very in-your-face experience.
Again, we left feeling sad, angry and utterly baffled at the lines human beings could cross and acts they could committ. How and Why – questions we asked ourselves over and over again.

We were dropped off at the Central Market, a star shaped market building selling everything and anything. We found what we were looking for quite quickly – not interested in watches or clothes – good cheap food! From there we walked to Wat Phom, a temple on a hill, said to be the birthplace of the city. Too bad the park surrounding it was completely dug up and being worked on. It kind of killed the atmosphere.
Wat Ounaloum, another buddhist temple close to the Royal Palace, was closed, but even then, far more atmospheric. Thanks in part to the looming black clouds rising up behind it. By the time we got to the square in front of the Royel Palace, rain was inevitable. We had just enough time to watch children play amongst the thousands of pidgeons, the yellow tiles gleaming against the charcoal sky, before the heavens opened up the floodgates and it poured. We hid behind a fat trunk of a tree with some locals and waited. And waited. And waited. Why didn’t we pack our rain jackets again? After some time, we decided to hop into a Tuk Tuk and head back to the Central Market to eat more street food. Fried fat noodles with greens and beef – by far the best meal we have had so far! And a baguette sandwich, sitting on kindergarden-size stools under a large umbrella with three generations of cambodians ladies.
By the time we were finished, it was semi-dry and we walked home and called it a night. We had moved into a dorm and accordingly, didn’t sleep much. After the bar closed, some guy thought it funny to wake his sleeping friend a few beds down – therefore waking up the entire room. And from the outside, we unwillingly became part of conversations like “Oh my god, I knew you were Swedish, you’re so blond!” and “Happy travels, take care, see you one day in Swiss-land!”. Oh well, that's backpacking for ya!

A Week In Vietnam - The Mekong and The HCMC

09.06.15
Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam
Arrival: 12:15midnight
Flying into my adventure, colorful rooftops and neon streetlights reminded me of a carnival. An omen for the excitement to come? Instead of a coupon cab, I opted for a metered taxi, the guy ushering me in promised “no more than 10$”. Of course, as many had warned me before, I was taken on a bit of joyride, through quiet streets, strange letters of signs blurring, as my driver honked at ever vehicle that came within a 3m radius. At the hotel, I gave him was was on the meter,happy that it was half of the promised maximum. He was not happy. The inevitable happened – more money was demanded. Not a word of English, just a string of angry sounding Vietnamese and the waving of a little piece of paper “Ticket ticket!”. The ticket indicated no price. Next, he waved a 100.000Dong note in front of my face. Two can play at that game. Suddenly I was a dumb little tourist, not understanding a thing. I pointed at his meter and let my own string of words flow – gibberish to him, I’m sure. After a while he threw up his hands in exhasperation and left. 1:0 for the dumb tourist ;)
The rest of the early morning was spent catching up with Mo for as long as my eyes would stay open – and a while after that aparently. I am told I am quite funny when talking in my sleep.

10.06.15
The Mekong Delta
(Too) Bright and early, we got up, had breakfast on their rooftop café and took a 2h van-ride (much of which was missed due to neck-bending naptime).
We met Thanh, our tour guide, in Cai Pei. She greeted us with fresh young coconuts- tiny, golden and sweeter than any I’ve tasted before. We sipped them as our boat chugged along. We were on the Mekong River – something that seemed so far away just a few weeks ago. From our perspective, we peered through shops lining the river bank and watched the motorbikes speed past on the road just on the other side. We drifted by crooked houses threatening to tumble into the water and flood damage to the foundation of many buildings. Floating house boats (imagine a wooden boat with a hammock, not the large fancy ones in Western countries) refueled in floating gas stations, while the family on board cleaned up a chicken for dinner or took naps in the noon heat. Thanh explained that although maybe shabby and small from the outside, many floating houses have satellite TV, a karaoke machine, internet and possibly even a sofa hidden in the bowels.
Though not inviting, the murky brown waters of the Mekong exude an ancient, mystic feel, which immidiately pulled us in.

The first stop was an artisan village where we were given tasty demos of how they make rice paper, coconut candy, popped rice and rice wine by hand (and from hand into our mouths). We even tasted rice wine that had a snake swimming in it – aparently good for men. We watched rice being popped using hot blackened sand from the river and the hull later being used to fuel their fires. Over a plate of Vietnamese goodies, we sipped jasmine tea and decided on how many of the tasty delights we just had to take with us.

The next stop was a small bee farm, where we drank honey tea with propolis and tried royal jelly, while baby ducks grazed on water plants in the stream next to us.
Back in the boat, the breeze on the water made us realize how hot it really was on land. But the bliss was short-lived, as the next stop was just around the corner. Folk music and fresh fruit. A large amount of fruits and vegetables are grown in the Mekong Delta area and therefore farming is the main income source for the people living there. We passed the famous floating market, though too late for the real trading. Only wholesalers were left, the produce they sell dangling from poles atop their boat. Thanh told us about the tough life the farmers lead, living on those boats for most of the time, only returning to land to harvest and collect more goods.
She also told us many other stories about life on and along the Mekong – fish ponds and production, illegal sand harvesting on huge vessels, how tides and currents can affect it all and much much more.

Further down the river we floated… And were then transferred into flat metal boats rowed by strong women, who took us through smaller canals alongside a small road, under suspicious looking bridges, through large patches of water plants. A welcome change of perspective and wonderful break from the buzz of the motor.

For lunch we stopped in a restaurant that featured an amazing collection of bonsai trees and orchids. We were served up a feast of fried elephant-ear-fish wrapped into rice paper with greens, tiny spring rolls, river prawns dipped into a simple lemon juice with salt and pepper, a tasty veggie soup and sticky rice with pork. Topped off with a delicious iced coffee. WOW.
We left full and satisfied. And I left buzzing as well. Note: With less than 5h of sleep, the many cups of jasmine tea and the iced coffee were probably the only thing keeping me alive during this day. The post-lunch boatride was a bit longer – perfect time to try out the sun-chair (since Mo had already claimed the hammock). Going against the current, the low tide threatening to put an abrupt end to our journet, I fell into a food-coma-tiredness-caffine-fueled trance-like state and watched the banks of the river being laid bare, the water being sucked away by the pull of our engine as we passed. Mud swirled and water hyasinths were dragged along, mudskippers and baby mangroves exposed – subtle beauty right there.

We crossed the big river, passing more floating gas stations and large fish farms. Next stop: Vietartisan, an NGO nestled by the river bank. An old lady set up a handicrafts shop in which she sells beautifully handcrafted bags, notebooks, postcards etc. The designs are stunning – many of them quite modern, depicting images and symbolisms of Vietnamese culture. Thanh explained that the women working there are poor women from the village which were invited and trained by the founding old lady and the sales would go straight into their wages as well as the expansion of the NGO. I fell in love with a bag made of old rice sacks and gorgeous Vietnamese fabric lining. Every item we bought (and yes, we each walked away with something), they lovingly wrapped in a brown paper bag with a thoughtful dedication of our choice. A very lovely stop indeed.

The last stop of the day was a brick factory, whose banks were lined with broken pottery and bricks. Inside, we were shown the huge kilns in which they bake the bricks. For many days, the kilns have to be fired 24/7, women working in shifts to fuel the fire with rice hull. The amount of work, time and dedication was fascinating. The aura of the factory had something medieval. And the color of the bright red bricks against the dominating burnt black and ashen gray was captivating.

From there we crossed over to our homestay – a beautiful wooden complex in a village. Three generations living under one roof – very welcoming and friendly. After a rest, a shower and the sunset, we sat in their kitchen and were taught how to make papaya salad and roll spring solls. The floor was hard mud, the stove an open flame and the food absolutely delicious.
The evening ended with a glimpse of the fireflies by the water, sleeping crocs in a farm across a bridge from us and very insightful conversations with Thanh. The night was cool and the bed comfy.

11.06.15
After a typical Vietnamese breakfast – Baguette, eggs, jam, cheese – we walked a large loop around the village. Thanh showed us how the locals grow fruits and veggies, explained superstitions and beliefs and told us stories about growing up as a little girl in a village herself. We tasted fruit straight off the tree and marveled at the plantations and trees laden with fruit. The soil must be incredibly rich in nutrients, for I have never before seen so many fruit on one single papaya tree, let along on 300 of them.
The locals were friendly and welcoming, as Thanh stopped to say hi and have a quick chat with many of them. Children practiced their “Hello. What’s your name?” on us. We watched fishermen clean their catch (of fish and frogs). An 87 year old humpbacked lady gave us a toothless smile and asked if she could row us down the river in her boat.
Two things stuck with me. The burial of anscestors in their backyard and having to build an extravagant shrine for them, only to exhume the bones 25 years later, wash them and bury them somewhere else. And the blue signs. Thanh explained that a blue sign outside a house meant that the family was a “good behaviour family” – meaning they had only 2 or 3 children, the husband didn’t drink, gamble or mistreat his family etc. When enough families of a village follow suit, the village becomes a “good behaviour village”. It made me realize, that the government does really play a different role in this country and its influence and incentive reaches further than in places I’ve lived.

It got hotter by the minute and without our breeze from the water, we were drenched in no time. The last steps back to our homestay were dragging. We checked out, said our many heartfelt goodbies and thank-yous and hopped back on our boat. I used the ride back to the pier to take some noted for this blog – a little black book I had bought in Australia now serves as a travel journal of sorts (though I am realizing at this moment that it will not suffice). So many new impressions in such a short time – and I wouldn’t want to forget a single one.
Just as I won’t ever forget Thanh, the little village girl turned amazing tour guide, who showed us this world in such a personal manner, who called us her family and named us brother, sister and mother and made our tour through the Mekong Delta the perfect ending to Moni’s Vietnamese Adventure and a perfect start to mine. She always made sure we were not left wanting and were satisfied with everything. She even called after our 8 course lunch she had pre-booked for us, to check if it was good and wish us a pleasant ride home. Thank you, Thanh!

Back in the city, back in the hotel, my stomach rebelled against the many meals of fried food and caused a short break in the enthusiastic start of my travels. But I was back on my feet in no time and strolling around the War Remnants Museum. Though the images displayed and storied told did not help settle my stomach – quite the opposite – it was a good experience. Emotional, unsettling, enraging… and too short. Barely an hour and fire-drill like bells announced closing.

From there we walked around the architectually uh *cringe* interesting Independence Palace, where I enjoyed the sight of a squirrel amongst the tall tall trees. The Cathedral Notre Dame was closed for mass and we were hungry. We sat under the lights and lanterns of Nha Hang Ngon and enjoyed Vietnamese street food restaurant style – finally Pho and fresh spring rolls! Yummy (I was warned by Thanh not to say “Yumm”, because in Vietnamese that means I want to have sex. Thank you, Thanh.)

12.06.15
Let the backpacking begin! Our first day traveling alone began with the move from one hotel to another (cheaper). It was just as comfy, had aircon, free wifi, free breakfast and cheaper than a hostel. Located in the southern part of the city, we walked towards the touristy stuff, watching the streets around us change from small hardware shops and food stalls to fancy stores, shiny new buildings and fast food joints. After lunch we finished our tour of the War Remnants Museum. I lost myself in the section on war photography and the people behind it. Having once (and always) had the dream of being a journalist, imagining the situations these people put themselves in to capture such emotional images, gave me goosebumps. Seeing how many perished themselves was shocking. But then again, those were different times. They didn’t sit around in hotels, far from the action, waiting for a photo-op. That section was also the only one in which the perspective swayed. While the majority of the museum displayed a very one sided story (understandable!) – the strength and resilliance of the Vietnamese people facing the evil Americans – the war photographers came from may different countries and followed different stories. They somehow “humanized” a war otherwise depicted as statistics. They even had a section of photos by a photographer allowed into North Vietnam. These, however, depicted dreamy landscapes, smiling women in rice fields and happy, victorious soldiers.

Another room that will be forever seared into my memory is that showing the victims of Agent Orange. The use of dioxin to clear foliage, destroying flora, fauna and the lives of two following generations. I do not want to and cannot describe the people on these photographs.

Finally,we walked through a section on the prison on Phu Quoc Island, which made me more nauseous than many displays on the war. There were haneous deeds/crimes committed against their own people –from unacceptable living conditions, gruesome torture to murder. A gilloutine. Tiger cages – barbed wire contraptions the size of coffins left out in the sun.
I watched a father lift his young sons up to a peephole of a metal door so they could see inside – all the while laughing and grinning, awaiting their reaction. Both trotted away ashen faced. I took a look – and nearly jumped back three feet! It was a cell with a simple cot on which sat an old lady staring blankly into oblivion. She looked so real, I had to force myself to look again, to check if she hadn’t moved. The sight chilled me to my bones, like a scene from a nightmare left burned onto your retina the next day. No wonder those two little boys walked off looking so disturbed.

By the time we left the museum, shaky hands lighting a cigarette, there was no more time for the next one, so instead we walked and talked, stopped for ice cream and ended up back in the hotel. I still had to sing to myself when crossing three lane streets, but can proudly note that after only a short time, we crossed them like pros, leaving the other worried faced tourists to eat our dust ;)

After relaxing for a while, reminding our bodies that do not HAVE to sweat 24/7, we strolled around our neighborhood in search of food. The streets here truly never sleep. As soon as the stores close, the metal shutters come down and the motorcycles clear the pavement, the food stalls emerge. Tables and chairs (though miniature in size) are set up. Cardboard and mats are laid out. People slurp their noodle soup. Drink their umpteenth coffee of the day (I swear, the Vietnamese are fueled soley by coffee). Children play in the emptier streets. Men give massages and cuppings, right there on the sidewalk. It’s never dark, never truly quiet. A man on a bike drives up and down the road, his megaphone calling out whatever he is selling in an endless loop.
We found a hole in a wall in the second storey, nicely decorated and full. Some struggles with the menu, but in the end we were served a delicious bun noodle soup and crispy fried sticky rice with smoked duck. The rice was filled with blackish chopped stuff that was quite good – so we ate, deciding we would contemplate after the meal what it actually was. We agreed that it was something we would probably usually not eat. Our “rainbow desert” was neither colorful nor did it taste like much, but we had fun with the different gelatinous textures swimming in ice cubes and lychee juice.

13.06.15
No windows and airconditioning made it hard to get up in the morning. Also, I still need to get my body into travel mode – lots of walking, sweating, standing and overloading of the mind. But give me a few more days and I’ll get there.
The streets had once again changed face. Motorbikes everywhere – on and off the road. Shops open. Stalls selling meat and veggies right there on the pavement. A woman on a bike selling bread (as her megaphone anncounced) or – as I watched with interest – trading it for fruit with another vendor. The sky is white and bright, as it often is in the city. The sun isn’t beating down from clear skies, but its heat still radiates in all it's glory. It’s sunglasses or squint – your choice.

Chu Chi Tunnels
So we booked a tour – something we had told ourselves we would try to avoid as much as possible. But as research showed, trying to get to the 50km far Chu Chi district north west of Ho Chi Minh AND find the tunnel is only possible with GPS coordinates. No signage, no chance. So we booked this tour. While waiting for pick up, we enjoyed a refreshing sugarcane juice and bought Bahn Mi (baguette sandwiches with roasted pork and other tasty stuff) to go.
In the minibus, we were glad to see only a few other people…until the doors opened along the backpackers district and all of a sudden there was not a single seat left. 25 people or so. The trip there was around 1,5h, with a stop in a government set up handicrafts village employing victims of agent orange (mostly with slight disfiguring). Watching them create laquerware from eggshells was quite impressive.
Shortly before the tunnels, we drove through neatly rowed pantations of rubber trees – some of the only crops that grow in the clay-heavy soil.
Nim, our guide, gave us a Vietnam-War-For-Dummies summary – who fought who, who supported who – and explained the lay of the land. He also told us about a second section of the tunnels in the area, to which they take mainly Vietnamese tourists, therefore seperating them from the foreigners. Too bad – from what I had read – those were the ones I wanted to see.
The complex was quite big and soon we found out why. After watching a black and white documentary from 1967 that told us all about the beautiful Chu Chi district and the courageous Chu Chi fighters, we were shown a map of where the alliances lay back then – a large part of the District supporting the North. Chu Chi, being so close to the former Saigon, where the government of South Vietnam and large U.S. military bases were, was the area of which some of the most violent battles took place. Many graveyards dedicated to soldiers are scattered along the roadsides.

Then we walked into the “jungle” – mostly young skinny trees that have regrown in the last 40 years, after the vegetation was destroyed by Agent Orange. Here and there there were displays of Vietcong mastery – a secret tunnel (hole in the ground with a wooden cover), booby traps (made of metal, not bamboo, covered in artificial grass), ventilation shafts belonging to the tunnels, bomb craters and dugouts for guerilla warfare. But for some strange reason – imagine a tinge of sarcasm in my voice – they all seemed to life perfectly spaces throughout the jungle, so that walking paths could be made connecting them all. Also, there seemed to be so many of them, densely crammed into one area, so that multiple tour groups could look at the same thing without having to crowd. Hmmm… The Vietcong must have thought of the touristic value while building their 200km long tunnel system over those 20 years ;)
All jokes aside, I had heard about the Chu Chi tunnel ground being quite “fake” and constructed for tourists, but I had not imagined this Disneyland-like walkthrough.
During the many photo-ops – “Climb in the hole and take a picture” – I watched blue headed lizards chase up and down trees, giant caramal coloured centipedes crawl around the forest floor and swatted mosquitoes left and right (though they did more damage to me than I did to them).
The historical information our tour guide told us may have been accurate, but it couldn’t have  been more one-sided – VC were strong, VC were brave, VC were smart, VC were invisible. Numbers only on the successes and their pride, none on how many times tunnels were bombed or breached or how many of the 18.000 people it took to build it might have suffocated of lost their lives in the course of construction and daily life.

In between the jungle and the actual tunnels was the shooting range (and souvenir store) - AK47, M16, machine guns and rifles. The sounds of gunfire were deafening and somehow, in light of the history we so vividly witnessed in the museum the day before as well as the violence the district of Chu Chi had endured, it seemed wrong for us to shoot for fun. We did anyways – if you can call an anchored gun that you can’t really aim shooting.
From there we went to the entrance of the tunnels. At first, I thought I’d be fine – with my headlamp and Mo by my side. The first set of stairs down lead into a little chamber – no problem. Around 5 steps into the tunnel, it curved and decended another meter or so – the first level being at around 3m depth. The tunnel had been widened for tourists – widened to 1,2m high and 80cm wide. The temperature rose a few degrees and the air was thick and definitely lacking oxygen. Behind me, another 20 people waiting to get in. And that was it for me - 5 steps and one look into the tunnel. Less because of the physical tightness itself – though I did notice that I am not free of claustrophobic tendancies – but more because of the difficulty of breathing, the stifling heat and the many people behind me, making me feel stuck – barricaded in from both sides. So I didn’t even make it to the first of many exits (every 10m or so). But that’s ok. The speed of my heartbeat as I came back out was enough of an experience. Hats off, VC! Ten years of life underground would not have been my cup of tea. Especially considering between 4000-5000 people lived there (aparently) and the system decended down three levels, the lowest one being up to 10m deep.

It rained all the way home. As Mo slept, I suffered through the conversation between four backpackers – two Germans, a Canadian and a Dutch guy – one greener and naiver than the next. Barely 18 and boasting about epic hangovers in forgotten cities. If I had had a sign that said “bullshit” to raise whenever nonsense was uttered, I would have been beating them up with it by the end of the seemingly endless busride. Their worldly knowledge extended from “In Germany, people ONLY drive German cars.” (proclaimed by a German, nonetheless) and “There are no poor people in Dubai, they couldn’t afford it.” The horror! The horror!

We walked home in the rain, stopping only for Bun Bo Hue (Beef noodle soup with unidentifiable sausage-like stuff) and feeling cold for the first time in Vietnam.

14.06.15
Getting-Lost-In-HCMC-Day
…though we never actually lost our way, we had no plans and just went for it.
Starting in the Binh Than Markets. Though much of the wholesale sections have been pushed aside to make way for the touristy stuff, it was still worth seeing. We ran away from the pushy and overpriced vendors, asking over 10$ for a souvenir shirt and three times the usual price for sugarcane juice. Instead, we walked amongst the colorful displays of giant fruit and baskets of dried fruit, nuts and pickled everything. Stuffed civit cats were meant to show the origin of one of the many different types of coffee. It smelled like tea, coffee, incense… and sweat and feet and plastic fabrics.

Once again, the hunt for cheap food was on. And we found it in a stall selling fried rice with beef, clear soup with fried onions and fried noodles. YummY!
Close by, our craving for something cold and caffinated pulled us into a roadside café called The Coffee Factory. There we sat for 2h, sipping an iced coffee and writing postcards. Yes, sipping ONE iced coffee in 2h! It was sooo good and sooo strong. I was buzzin’, trippin’, felt like I could have run a marathon and a half.
We dropped our postcards off in the historical post office and continued our stroll. We attempted something like shopping, only to become slightly frustrated due to the inability to actually shop. Firstly, our budget does not allow excessive spending (and anything outside accommodation, food, drink, travel and experiences is excessive) and secondly, despite really trying to keep it light, our bags are too full. On the other hand, this is probably a good thing, since we found some stores which I could have bought up in their entirety. Some stored sold such creative souvenirs and handicrafts, things produced in NGOs, things that told stories. Also, I could have used the artsy movie posters printed on handmade paper as wallpaper – so funky!

We walked along a large green boulevard with fancy hotels and consulates and ended up…at the Zoo!
It was Sunday – family day – and the crowd consisted mostly of children. The animals were well fed – thanks to the guests that enjoyed giving them everything and anything they had in their backpacks. The zoo was also a botanical garden, with large trees and well kept shrubbery, which would have  been quite beautiful, if it weren’t for the complete lack of respect for the environment of the visitors.
Monkeys have always been some of the most interesting animals to watch. In this case, it was the Orang Utan that blew my mind. He was older and had many folds of fat hanging under his tired face. He stood by the fence, posing – throwing up his arms, folding his hand behind his head. Then he would stop and make a throwing gesture with his arms. We watched, as a woman threw a juice pack over the fence. The Orang Utan picked it up and, with an expertise overshadowing most young children, pulled out the straw, stuck it in and drank it dry in a few quick gulps. Then he crumpled up the box and chucked it back over the fence. He did the same with a bottle of water.
At the end of the day, I had mixed feelings about the zoo. It was nice but sad, well made but with too small enclosures.

By the time we got home, we had been out and about from morning till night again and I fell into bed and stayed down for a while, unable to move a single muscle. Evening activitied included Mo touching up my haircut (meaning, shaving the back of my head) and spending over 2h researching and getting excited for Cambodia.

PS: Please excuse the format and typos, it is the first real entry I am writing on our tablet and I haven't quite gotten the hang of it yet.

Home Sweet Homes

09.06.2015 NAIA, Manila

Home Sweet Homes

Here I go again. Sitting in yet another airport, waiting to board, imagining my luggage cruise through the catacombs of NAIA Terminal 3. Time to get my creative juices flowing again and reawaken this blog from an almost 2 month hibernation period.

It’s been over a year and two months since I left Berlin. 5 months of enjoying the Philippines. 7 months of working in Australia. And two months of home.
I left this blog upon arrival in Berlin. A home sweet home that wasn’t a planned part of this journey. I arrived in time for spring awakening and it was a beauty. Though my mind was all over the place - floating in a dimension somewhere between dreams and reality, elation and confusion, comfort and stress – the three weeks “vacation” in Germany turned out to be illuminating. Seeing familiar faces, being surrounded by family and experiencing the most joyous occasion of my sisters wedding. Places and food were enjoyed, stories were told, tears of joy were shed and talks about future plans were avoided as best I could ;) I won’t go into detail, because, as you can imagine, details of being home are not necessarily a source of inspiration. But certain images are worth sharing: Hugging friends and truly enjoying the feeling of familiarity. Walking down a street lined with blossoming cherry trees while enjoying some of the best ice cream in town. Going on a road trip with the family for the first time in forever. Seeing Hannah burst into tears in 0.1seconds after hearing that we will be aunties soon. Being part of the most beautiful wedding ceremony and watching my now brother-in-law‘s hand shake like jello as he put the ring on Lena‘s finger. Cozying up in my corner on our couch and sharing it with the person I have missed most.

The weeks following this trip home, I spent at home. Manila. This time around, it really did feel more like home than on any other occasion I have visited since I life 9 years ago. Days passed, things got done. I took time for myself and gave time to my family. I helped pack up the past – going through and storing the entire contents of my dad’s apartment. I opened up my thoughts to the future – talking to my mom and allowing myself to utter words that I’ve kept under tight lock-up from even myself. I spent some time in Baguio, my home away from home, and enjoyed every second of it. I cuddled with our cats, played with our dogs and got chomped on by mosquitos. It was hot as hell. It was productive and relaxed. It was filled with love and comfort.
And now, I am oh-so ready for this third and final (if there can ever be a final) chapter of this journey!

Vietnam, here I come!