Meet Me In St. Peter's Square

I’m not a spontaneous person.

So when I called my boyfriend at midnight in early January and confirmed my spring break plans, he was more than a bit surprised. My mouse hovered over the “Buy” button on a roundtrip ticket matching not only the exact dates of my spring break, but also priced at half the cost of a normal ticket to the eternal city. I was going to Rome.

A little bit of background and some catching up to speed. As mentioned in my previous blog post, I continued the summer working for my start up technology firm, “commuting” every few weeks between Seattle and San Francisco. After a busy summer of airports and hotels, I left early to get back to school in Chicago where I led a freshman backpacking retreat.

In traditional rom-com fashion, a series of odd and serendipitous events led to no tent, one tarp, two facilitators, and the worst mosquito and black fly season ever seen in Pictured Rocks Michigan. Nothing bonds like no sleep, bugs, and having to work together. The trip overall was a huge success, and after having spent 10 straight days together, my co-facilitator/eventual boyfriend and I were both surprised to find that we actually wanted to keep hanging out.

Montage of romantic moments over the semester, dates, and a trip to California to hike Yosemite, Big Sur, and the Pinnacles all in one week, and then there I was hovering over the “Buy” button because he was studying in Rome for the semester, and honestly why not?

Rome for five days, Florence for two, and all I can say is wow.

It’s impossible to describe Rome. My biggest problem was forcing myself to get any sleep. Up early and out late, we must have walked 10 miles a day, or at least that’s what my feet told me. We hit all the major sites, and even had time to wander and get lost on the side streets, the places away from the throngs of tourists.

We had a few rules:

1.       Enter every church you pass. We were never disappointed. However, this did change our time plans a bit, because a walk that should take 10 minutes took us an hour as the four churches we passed along the way needed some admiration

2.       Find the best gelato in the city. Rank by category (atmosphere, price, size, quality). Use dark chocolate gelato as the standardization tool. For anyone who is interested I have a comprehensive list J

3.       Talk to the old people. Old Italians loved us. On more than one occasion the table next to us was of older couples, and regardless of frequent language differences they always tried to strike up conversation, and we sometimes even got our dinner paid for in full

I’ll now let the pictures do some of the talking….

Trevi Fountain

Pantheon 

Vatican

Roman Forum

Roman Forum

So much gelato!

Florence

Culture Shock

I almost cried tonight.

Standing on the roof of San Francisco’s Intercontinental, a full sushi and dumpling spread laid out, not to mention a very open bar, I stood talking to a CEO of a start up tech company, one that had already been priced at the millions upon millions of dollars. We discussed the best business strategy for acquiring other companies. I have no idea what that strategy is, however, that didn’t seem to hinder our conversation. He had no problem waxing on about the fine art of acquisition.

After three hours of milling and mingling we all took town cars to a swanky back alley restaurant. Who knew that a meat packing house could be so modern? Sleek and shiny and almost unforgivably cool, I felt like an impostor  wobbling in my 5 inch heels and my little black dress that I recently picked up from a sale rack.

Many, many, many more drinks later we finally sat for dinner at 10:30pm. There was lots of shop talk and networking and general friendliness. All of a sudden I looked down at my place setting and actually realized what I was seeing. In front of me sat three glasses of red wine (all different, all at varying heights), rustic French bread with goat butter, seared swordfish (the only thing on the menu that I could pronounce everything that came with it) and various other small bites provided as “compliments from the chef”

Exactly three weeks ago I was squatting on a street corner eating soup out of a plastic bowl served to me by a man with 5 teeth.

All of a sudden I was very tired.

Learning Like A Child

If we are going to be honest, I don’t know a lick of Vietnamese.

Yes, I aced my language final. Yes, I can order correctly at restaurants (usually). Yes, I can tell you my name, my age, my country of origin, what my family does for a living, and I can explain that I am a student and don’t have any money so when the cops/market sellers/taxi drivers try to rip me off I can make them understand that I’m really a terrible target. Sometimes I get cocky with these few paragraphs I know how to repeat. Sometimes I pretend I know what I’m doing. I can listen to the Vietnamese roommates’ conversations, and even though I can only pick up on a few words, it’s not as if they’re discussing theoretical physics, I can get the gist of any conversation.

Every so often, however, I am humbled. It’s not by the roommates, or my professors, or the market sellers who make fun of me. It is always the same. It is always by children.

Today I was sitting outside enjoying what is sure to be one of my last avocado smoothies, just taking in the afternoon, trying to not count the hours until my flight home. The heat had receded a bit, and it was only in the low 90s thankfully. The afternoon rain helped to cool things off. I watched the children playing in the street, and they of course watched me right back.

After a few minutes of observing from afar they started circling, almost like sharks. Finally one of them had the guts to come up to me. In rapid fire Vietnamese she asked me a question. I looked at her with a completely blank stare. She saw me order my smoothie (sin to bo) in Vietnamese so she assumed I must speak at least a little bit of her language. I replied to her question with “I speak a little bit of Vietnamese. Just a little”. She tried another question. And another. Then she got frustrated. I’m pretty sure she yelled something along the lines of “How can you say you know a little bit of Vietnamese? You can’t understand me, and  I’m  only 9!” With a frustrated hurumph she pulled up a plastic chair and sat right down next to me. She now had a mission. She was going to teach this oversized foreigner how to really speak Vietnamese. She called for some paper and pen.

I spent the next hour and a half being quizzed by a 9 year old. She wanted to make sure I understood the basics before I got too advanced. Please note that she spoke three words of English: “love”, “tomorrow”, “Sunday”. We struggled. We pantomimed. We pointed. We drew. We yelled “troi oi!” (my goodness) every so often when I finally got something right.

This little 9 year old girl lined up all of her friends on the street to come up to me and say all the English words they knew to make sure I could translate them properly into Vietnamese.

The greatest teachers are the ones who look at a student and decide “You. I will do everything in my power to help you learn, and we will work together until you get it”. I didn’t realize that sometimes the greatest teachers are very determined 9 year old girls.

You can only learn so much in a classroom. 

Takou (The Video Game)

Level One: Lowland Forest

• Cram 12 people into the back of a closed truck bed in 100 degree heat
• Navigate through jungle lowlands: no signs, no roads, no way out but to keep going
• Make it through the sand dunes
• Avoid eating the poisonous seeds of the delicious fruit
• River crossings containing carnivorous plants

To beat this level: Stay hydrated during these tasks as your only water source for the day was in Ho Chi Minh City

Level Two: Accommodations

• Minimal unstable electricity for one hour per day
• No running water
• No English
• Mold. Mold. Mold.

To beat this level: Maintain sanity by playing countless hours of card and dice games. Beer optional.

Level Three: Monkey Watching

• Silence is golden. You speak the animals run.
• Only step on the boulders
• Stepping on the leaves between the boulders results in an automatic loss. There are only two options for what are below the leaves:
• There is nothing beneath the leaves. Your foot falls through.
• There is a King Cobra’s nest beneath the leaves. They like to make their dens in the rock.
• Use hanging vines and tree branches to make it to the landing

To beat this level: Make it through the physical obstacles and then power through the mental task of remaining silent and frozen for hours until the primates appear

Level Four: Ascend the Mountain

• 798 meters above sea level. Straight up
• There is no trail
• Avoid local people. They will threaten and chase you if seen
• Avoid poisonous and/or thorny plants
• Watch where you step! You could find rare orchid and accidentally discover a new species for bonus points

To beat this level: Simple. Make it to the top.

Level Five: Descend the Mountain

• Everything level four described, except in opposite
• GAMER CHEAT CODE: Sit down and slide.

To beat this level: Have all bones intact at the bottom of the mountain

Level Six: Home Base

• Make it back to HCMC safely
• Avoid head on collisions with dump trucks
• Try to block out the Kenny G played by the Vietnamese bus driver who strikes a stunning resemblance to Che Guevara
• Avoid food poisoning by not eating the raw meat in the pho
• Cankles  from the bus ride will slow you down

To beat this level: Comprise a 10 minute PowerPoint outlining your trip to your professors

Current Status of Player: Winner. 

North/Central Vietnam

I had five different entries written and ready to be posted about my trip to the Central and Northern regions of Vietnam. Rereading over the posts before finalizing and publishing I realized that I hated them. I had somehow lost my voice in each of the sections, and if I put them up I would only end up being disappointed with myself.

Why did I hate these posts? They all sounded like a travel brochure or a review on trip adviser. None of them were able to effectively capture my adventures. While I understand that blogging is supposed to allow people to live vicariously through others, please believe me when I say that some things just have to be experienced.

The best stories are never the ones that people write about right away. The best stories are the ones shared between friends in coffee shops, remembered late at night while trying to fall asleep, or the ones that come much later when they are triggered by a pungent smell, a loud noise, or the sound of someone’s laugh. I’m sorry that I can’t share my best stories now, as I don’t know what they are just yet, but I promise, if we get the chance to go out to coffee (or ice cream!), I’ll have plenty to say.

What I do have now are some incredible pictures, a decent play by play recap, and some really cool souvenirs from my trip. Take a look: 

Nha Trang

Snorkeling off the coast of one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. We spent 5 hours out on the sea, exploring sea caves, coral reefs, and playing with TONS of fish. (Think "Finding Nemo" for your underwater images) 

Hue

The ancient capital city of Vietnam, Hue is full of historical landmarks. Both the colonial French and the imperial Vietnamese architectural styles led to massive monuments and incredible memorial sites. 

Hoi An

The shopping capital of Vietnam, you can get literally anything you want handmade in Hoi An. I ended up with a dress, custom leather boots and a pea coat (all pictured below) as well as a myriad of other pieces of clothing and accessories. Hoi An is also known for it's monthly lunar festival which includes hundreds floating lanterns. We finished our stay at Hanoi with a Vietnamese cooking class. 

Champa Ruins

The indigenous Champa people of Vietnam, (one of 54 ethnic minorities) built huge temples to the Hindu gods that date back to older than Angkor Wat. These temples were used as a hideout for the Vietcong and were heavily bombed during the Vietnam/American War in the 1970s. 

Hanoi

Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam, is defined by its tiny bustling streets overcrowded with people, motorbikes, and street vendors. We visited Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum where the body of the revolutionary leader is preserved and on display (yes it is a creepy as it sounds). We also drank Hanoi's famous "bia hoi" or "homemade street beer", and lived to tell the tale. 

We Were Not Arrested

“We were not arrested” Rachel grinned and hopped off the motorbike.

“See, the whole time I kind of wish we were. Then we could be on the front page of the New York Times. How cool would that be?” I replied.

Let me just start off by saying that I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Well, anything that I understood to be wrong.

It started off as a typical Friday night. 11 of us were crammed into a small Vietnamese karaoke room. Rachel and I were the only Americans. Vietnamese karaoke is an interesting thing. Many of the songs are in Vietnamese. However, there is a big song book of American music that I’m pretty sure hasn’t been updated since 1978. Some of the roommates’ favorites include Neil Diamond hits, John Lennon ballads, and the most requested song: “Country Roads” by John Denver. Surreal is a good way to describe the situation.

The karaoke bar closed at midnight, but still full of energy we drove around town on our motorbikes. (Disclaimer: I don’t drive a motorbike, I would die. I hop on the back of one with a roommate who has been driving for years). Saigon at night is one of my favorite places, and the roommates wanted to show Rachel and I the best view of the skyline. We hung out there for a while, enjoying the night, watching the boats go by on the Saigon River, and just generally being college kids.

L-O-Y-O-L-A

Then all of a sudden the laughter stopped. Two police officers pulled up on their bikes. Every single one of the Vietnamese students’ faces turned to ash. I didn’t know what was going on, but I realized we were in trouble.

Here is a quick breakdown of the police officers in Vietnam:

Green Uniform: Carries a beat stick, least educated, has no real authority. The only thing they can do is pull you over and confiscate your bike and/or drivers license. They usually can be bribed for a lump sum.

Khaki Uniform: Carries a beat stick and a hand gun. Has more authority than green officer. When green doesn’t know what to do about a situation they call a kaki officer. They can do everything a green officer can do, except it’s going to cost you more. Plus, they can arrest you.

Black Uniform: Carries a beat stick and an AK-47. No nonsense. No excuses.

It was green officers who were interrogating us. ID’s were to be shown, license and registration for each motorbike, as well as an explanation as to what we thought we were doing.  Rachel and I stood helplessly by as the Vietnamese students would pass us every few minutes and mutter instructions under their breath to us. We tried to be the ones to reason with the officers. We were just students and tourists looking at the city. We even have photographs to prove that we were just taking pictures. No dice. After a few minutes of consulting with each other the green officers told us that we weren’t allowed to move. We had to stay here, and there was nothing we could do about it. They were calling in the khaki officers.

Negotiations

As the stakes went up, so did our game plan. Tung, one of my closer friends, urgently looked at me and said, “Cry. Now.” I knew those acting lessons as a child would someday pay off. I can breakdown in tears like a pro. And breakdown I did.

My performance was worth at least a Golden Globe, if not an Emmy, a Tony, and an Oscar. I sobbed into my hands. I demanded to go home. I stomped off. I curled up into a ball on the corner of the street, hid my face and wailed. The hardest part was not laughing the entire time. I made quite a scene. People passing by on motorbikes kept slowing down and staring at my grand performance. A homeless guy even walked up to watch what would happen next.

When the khaki officers finally showed up nearly 30 minutes later, I was hiccuping in a corner loudly bemoaning my fate. The green officers couldn’t even bear to look at me. In the next ten minutes, negotiations were settled. Instead of paying the initial 2 million VND (~$100) per person, and confiscating all the motorbikes, we would only have to pay 200,000 VND (~$10) total because that was “all the money we could pool together” . At that point the khaki officers didn’t even seem to care about the money, they just wanted to make sure I stopped crying and got off the street as soon as possible. The line that got us off the hook was, "these are American's you don't want to make a bad impression, do you?"

When we finally escaped I couldn’t help but laugh as the Vietnamese students explained the details to me. It could have been (and should have been) much, much worse. The cops were out to make money or fill their jail quota, and we looked like prime suspects.  Unfortunately for them, it didn’t exactly turn out as planned. 

By this time it was 2:30 in the morning. What do you do at 2:30 in the morning? Go for pho of course. Just another day in Vietnam.

Cambodia Part III: Bits and Pieces

1. I got to hug an elephant

2. I got to stand at the center of the universe

3. I ate a spider. On purpose. (My face says it all)

4. I enjoyed the nightlife of Siem Reap.

5. I got my feet cleaned by sucker fishes. Without the red wine I probably would have shrieked the whole time.