Cu Chi Tunnels

(PICTURE: Me sliding into the tunnel.)

Yesterday Hien took Ryan and I to the Cu Chi Tunnels. To quote Lonely Planet, "The tunnel network of Cu Chi became legendary during the 1960s for its role in facilitating Viet Cong control of a large rural area only 30km to 40km from HCMC. At its height the tunnel system stretched from the South Vietnamese capital to the Cambodian border; in the district of Cu Chi alone there were more than 250km of tunnels." 

To paraphrase there's a hell of a lot of tunnels under the ground that the Viet Cong used during the war. If you're a Platoon fan you'll remember the scene when the soldiers argue about who will have to go into the tunnel. Nobody wants to because it meant pretty certain death. 

The actual site is a huge tourist attraction. When we arrived there were buses and buses of foreigners ready to explore the tunnels and fire some artillery at the on-site shooting range. Our tour guide's name was Joey: "My name is Joey. Joey. Joey like a kangaroo. Baby kangaroo. Yeah, Joey" which he told us at least three dozen times. The only thing he told us more was that, "I like Americans because I like Yankee dollars." 

Anyway, Joey led us around the site and gave us a lecture about the tunnels followed by a ten minute documentary that could have been made by a four year old with an ibook. But rather than deconstruct the documentary I'll comment on the tunnels. Immediately upon walking into the compound we walked up to a tiny opening in the ground. Joey asked who would like to go into the tunnels first. I wish I could say that I was the first volunteer but I was staring at the hole thinking there was no way I could fit into it. One thing it doesn't take long to recognize out here is that Americans aren't quite the same size as Vietnamese (I'm already having nightmares about trying to find underwear that will fit me). 

Well, some guy volunteered to go into the tunnel who was a little smaller than me. He shimmied through the hole and after a second disappeared into the darkness. The next volunteer was Hien who is clearly braver than I am (and in my defense, a lot smaller). Hien dropped into the hole and also disappeared. We were told by the kangaroo guide that there were a couple of paths in the tunnel but only one that led to the exit about forty feet away. Forty feet isn't very far at all so I figured people would start popping up in a minute or two at the most. Well, five minutes went by and nobody came up. 

Just as I started to think this was some kind of cruel joke the first guy popped up out of the tunnel. He looked a little flabbergasted and exclaimed, "Don't go left. It's a dead end." Left by the way was the direction Joey said to go in. Followed by the guy was Hien. She had a giant smile across her face which was soon wiped away as she banged her head on the top of the tunnel. BAM. 

Hien and the random guy both made it out alive so I thought I could do it too. I handed Ryan my stuff and jumped right into the hole. I had to raise my hands above my head in order to fit but with just a little shoulder shake I slid right down. At the bottom of the hole was the tunnel and looking into it I couldn't see a thing. I hadn't seen darkness as dark as this since I had gone spelunking at Camp Airy. Showing no fear I crouched down and began to crawl through the tunnel. I put my left hand in front of me and felt along the wall for the way to go. After going for about twenty feet or so I felt a fork in the road. Left or right. That decision was easy since I already knew the answer. Right it was. After crawling for about two minutes my mind started to feel a little uneasy: "Shouldn't I be near the end already?" "What if they forget to remove a booby trap?" What if this is the path to Cambodia?"...

As I started to slightly freak myself I felt something squishy with my left hand and immediately heard, "Hey, that's my bum." Apparently some British guy had jumped into the hole before me and I had caught up to him. He asked if I kindly not touch his butt again and I assured him that the Cu Chi tunnel was the only one I wanted to explore.  He and I continued to talk to one another as we made our way foward. Eventually he yelled out, "thank god, I see a light." I turned the bend and indeed there was a light. However, I saw something else too: A BAT. The bat apparently didn't see me though because it flew right into my face. I know bats are blind and that they use sonar so it really made no sense. However, the freaking bat slammed into my face. It was clearly startled too and flew backwards a foot then flew into my face again. The next few seconds were a blur as I ran/crawled towards the light. I began to run up the steps and in a high pitched voice cried out, "Jesus Christ, did you see that bat?!" Before I could get an answer I felt a huge blow to my head. No, it wasn't the bat again. It was the tunnel ceiling--the same one Hien had hit her head on minutes earlier. 

My Motorbike Gang

Here's a picture of my Ho Chi Minh City motorbike gang (minus my sweetheart Ryan who was taking the picture): Me, Hien, Linh, Au and of course Uncle Ho. 

I know it looks like I have a little belly but I assure you it's just the lighting in the post office. 

Vietnam Is Treating Me Right

(PICTURE: Hien putting on her apron.)

You know you're doing something right when you've been in a country for less than twenty four hours and a beautiful girl invites you over for a home cooked meal. I know what you're thinking, it must be the haircut. 

Yesterday was a traveler's dream day. Hien and her friends Linh and Au took Ryan and I out for a tour of Ho Chi Minh City...on their motorbikes. Despite being assured by Hien that she was, "The best driver in Vietnam" within the first hour we were almost run over by a city bus. I saw the bus coming the whole time and figured Hien had too. This was not the case. Luckily her cat-like reflexes kicked in inches before we became road pancakes. Some say you see your life flash before you right before you die, well, my life didn't flash before me but I had two very clear thoughts:

1. No way in hell am I ever getting a motorbike.

2. I'm definitely getting a motorbike because it can't get much more dangerous than that. 

Oh, and Mom, don't worry I was wearing a helmet. It's the law here. 

Hien and the girls took us to see Reunification Palace (the place where the famous helicopter took off with the last Americans out of Saigon), a very famous post-office and an extremely busy market where we drank very sketchy fruit/vegetable/yogart-ish drinks. After the Palace, Ryan wasn't feel up to par so Au took him back to our guest house. Hien, Linh and I ventured on to another museum and to see a water puppet show. 

Water Puppets are a big thing in 'Nam. It's just like it sounds, there are puppets performing in/on top of water. Water puppet theatre has been around for thousands of years. How, I don't know because it was the most boring thing I have ever watched. Basically it was like watching a rubber ducky splash around in a bathtub for thirty minutes. Snooze city. 

After the show, Linh went home and I got a private tour on Hien's bike. We drove around the city as she pointed out a few other sites. Much to my chagrin, Hien kept talking to me while driving. As much as I love talking to her, I wanted her full attention on the road. Remember, this was only a few hours after a bus almost kissed me with its front, middle and back tires. Luckily, we went without any further incidents the rest of the day with the only thing that could potentially kill me being some sketchy street food we ate (the bowl of soup had pork, coagulated blood, fish, crab, and I think one other meat). Oh, and just a note, I never thought I'd say this but when it comes to cleanliness I think Cambodia has Vietnam beat. In Cambodia they at least pretend to sterilize the silverware by dipping it into luke warm water. Here they make no such attempt to even fool you. Simply there's just a pile of chopsticks and spoons in a container which you pick up and use. Man, I miss those healthy living days of Cambodia. 

At the end of a long fantastic day with Hien she dropped me off at my guest house...and told me to be at her house an hour and a half later for dinner--she and her roommate were cooking for Ryan and I. I shouldn't really make this seem like a spur of the moment thing since I basically bullied Hien, via email over the last three months, into cooking for me. 

Ryan and I showed up at Hien's place (which is also the school I'll be finishing my classes at since she takes care of the property) and were treated to an amazing meal. What made it so amazing you're probably asking yourself? Well, probably because Ryan and I helped fold the spring rolls. I'm sure they would have been great on their own but we added that perfect seasoning--American hands. 

It was a great first full day in Vietnam and one thing is certain, I'm well taken care of in Ho Chi Minh City. 

Haircut

(FLASHBACK PHOTO: (2003) After growing my hair for a year and a half I finally got my hair cut in my kitchen by my mother's hairstylist.)

My hair has gone through many different styles over the years. I've had the buzz cut, frohawk, 4th grade flat top, part on the side, long disgusting hair, corn rows, etc. Well, as you may have noticed in a few pictures over the last couple months my hair was starting to veer towards my classic 2003 long hair phase. Sure it was probably a year away from rivaling the 11 inches I grew for Locks of Love, but nonetheless it was already at the unmanageable phase. Usually my excuse for not getting my haircut is that prices for a decent barber have skyrocketed over the years and go directly against my "No More Than $10 For A Haircut" rule. Well, in southeast Asia a $10 haircut would get you a shampoo, a cut and probably a hooker. So, I made a new rule: "No More Than A Dollar For A Haircut." 

In Phnom Penh, barbers set up chairs right on the sidewalk and proceed to cut customers hair right onto the ground. Basically in Cambodia you can set up a shop anywhere on public property and conduct business. This goes for all the street side restaurants to the ladies who give manicures and pedicures on park benches outside of Buddhist temples.  Every day I would see people getting their haircut and think to myself as I sweated profusely because of the mop on my head, "I really need a haircut." 

On the way home from class the other night I finally decided it was time for a chop. As our tuk-tuk sped its way into our neighborhood I began to look for someone who could cut my hair. No street barbers were in sight. However, there was a sign with pictures of women's hairstyles so I figured they must cut hair too. I told the tuk-tuk to pull over and I jumped out. I walked into the salon -- as much as you can "walk into" a place with no front door since the store front is open to the street -- and was greeted with very confused looks by the two girls inside. I said to them, "Hi, I'd like a haircut" and simultaneously made Edward Scissorhands like motions to my hair. The girls looked at each and shrugged as if to say, "why not?" I asked how much it would cost and the girl said, "$1." Generally speaking, most non-English speaking Cambodians have a working English language of about twenty words--"how," "much," "one," and "dollar" being 4 out of their twenty words or 20% of their vocabulary (that math is correct, right, Bier?).  

So I sat down in a chair and had a smock put around me. It was at this point that I made a few observations:

1. One of the two girls in the salon wasn't an employee but rather was a customer. I'm also pretty sure she was a prostitute. And if she wasn't a prostitute she was getting ready for a wedding.  Sounds strange but I really think those were the only two options the way her make-up and hair were.

2. The shop wasn't a place to get your hair cut; it was for getting your hair styled. And when I say "your hair", I mean women's hair. Every girl that walked into the shop, or past the shop, yelled something out in Khmer during my haircut which was followed by lots of laughter. 

3. Because this wasn't a place to really get your haircut, I was about to be experimented on by an amateur stylist. 

That said, I had two options:

1. Take off the smock and leave. 

2. Get a potentially horrible haircut. 

Most people would take option #1. However, I decided to just go for it as I heard my mother's words -- circa 1994 when I walked out of Rocko's with a haircut that unfortunately looked just like his, -- echoing in the back of my head, "It's just hair. It'll grow back." 

The haircut last about twenty minutes and it seemed that she used whatever tools happen to be laying near the chair. There was a pair of scissors that may or may not have been for cutting paper. There was some weird tool to I think layer my hair which basically ripped out chunks of hair at one time. Was it painful? Yes. And then there was the blade she used to shave my neck. I'm convincing myself it was a blade and not a tool used to scrape paint off the wall because, well, that's exactly what it looked like. Either way luckily I got a Tetanus booster before I left the states. 

After she was all done chopping, pulling, tearing, scraping all the hair on my body above my shoulders she asked me if I'd like my hair washed. Sure, why not? She then proceeded to dump half a bottle of shampoo on my head and then spray me with some water and wash my hair. She did this for about about fifteen minutes creating an extreme amount of soap suds which went all over the floor...and my shirt. She then took off all soap with a towel and dumped the other half of the shampoo bottle onto my head. After another fifteen minutes she  washed my hair off in a sink and then gave me a shoulder, neck and head massage. This felt great until she ended it by karate chopping my skull for three minutes--clearly some kind of massage technique. All I could think of as my head was pounded on was, "This isn't the best place to come for someone with concussion problems." 

After all was said and done, the whole experience ended up costing me $3. $1 for the haircut and $2 for the massage/head pounding. I know I broke my own rule for not paying more than $1 for a haircut in southeast Asia but it was worth it...my hair looks fantastic. 

Connect Four Part II

(PICTURE: They hand this to you at the Royal Palace. They only recommend you don't bring in guns.)

In preparation for my triumphant return to Howie's bar, I spent twenty minutes googling Connect Four theory the other night. I found a 91 page thesis online which proves that if one goes in the center column on the first move, and plays a perfect game, it is impossible to lose. This was exactly what I needed! Unfortunately I couldn't gain access to the paper...so I settled for a 29 page document I found which had the same basic premise. Ryan and I spent the day combing through the paper trying to find all the most important information. We outlined a few key points and memorized the ideal first five moves. Ryan and I quizzed each other for hours:

BEN: You start at D1, your opponent goes A1.

RYAN: I go anywhere but A2 or B1.

BEN: Right.

RYAN: You start D1, your opponent goes F1.

BEN: You go either B1 or F2.

RYAN: Right.

We had the whole thing down pat by 10PM when we walked into the bar. As we strolled into the dimly lit drinking hole it felt like we were in slow motion--gunslingers walking into a saloon. I motioned with a flick of my wrist for the bartenders to take out the boards. However, all the bar girls turned to their right and locked their gaze on the center of the bar. Standing there was the sheriff--Trea.

Trea worked at Howie's for three years and I was told the other night that she was the best...ever. Trea looked at me and said,"You vs. Me. For a beer." I said, "Game on. But I go first." She agreed and Ryan and I looked at each other: D1 it would be.

Trea and I started to play and after about a minute she screamed out, "Damn you!"Apparently I had won the game. She saw it unfolding about fifteen moves ahead. It was unbelievable. She was right though, I won. One free Beer Lao for me. I was on cloud 9. With my new found strategy I would be drinking for free all night. Only one problem: No girls would play me anymore! I was blacklisted and they only wanted to "play for fun." Who plays for fun!

Ryan, not blacklisted, took on Trea's sister Annie. Annie agreed to play him 9:1 and let him start every game first. Ryan and Annie started to play and immediately Annie won five games. Ryan turned to me and said, "I guess the strategy is perfect." Well, perfect or not it ended up being pretty good. Ryan won the sixth game and then took four more beers from Annie. I got to reap half the benefits. Another successful night hustling the hustlers.

I'm leaving Cambodia in a few hours. It's been a great two weeks here but I'm ready to get back to 'Nam. Now I just need to find a bar in Ho Chi Minh City where they play Connect Four...and the girls don't know me.

REASON # 8,381,902 MY MOTHER IS SO GREAT

I just wanted to share quickly another reason my mother is amazing. My first day traveling -- way back on February 2nd -- I found a little purple post-it note in my backpack. Written on it were some inspirational words from my mother. It was cute and not only made me smile, but it made me miss her and I had only just left her side earlier that day. Well, a few days later I found another post it note with more kind words about me and my trip. Then another few days passed and BAM there was another note inside my backpack pocket.

I took the notes and placed them in my journal so I could see them every time I wrote. I also emailed mom and asked her how many notes she had placed in my luggage. She told me that she thought I had found them all already. Well, she lied to me, because I found another one the other day which I've since been keeping in my wallet with me at all times. As I always say, my mother is one of the kindest, sweetest, most thoughtful people on the planet. Love you, Mom!

More signs and overall oddness...

(PICTURE: A few days ago in Siem Reap this sign was on the back of my door. It's funny, albeit really really sad at the same time.)

Last night was one of my more bizarre experiences in Asia. For a week I have heard people talk about the bar girls at a local establishment called Howie's who are all Connect Four prodigies. As many of you know, I too have dabbled in Connect Four from time to time although it has been about thirteen or fourteen years since I dominated Mike Levy's basement. The only time I've played since getting my driver's license is when I smoked Alex 3-1 in college after he claimed to be unbeatable.

Trea, a former Howie's employee, told me that there was no way I could win a game at Howie's. She told me that what the girls there do is play guys for beers. You win, they buy you a beer. You lose, you buy them a beer. They make the majority of their money by earning a $1 for every beer a guy buys them. These girls were hyped as so good that they play 10:1. If you can win one game before they win ten, then you win.

So, last night Ryan and I headed over to Howie's. Virath, a Languagecorps alumni and now friend of the bar, told the bar girls I wanted my shot at them. Lana, a cute 22 year old who has been working the bar/Connect Four scene for three years, obliged and whipped out a Connect Four set. We began to play and after about two minutes Lana screamed out, "You cheat!" Apparently I had won. This girl was so good she was seeing about ten moves ahead. Well, she was right, I did win. However, my instincts told me this was a trap. She was clearly trying to hustle me for beers. That said, I walked right into it.

I told Lana I wanted to play 10:1 and she agreed. We started to play and I swear, Bobby Fischer took over her body. Within ten minutes she was up six games to none. Six to none! I buckled down and focused and with a little luck I somehow won the seventh game. If I said Lana was pissed it would be the understatement of the year. She was furious. She knocked over the board, bought me a Beer Lao and demanded a rematch at 7:1. I agreed but first sipped my beer as I taunted her...and watched her get madder and madder.

The first game of the next series couldn't have gone better...I WON AGAIN! Lana got even madder as she slammed another beer, which literally comes out of her wages, onto the bar. By this time a crowd gathered around us since Lana is considered the best player in the bar and never loses. So we played again...and I won again! Three beers. Lana called me a cheater again and backed away. Other bar girls were amazed and began to challenge me. I took on Annie, Trea's younger sister and one of the other top players, and beat her too! I was on fire. Before I knew it all the girls were on their cell phones texting away. I didn't find out till the next morning that they were writing Trea things like, "I hate you! Why did you send the foreigner to play us?!"and "You're crazy and cost me my night's wages!" I know this seems a little pompous of me to brag about but it was truly amazing on my behalf. Dare I say the greatest sporting night of my life. The thing is, these girls are SOOOO MUCH BETTER THAN ME at the game. I really was getting very lucky. In the end Lana calmed down and stepped back up to challenge me again. This time she completely kicked my ass seven games to none (although there was one draw in the middle and I had some drunk Norwegian girl yelling in my ear the whole time as to what to do until I turned to her and said, "Would you tell Bobby Fischer where to move his castle?"I thought the reference would work since he was living in Iceland, Norway's kind of close neighbor, when he died but I don't think she got it). I bought Lana her beer and gave her a few dollars tip since I really had cost her her night's wages.

If last night wasn't strange enough, today a bunch of people came up to me and said things to me about my performance at the bar. As I was leaving the house this evening to go to dinner the security guard said to me in broken English, "I hear you are quite clever." I'm a legend.