I Know Why the Dog Sticks his Head Out of the Car Window

Easy Rider Tours are a popular attraction here in Dalat. They allow you to see much of the country from the back of a motorcycle. They take you to holy Buddhist temples, to a waterfall with a precarious climb on wet, slippery rocks down to it, to factories and cottage industries where they make everything from silk to rice wine, to see the fields of flowers, coffee, and produce of numerous varieties, and through the endless mountains that seem to cradle the city within them. To be out in the country, among the people, among the agriculture, on the back of an old yet purring motorcycle allows one to be alone with his thoughts. It’s difficult to describe the sensation of feeling at peace during the moments in between treacherous mountain bends and close calls as we zip by the wild village traffic.

To anyone who should visit Dalat they get my recommendation. It’s $25 and I would look for some Easy Riders (we had Peter Binh and Mr. Lulu) hanging outside of the Peace Café. It’s worth it. Unfortunately Captain America and Billy the Kid don’t ride here, just Pete Binh, Lulu, and the rest of the Easy Riders.

The Whitest Guy I Know

I live on a hill over looking the city. Sitting in front of my building is a giant white Buddha and his temple. His particular Buddha pose is said to represent the Wheel of Dharma or the Wheel of Law. The righteous path by which we are supposed to live. His temple is a luxurious one, surrounded by modest gardens. He's my neighbor, and I his.

Every Morning Looks Like This

"Beauty seen is never lost." - John Greenleaf Whittier, Sunset on the Bearcamp.

I am in Dalat. When speaking with some of my Vietnamese colleagues, I couldn’t help but regret the fact that I did not have better

words to describe their city. It is simply beautiful. The weather is clear, sunny, and that perfect temperature you might remember as late Spring. I sit atop a hill upon which I live in the center of the city looking out over this foreign land. The mountains, jungles, and pine forests that surround the city provide a dark green backdrop that contrasts with the light blue sky. The city itself is a mix of architecture with rooftops that rise and fall throughout the city giving one the feeling that they themselves were something organic. The Vietnamese themselves have been beautiful and rather helpful in our struggles to adapt. I have already been invited to dinner with the family that owns the little convenience shop outside the school. Pictures are always better than words, check out the photo-stream. àà

Night in the HMC

Flying half way around the world to move to a completely foreign country can be intimidating enough without having to deal with the Ho Chi Minh City traffic. For those who have not seen it, I can only describe it as a haphazard, scary jumble of automobiles and motorbikes/scooters. There are no real rules such as don’t cross the double yellow, or speed limits. The only rule people appear to follow is the bigger your vehicle is the less you have to move for others. This rule basically means if you are driving a van, you honk and the flood of motorbikes in the street is supposed to move to the right side so that you may pass. So vans and trucks never move to the side. Cars will sometimes move. Motorbikes have to move. Pedestrians have to pray. Crossing the street is one of the most thrilling and scary things any visitor can do in the HMC. The rules for a person crossing what is a frightening amount of traffic are just step off the curb, go at steady pace, don’t run, don’t stop, and watch out for vans, trucks, or cars. It takes what amounts to a leap of faith to cross the street because if you break any of the rules you get hit by a motorbike. I find myself having to fight the urge to run hurriedly across the street in a fit of a panic.

With the traffic still fresh in my mind I would now like to tell of my perfect first night moment. After some orientation and showers myself, Kristen, and the Teachers for Vietnam proceeded to go out for some drinks. The other teachers were feeling the jetlag and called it an early night. I did not. Kristen and I went to dinner with some other expats living in the HMC. She left to pick up a friend at the airport and I went out with her friends to the T&R Bar, to get there we took motorbikes. Riding on the back of the back of a motorbike in the calm air of a Saigon night was an experience worth the flight and the lousy traffic. You ride amid a pack of locals hurriedly racing to and fro, each local turning to get a look at the American on the back of bike, myself looking back at the throng of reds, greens, blues, yellows, and every hue in between marking each helmet and rider like some jumbled, flowing, and living Seurat painting. There was a certain beauty in being a part of it, being as they were, carefree on a cool night in the HMC.

The Dude Abides

As for man, his days are like grass, /he flourishes like a flower of the field; /the wind blows over it and it is gone, /and its place remembers it no more. Psalm, 103:15, 16.

So I have finally given in and started a travel blog. I have read the blogs of others, and generally enjoy them. I would encourage all who read this to write comments bordering on the absurd, irreverent, and inane. I prefer snide remarks that rebuff my writing, quotes from movies, and random thoughts posted without context. To the person who either writes the funniest comment or has the funniest username, I shall give them one small Asian child. Let's see what you all come up with.

P.S. If you join the blog you can add a picture and pick your username.

Upon a Leaving

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding spiders across the stars..." - Jack Kerouac, On The Road, 1957

I have found this quote appropriate when I think of my life. I've had my last weekend in New York, and I now live the tedious last week at home preparing and packing for my travels. I am not only packing what I will bring with me, but I am packing away what I will leave behind. Add your own meaning to this seemingly obvious metaphor, as I don't wish to be sentimental. I've added this quote at the beginning of my travels because I feel Kerouac personifies best what I hope this blog will become. He wrote about the American road with a passion and honesty that endeared him to a generation of Americans. I hope this blog will be half as interesting and twice as clean for the sake of my mother and grandmother. Enjoy what you read, and thank you all.