Stories from Nam'

The Vietnam Chapter of the Justin Clouden International Fan Club is strong, very strong.

In my travels, I've become very accustomed to the stares, names, photos, questions and touching that I tend to encounter everywhere from Argentina to Thailand due to my size and skin color.  Nothing however, has compared to the reactions I received in Vietnam.  While I have far too many short stories to relate here regarding the six days we spent there, one stands out in my mind as too funny not to mention.

We were at the pearl farm and museum in Halong Bay when this Vietnamese family is continually pointing, staring and laughing/smiling at me.  After a couple minutes of this and following me around the museum, the mother runs up to me and grabs me pretty forcefully.  Before I knew what was going on, her husband was snapping pictures of us together.  After that, she swapped with her husband and the process continued.  Then, each of their 3 daughters each took their respective turn taking pictures with the big black guy.  All the while, every foreigner, my friends included are rolling with laughter and looking on in disbelief.  While thoroughly embarrassed, I did my best to be a good sport and ambassador of my people.  When I thought things couldn't get more ridiculous, i feel a soft caress on my arm, as the wife moved back in and was petting and stroking my biceps.  She then asks me something in Vietnamese and I must have looked at her with the blankest stare ever because my Vietnamese is just a little rusty.  One of the ladies who was cleaning pearls, who has been giggling uncontrollably at what's transpiring, decides to translate the wife's request.  "She says your very handsome and wants to know if you love her." As I frantically search for an appropriate response, she adds, "Will you kiss her?"  I shoot a glance at the husband who is nodding his head furiously with a grin from ear to ear.  At that point, I thought to myself, "when in Nam'..." and I laid a fat one right on her cheek.

Vietnam was one of my favorite stops so far because of the chance to see a society with a very communist feel that still feels strangely Western and developed.  Hanoi is your typical big city busy beyond belief.  People always talk about Bangkok of having the craziest traffic in the World, but at least there is some resemblance of traffic laws.  In Hanoi, there are very few stoplights or stop signs.  And with millions of scooters and cars moving through the city at any given moment, crossing the street becomes a life threatening situation.  You learn that you literally, need to just start walking slowly in a predictable and methodical manner and the cars and scooters with avoid you.  Some people even recommend closing your eyes.

We arrived in Hanoi around sunset and headed straight to Hotel Rendezvous, which has the most efficient and helpful staff you could ever imagine.  So amazing, that I would trust them with my first born.  The next morning we visited the Ho Chi Minn museum where we were able to learn about him, his life and philosophy.  The museum was also a huge homage to communism as everything was written in heavy communist jargon.  After the museum, we headed over to the Hanoi Hilton, the ironic nickname for the prison that held US soldiers during the war, including Senator John McCain.  Both here and at the Ho Chi Minn museum, there was very little emphasis on the US involvement in the Vietnam War.  America is looked at as the regrettable end to decades of French imperialism.  Vietnam might be the only place that dislikes the French more than the US.  The prison was focused on the torture that the French employed upon the Vietnamese, but seemed to forget the torture that American servicemen went through at their hands.  There were pictures of US soldiers playing chess, laughing, cooking turkeys for Christmas dinner, and playing basketball, which we all know was not quite the case.

The amount of propaganda in this country was definitely cool to experience as well.  Besides the commuspeak and historical portrayals, in public places, there was always a loudspeaker that transmitted a monotoned, sterile, Big Brotheresque voice in a loud booming manner. I felt like I was in the Hunger Games.  The nightlife here was also very interesting.  Everything seemed normal, with loud house music and Vietnamese people dancing in small groups, when at midnight, the police makes their rounds.  They raid and shut down all the bars that refuse to pay the bribe, which made me feel like I was underage again during an alcohol bust.  At this point, everyone, travelers and Vietnamese alike, heads to Lighthouse which is an underground club on the fringe of the downtown area in a seemingly abandoned neighborhood.

We split our time in Vietnam between Hanoi and Halong Bay, where we went on a 3 day/2 night cruise through some of the most beautiful islands and landforms I've ever seen.  We sea kayaked through caves and around islands.  We saw jellyfish (Bryce got stung by one) and played lots of Spades.  We also challenged 5 Vietnamese guys to a game of beach volleyball that become the major attraction at this local-filled beach.  Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched intensely, cheering at every point until the good ol' US of A won.  Were currently in Cambodia and will be heading to Bali shortly for the final leg of the trip.

Til' next time.

walking, stumbling and bumbling our way through the week

Its one am in the morning and the dark sky is littered with twinkling bright lights.  Thousands of bright balls of burning gas flood the night sky.  Dozens of pairs of indigenous eyes stare out at us from the doorways of their huts with extreme curiosity; we must be the talk of the town tonight. The 5 of us are in rural Laos, and our bus is broken down.

Rewind.  ChiangMai is definitely one of our favorite cities so far.  The morning after arriving, we've run into a friend from the States who directs us to the motorbike and motorscooter rental place.  After seeing the plethora of head, leg and arm injuries in Koh Phangan, combined with the organized chaos that is Thai traffic,  we were undoubtedly hesitant about hopping into the fray, however, when in Thailand...  We set off, weaving through the lawless traffic that is downtown: around and in between hundreds of cars, tuk tuks, scooters, bikes, rickshaws and things that would hardly pass for vehicles in the States.  Once out of the city, we were able to visit a couple waterfalls, and the giant Pagoda perched atop the mountain.  While this afternoon was an amazing experience, the best part was definitely returning the bikes with them and more importantly ourselves in our original conditions.

That evening, we took a Thai cooking class with our culinary sherpa, Pot.  Pot is a former undefeated muay thai fighter who gave up his career after suffering a series of injuries in a motorbike accident to teach the falang (foreigners) the ways of thai cusine.  We made an assortment of noodles, soups, and curries from scratch.  We were able to put a little hair on our chests after making jungle curry paste which is made from 40, that's right 40 thai chilies.

The following day, our group split with Bryce and Shannon going on a hike and bike, and Charlie, Alba and myself set off on a 2 day trek through the rainforest that we would never forget.  I personally wasn't planning on doing any treking, so armed with nothing but a pair of loafers, blublocker sunglasses and an unnecessarily heavy backpackers backpack, we set off.  We started by buying supplies at the local market and arrived at the elephant camp to do some riding.  Alba and I were sitting comfortably above these beautiful and powerfully majestic animals enjoying a peaceful ride near the river.  All was perfect in paradise.  Then it happened.  The sky opened up, and Jove let loose a storm that would rock our World.  No longer, were our friends beautiful, powerful nor majestic.  These slow, lumbering creatures crept along the path as we struggled to keep our cameras, phones and other possessions dry.  This was no aguas de marco, or afternoon shower, this was a full on monsoon.  As Alba and I seriously debated the idea of returning back to the city, our guides who spoke no more the couple words of English prepared us to begin the trek.  For the next three and a half hours, we traversed uphill through 6 km of mud, trees, sticks and rocks.  We could barely see more than a foot in front of us and our legs were on fire from the slow climb.  The two ponchos each Charlie and I were under kept the rain out, while simultaneousnessly trapping us in our own sweat, body heat and filth.  At around 5pm, we finally reached the top of the mountain where we would spend the night in a local village.

The village was a very small place with less than 150 inhabitants, who went about their regular business while we freshened up with buckets of water and ate a dinner prepared by our tour guides.  That night we played games with the other travelers and listened to our tour guides sing the classics such as "I shot the tourist."  Our trip down that morning included much falling on my part due to the extreme practicality of my loafers, whitewater rafting and a sigh of relief that those two days were finally over.

The next day we spent relaxing and recovering before hopping on on a 18, I mean 26 hour bus to Luang Prabang, Laos.  The bus spent the night traveling at no more than 25 miles per hour before breaking down somewhere in the Laos countryside.  The most frustrarting part about being stuck somewhere in Laos, is that not only do you not know where you are, no one speaks English, nor cares to communicate what's going on.   Not to mention the fact that watching several Laos men throw water on the engine, bang on pieces of the engine, scrounge for extra parts, all with no rhyme or reason was frustrating to watch.  8 hours delayed, we finally arrive at our destination and I promptly decided to buy my next flight to Hanoi instead of busing it.

Sprinting Through the Week

Sweat rains down all over my face.  Loud Cheering all around me at every painful hit. Loud Thai men shouting out their bets.  Where am I? A Bangkok Muy Thai fight.  After some careful negotiating, my friends and I were able to reserve front row, ring side seats to watch one of the biggest matches of the year, the Battle of Daorungchujaroen.  Watching 110 lbs, 0% body fat Thai men lay down some the hardest kicks and punches I've ever seen was definitely an amazing experience.

The last week or so has been a whirlwind of experiences.  My trip to Inle Lake, Myanmar was amazing.  I had a chance to see the native population live the way that they have been living for centuries.  Armed with my personal tour guide and boat for the day, we took off down the river to the lake that is the center of commerce for this region in the middle part of the country.  Inle Lake is a series of floating villages, farms and factories.  We visited textile, cigar, and paper factories, where little indigenous ladies spent their days working tirelessly and methodically to produce the hand-made goods that get sold throughout the region.  We saw the floating farms as well as visited the market place where the people congregate to trade, purchase and exchange goods everyday.  It was absolutely humbling to visit a place so removed from the rest of the World, untouched by Western hands.

After leaving Myanmar, I headed back to Thailand and made the long 22 hour journey to Koh Phangan in Southern Thailand where I would meet up with my friends and experience what has been called of the best parties in the World.  Imagine a beach with over 20,000 people partying until sunrise, dressed in bright neon colors, covered in fluorescent paint with loud house music pumping, not to mention the fire baton twirlers and fire jump rope, then you might begin to guess what this experience was like.  My favorite part was definitely how open people were.  Everyone was friends with everyone and you really got a sense of the true warmth of humanity.

After spending July 4th recovering from the epic night before, we flew up to Bangkok, which is where I am now.  In a couple of hours, we will be heading to Chiang Mai where we will hopefully do some trekking, visit wildlife reserves and take cooking classes.  Needless to say, I'm very excited!

Fisherman at Inle Lake

Inle Lake Market

Blacksmith

Handmade fabrics

Hand rolling Cigars

Pagoda in Yangon, Myanmar

Til next time.

Navigating with my hands...

I'm getting really good at charades.  That's what happens when you find yourself in a country in which no one speaks English and you don't speak a lick of their language or anything similar.  I'm currently in the country of Myanmar (Burma), in a small village near Inle Lake.  I don't think I've ever been this removed from society and it is both liberating and isolating.  The isolation is compounded by the fact that it is the tourist low season, and as a result, there are less than a handful of tourists, in other words, its me and the locals.

Its a truly exciting time in the country of Myanmar.  Their transition from a traditional closed society to a free and liberated one is happening at the speed of light.  A year ago, there were few cars on the road, solders on every corner and a general lack of freedom.  Today, there is a sense of liberation in the air.  People talk about whatever they like, they are allowed to visit any webpage they like and there are pictures of Aung San Suu Kyi everywhere.

With all the changes however, somethings still lag behind.  The only note of currency available is the 1,000 Kyat, which is approximately worth 80 cents.  So as I write this there is 180,000 kyat in my pocket, which means a stack of 180 pieces of oversized paper.  The country is one of a couple in the World that is not part of the international banking system, which means ATMs are non existent.  Because it is a cash only society, can you imagine buying a computer? car? house? When I say bags of cash, I mean bags of cash.

The biggest annoyance is that while yes USD are accepted, they have to be in pristine, brand-new condition.  Any tear, discoloration or even bend, renders it worthless.  Out of the 25 twenty dollar bills I brought, only 3 were usable.  Luckily my cousin changed the rest out for me.

Myanmar, while closed off to the West for the last couple of decades, has not been closed off to the East.  Development has been occurring here, unbeknownst to us, at a constant rate due to the efforts of China and Malaysia. This means to say that there is a fairly decent infrastructure for a country that just emerged from a several decade rule under a military junta.

As a 6 foot, 220 lbs black man, the stares I receive here are numerous, but its different than other places where I have experienced them.  People here just seem more perplexed than anything else.  They really want to meet you, but the language barrier is almost insurmountable here.  Its actually frustrating for both parties as we want to get to know each other, but charades can only get you so far.  Most interactions I've had so far have been pleasantries and smiling. Lots of smiling.  

One of the more interesting aspects of staring that I notice with people here is that it is interpreted as a positive thing.  In the States, when someone stares at you, our reaction is, "wait, is there something on my face?" We assume that kind of attention to be negative.  Conversely, here the assumption is "wow, what about my face are you admiring?"  I think we all should strive to see the world like the people of Myanmar.

Tomorrow I venture to Lake Inle to see the floating villages.

Til next time.

so this is machu picchu???????

two thousand, and then some. That's the number of steps you must walk up to get to Machu Picchu. I just got back from a four day trip to the Lost City of the Incas and I hesitate to say this, but it just might have been the best weekend of my entire life.

Early Friday morning, the 6 of us (the PIBV summer consultants), hopped on a bus and began the windy and twisty journey to the top of Abra Malagra (14, 271 ft) - yes; 3, 410 feet higher than Cuzco. At every twist and turn, I was pretty sure the bus was going to topple over (probably explains why the bus driver kept playing the same four Bob Marley songs on loop). At the top, everyone was paired up with an appropriate-sized mountain bike, gloves and helmet and we proceeded to ride our bikes down the amongst the most scenic and picturesque views that I had ever seen. See above, but of course, justice cannot be done through photos. After four hours of biking down paved and occasionally gravel roads with giant buses and trucks booking it around the tight bends we ditched the bikes and hopped back on our bus that took us to our first night's rest.

After a very short and uncomfortable sleep in one of the dirtiest hostels I've ever stayed in, we were awoken at 5:30 am to begin our 9 hour/23 km hike through the rain forest, mountains and inka trail. This was one of the more grueling treks I have ever done, bringing us up and down mountains, around narrow bends, across rivers and very unstable swinging bridges. What astonished me was how I could feel so miserable yet so fortunate at the same time. At around 5 pm we arrived at the hot springs, where we were able to take the weight off for a couple hours before taking a bus to the small town of Santa Theresa.

The next morning the 6 of us went zip-lining at the highest zip line in South America, which was pretty cool needless to say. Something about soaring through the air 656 feet above the ground is fairly liberating. After an exciting morning, we walked some more, along train tracks for a couple miles or something until we arrived at Aguas Calientes, where we would rest for the night before venturing off to Machu Picchu.

3:30 AM. My alarm blares. This is it. The moment we've been thinking about all weekend. The moment I've thought about for years. We pack our bags in silence, me with a smile stretching from ear to ear in anticipation of what will be one of the most memorable moments of my life. We start walking down the pitch dark road with our flashlights leading the way. After 25 minutes of skipping and laughing down the flat road, we arrive at the first of over two thousands steps that we will have conquered in one hour's time and all smiles disappear. With our menacing opponent staring us down, we begin our ascent to the top. After about 30 steps, I come to the quick realization, as I'm panting for breath, that 2,000 steps is a lot more than you think.

500 steps later, I have no idea what I'm doing. At 1,000 steps I'm slightly delusional. At 1,500 I'm starting to realize how far we've come and how absolutely amazing this all is. And at 2,000 I can't believe what just transpired. We're waiting in line to enter the site, antsy as little school girls. The line begins to move, we pass the checkpoint, we pass the second check point and then, we arrive.

Machu Picchu is one of those places that you always hear people rave about but never know what to expect when you see it in person. I can't even imagine how much manpower and effort it took to create such an architectural masterpiece. Every stone seems strategically placed. Every shape, purposely selected. Every design, inspired by the Gods themselves. At every turn, I was more and more amazed by the scale of the Lost Incan City. Machu Picchu is situated in the clouds, making you feel as though you are literally floating across the sky. Watching the sunrise over the mountains and watching golden streams of sun flood every crevice of the city was also a sight not to be missed. Machu Pichu left me forever mesmerized, and I wish I could impart upon you the wonder that I witnessed, yet the only way to truly understand is to see if for yourself.

Blame it on the alt - alt- alt -alt -alt -titude baby

For anyone who has ever been to Denver, they have probably felt the difference in altitude. Denver is a whopping 5,281 feet above sea-level. For a comparison, New York is about 30 feet and Atlanta is less than a thousand. The magical city of Cuzco however, is a whopping 10,861 feet above sea-level. The difference between this and what most people are used to is immediately felt when you're doing every day things like walking up steps, hills or ancient Incan Ruins. Ive tried running a few times and lack of oxygen prevents you from running for more than ten seconds at a time, which makes me excited for the upcoming season when my high-altitude training should pay off immediately.

I've been here in Cuzco with Penn International Business Volunteers for a week now and I am very excited about how much we've helped the NGO that were consulting for already. I don't want to talk too much about work here, but just know that some good is actually being done.

Cuzco is a very interesting city. Reminds me of an old European city in that nothing seems to have been changed in the downtown area in centuries. The old Gothic cathedrals and cobblestone roads give it a character that most American cities miss now-a-days. Like almost all Latin American cities there's a Plaza de Armas and a huge statue of Jesus Cristo on top a hill overlooking the city with an almost comforting gaze. This past weekend, we got the opportunity to visit many of the local Incan Ruins. I'll just show pictures instead of talking about them because in a few days we will be doing Machu Picchu and well, that kind of speaks for itself.

The cusquenan people have a very distinct character; they are much more timid people than I would have ever expected. They tend to walk with their heads down and don't bother you too much, unless you're a tourist and they're trying to sell you gum, traditional clothing or bombard you with free drink tickets to come to their bar or club. The nightlife scene is an almost seamless union between Latin and Western Culture. Locals and tourists mix interchangeably in the same way a song will go from Salsa to House to Hip-Hop in a 2 minute period.

The poverty here is something I have never seen before, which is saying alot after seeing the favelas (slums) of Brazil last year. There seems to be a distinct difference between living in a slum and living in some of the rural Peruvian villages. Slums tend to be crowded, dirty and dangerous, complete with an unbreakable social code/structure and wealthy warlords and errand boys. These rural Peruvian villages however are marked by a lack of any and everything. Most homes are just four sided structures made of mud bricks, lacking running water, a stable roof and a dirt floor. This, compounded with nighttime temperatures that can reach ten below Celsius regularly and three generations of family members crammed into a single bedframe is a serious indicator of poverty. I think I'll have to come back to this subject however, because its far too much to cover in a paragraph.

If you've read this far, I congratulate you because this is my first attempt at writing a blog and I'm pretty sure it reeked of stream of consciousness.

Things to look forward to: I will be eating guinea pig in 2 hours and trekking to Machu Picchu in 2 days. To say I'm excited would be a gross underestimation.