Deliriously Dreamy - Cambodia

By the time I left my room in search of food, the hotel restaurant was closed. I wandered down a dark, dirt road to the main part of town in Siem Reap, to a narrow alley lined with at least a dozen traditional Khmer restaurants. All of them looked very clean and well appointed, with entrees in the $2-$3 range. A Khymer vegetarian place caught my attention, so did the purple haired Aussie punk sitting out front with her girlfriend. Within two minutes of sitting at the next table, the punk in leopard print tights offered me the rest of her plat d'jur. How could I say no? The food was excellent – think mild veggie curry, but not fish or tamarind flavor like Thai, the spices are different and I have no idea what they are.

After dinner, I walked down the block with my two new Aussie gal pals to the one gay bar in town - don't laugh, the place is called Lingus. Its actually a chic lounge, like something you might see in Miami but with $3 mojitos, good strong ones at that. The girls were set on finding a club nearby that boasted having Pol Pot's toilet seat. Immediately leaping to the prospect of peeing in Pol Pot's Pot, I was a tiny bit let down to learn the seat was in a frame on the wall.

Once back at my beautiful Indochine guest house, The Golden Banana, I asked the receptionist if there was any chance the pool was still open. (I knew it was closed, since the manager included the pool hours in his detailed ten minute personal welcome briefing, but I had to try anyway). “Yes Sir, the Golden Banana Boutique pool is closed, but I can show you to the Golden Banana Resort pool, just next door.” Indeed, it was “deliriously dreamy” (thanks Yuki) to have a refreshing night swim, after twelve hours of sweaty travel, in the midst of this timelessly decorated, lush Cambodian courtyard.

Whats Up, Ko Lanta?!

The day I landed by ferry boat on Ko Lanta Yai (Big Lanta Island), I was greeted, or accosted rather, by dozens of hotel employees looking to rent their bungalows to me or my fellow shipmates - ranging from low end backpacker spots to four-star luxury resorts. I noticed two heavily tattooed Thai hipsters holding a sign for Kantiang Bay Resort, which both versions of the guidebook had recommended. The advantage of meeting these salesmen at the pier is the free ride to the resort, at no obligation to stay. Kantiang Bay is a delightful half moon shaped beach at the southern end of the island – much quieter than the busier long beach at the northern end. The bay is lined with large, lush trees, two of which are the centerpieces for Kantiang Bay's restaurant and their free love themed “Why Not” bar. The same two Thai hipsters that picked me up at the pier, also run the bar, and play in a cover band there performing kitschy Thai renditions of American top 40 songs from the last thirty years. I lit up the first night when they played Four Non Blondes' “Whats Up,” one of my favorites flashbacks from the 90's, one that my friend Tommy recently reminded me is now in the “adult contemporary” category, which I refute, adamantly.

By day two, I realized that if I wanted peace and quiet, I better head to the next beach where there were no live bands playing till 1am and fewer cold Euro's scowling at me over breakfast. After riding my rented motorbike to every single resort on Klong Nin beach to compare their price, availability, and room condition, I chose Amantra Resort and Spa. This beautifully brand new, mid-range resort had opened only two weeks prior and was virtually empty, which meant it would be perfectly quiet. The owner, Zack, was renting new beach front bungalows with A/C and a stellar sunset view over the Andaman Sea for just 1500 baht per night, or about $40 - a steal considering most bungalows this close to the ocean go for at least 2,000-3,000 baht or more. I was sold when he threw in a motorbike at 30% less than I was paying at Kantiang Bay. It pays to travel close to low season!

Flash forward one week later, I'm still here, have done virtually nothing, and could not be loving the experience more. I've ridden around most of the island on the motorbike, visiting Lanta Old Town, a waterfall that was barely a trickle, and some spectacular mountain top view points. On my ride back to Klong Nin from Old Town, I noticed a sign for Mae Hau Cave. Following the arrows, I drove about 2 or 3 Km through vast fields of tall trees with a small metal tap and bucket in the side of each. The cave was closed for the day, but on my way back I stopped to take some photos and a woman on the roadside explained these were rubber trees, which I had never seen before. Upon realizing I was American, she informed me that the island's most famous exports were actually the Obamas, claiming that our new president's relatives had once lived here. This claim remains unsubstantiated.

Two new friends I met on the pickup truck ride out to Kantiang Bay invited me to join them for a cheap snorkeling and cave tour to the surrounding islands the following day. The trip was pleasant, but the visibility was not so great for snorkeling. However, the guide redeemed himself when we entered the Emerald Cave. I was aware that we would be swimming through this island cave, but I had no idea that once we turned a corner in the dark waters, we would swim into an open air chimney with a hidden beach, surrounded by steep limestone cliffs forming a cylinder with sand and trees at the bottom. The perspective from inside feels like we are standing inside an inactive volcano. Many years ago, pirates from the Andaman sea would hide their loot in this spot, which can only be reached by swimming through the pitch black, daunting, cave. For the last stop on this day trip, we spent an hour on the beach at Ko Hai – a spectacular tiny island, complete with white-sand beach and crystal clear water. So stunning, that at the end of my week in Ko Lanta, I decided to spend my last two nights in Southern Thailand here on Ko Hai, next update coming soon.

Take me home to Saigon

The Vietnamese people must have an incredible sense of balance. In my first hour in Saigon, I could see people carrying large boxes, televisions sets, even small refrigerators on their motorbikes. Whole families are often on one bike at the same time – one or two parents with up to three children. The chaos that is Saigon is most evident during rush hour, which I experience for the first time on my way from the airport to my hotel. 90% of the people on the road are on motorbikes, and they're able to move much more efficiently than the cars they swarm past. Most aren't traveling more than 30-40 km/hour at best, but still I'm in awe of the vast number of people moving around my cab so easily, and gracefully.

My friend Tran, a London nail salon owner who was raised in Saigon, is here at the same time and offers to show me around the city, by motorbike of course. Soaking up this vibrant, booming place by whizzing around with a local who knows exactly where to go is exhilarating. I actually felt safer on the bike than I did trying to cross the street on foot. There are few traffic signals here, and endless streams traffic, so the locals just walk across through oncoming vehicles. Its a stop and go process, and you wait in the middle of the road for the next window of opportunity to move ahead a few feet, and then on to the other side - far more terrifying than riding a motorbike in my opinion. Some locals wait around at intersections to escort foreigners across busy intersections, for a fee. When I need a ride somewhere, I simply hire a guy standing on a corner with a bike to give me a lift for between 20,000 and 40,000 Dong, or about $1.50 - $2.50. Essentially, with half a million Dong in my pocket (~$25), I can have a great evening with dinner, a stop at the coffee bar, and a night out at the club still with one or two hundred thousand left to cover two meals the next day.

For our first meal, my host took us for “the best pho in Saigon,” which, in its 30th year of operation, only serves the one dish. Its a small family owned space with no name, just an address, three walls, fluorescent lighting, small plastic stools, and a small metal cart in the front of the room that serves as the kitchen. The beef broth is all natural, no MSG and no funny aftertaste, just delectable broth made with love. This rice noodle soup is delicious, and perfectly portioned, unlike the pho I eat in New York with piles of meat and chemical flavoring to suit the American appetite. The next day we motor over to the best pork chop joint in town, open for nearly 40 years. Again, small, three walls, flickering blue lights, kitchen in the front, one damn good menu item. Most who know me also know about my obsession with pork chops, and the chops here were the best of the Vietnamese variety. My American appetite got the best of me, and I asked for a second order, it was well worth every calorie.

I'm told that Vietnamese people are afraid of the sun, this is apparent when I see that everyone riding around the city is wearing long sleeves in 90+ degree heat. If women are wearing short sleeve tops, they have long white gloves to protect their hands and arms from the sun, and face masks to protect their lungs and sinuses from the smog. Similar to the ones used by surgeons, these masks come in limitless styles and colors – pink plaid with sparkles, hello kitty, blue plaid for the boys, leopard print for a little sass. I prefer Burberry plaid with subtle glitter – sophisticated with just a little sparkle. I plan to pick one up in Hanoi next month.

The gays in Saigon have a fairly specific schedule of where to be and when for the best social atmosphere. Hit the right bar on the wrong night, and its deadsville. This isn't surprising coming from New York, where most places have on and off nights, but in Saigon the scene is smaller, so the crowd in the know sticks closer together. After work, the fit guys head to the gym. Friday evening, my friends took me to Saigon's sports complex in district ten for a workout. The huge facility is complete with a pool, indoor and outdoor tennis courts, a lounge, and of course the gym. At first, the gym appeared to be like any other mid range gym in the US – free weights, treadmills, exercise machines – but shortly after I arrived I noticed that everyone was watching the television screens intently, not working out. There was a western action movie playing and all eyes were glued to the tube for the last 15 minutes of the film. Once the hero killed the villain, the guys turned around and went back to benching.

After dinner that evening, I joined Tran and his friends for beers at a local outdoor watering hole – Pasteur. The guys are all seated in tiny plastic chairs at small, low plastic tables. I'm told its easier to accommodate more people on this doll-house-like furniture. I meet 8 of the host's good friends – Minh and Son are his closest friends, a couple for 7 years now. A married man playing hooky from his wife orders beer, Heineken for everyone. The waiter brings chilled glasses, and places a large ice cube in each one. Beer on ice? Its actually not bad. Once the drinks are poured, we raise our glasses “Mot, hai, ba, YO!” (Or, one, two, three, cheers!). Someone raises their glass to toast every few minutes; we can't let the beer get too watered down. The waiter then brings a bowl of duck eggs, with cooked, developed embryos inside, known here are “hot vit lon.” Minh places an egg in a small stand and cracks it open with a spoon. I peek inside and see little duck parts, which despite continued peer pressure, I cannot bring myself to try. Minh scoops out a chunk of the duckling which he slurps down with a big smile, I throw back the rest of my beer. Time to head out to the club.

Lush is the chicest and newest club in Saigon, catering mostly to gay men and their friends, especially on Friday night. Small pitchers of strong margaritas are about 300,000 dong with tip, or around $18. The crowd is quite attractive, and fashionable, appearing more cosmopolitan and subtle than the nightclubs in Bangkok. Its hip hop night, and the music is perfect for dancing, though after the third pitcher it really didn't matter. At our group's table, I meet a Vietnamese American who was mortally offended when, upon meeting him, I correctly guessed that he was from Orange County, California.

The following day, instead of the gym my friends took me to the pool, where the mostly college-age crowd swim in the evening. The pool is on the roof, with a spectacular 360 degree view of Saigon at sunset. 5:30 is when the crowd is arriving, just before the sun goes down and most are gone by 6:45. The locals are finicky – they avoid the sun, but its too chilly to swim after dark. This evening's dip is the perfect remedy after a late night of drinking and a hot day of touring.

For my last night in Saigon, my Vietnamese posse took me out to a gay-owned local seafood restaurant where, on Saturdays only, the entire wait-staff dresses in drag. When Tran described this place, I imagined something more kitschy and western looking. It came as a pleasant surprise that the place was very much a local working class hangout, where some people bring their kids, much like the others we'd visited. After selecting our seafood from a bar in front of the restaurant, we ordered mixers for a bottle of vodka Fai picked up at the duty free shop nearby. Once the drinks are poured, we raise our glasses “Mot, hai, ba, YO!” In this hot weather, the ice in our drinks melts quickly, so we repeat the toast every few minutes, as do others around the room. The transvestite wait-staff is paying particularly close attention to our table, strutting by and making plenty of dirty jokes in Vietnamese – which still create a funny situation, even though I don't understand the language. I'm not a fan of shellfish generally, but the clams here are really quite good. I enjoyed the BBQ beef with pomme frites appetizer and some perfectly crisp chicken wings too. For an entrée, we shared a large fish soup, somewhat spicy, with vegetables and ginger – a well rounded full flavor that left me completely satisfied.

The friends I've met here love going for coffee, though most of them are drinking smoothies or cocktails, its more about the idea of “having coffee” as a reason to hang out, much like in the US. Our coffee shop of choice is Window Three, which looks more like a chic lounge – mostly set outdoors in a lush garden with dim lighting and a koi pond. Many come here rather than going to clubs, which are often crowded with foreigners. Despite my distaste for touristy experiences, we're in the mood to dance, so we then go to the most well-known club in Saigon, Apocalypse Now. This is the club my American friends recommended, which is great fun on a Saturday night - the only night to go, so I'm told. The music is an odd mix of top 40 pop, 80s, metal, and classic rock. Out back, the patio is dimly lit and full of lush greenery, the perfect atmosphere for drinking and chatting. Towards the end of the night, the DJ played a remixed house version of John Denver's classic “Country Roads Take me Home,” the of which irony put a huge smile on my face. When I tried to explain to Minh and Son that the song is about West Virginia, my home-state, the significance was completely lost in translation. My elation hadn't faded though, as a present New Yorker from West Virgina, I was still feeling very much at home dancing till 3am in Saigon. I felt even better once I sat down to my last bowl of hot pho before the winding ride back to my hotel through the city's tree-lined boulevards just before sunrise.