Learning to be Married and Live in a Van: December 2016

Saturday, December 31, 2016

In honor of 2017, we bought a van!! #vanlife #noah #theark

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Wednesday, December 28, 2016

You Must Trust

Without mastery of the Vietnamese language one will never know the details and intricacies of local bus transport in Vietnam. Getting from city to city by bus/minibus/rickety old SUV honestly seems an inconceivable mystery. Bill and I often muse that we would love to be able to understand Vietnamese if only to grasp how the Underground Railroad of bus travel works in this country.

As budget travelers we really have no choice. And it comes down to this: you must just blindly trust in the system and accept the ride you are on. Brilliant life lesson embedded in there too maybe? Maybe.

On the morning of the 23rd of December we had arrived from Ninh Binh to Bus station #1 in Hanoi. Instead of taking an Uber or taxi which would be 8 times the cost of public transportation ($4 as opposed to $0.50), we walked, took two city busses with a complicated transfer between bus stop 2 and 3 and successfully made it to the Hanoi airport for our flight to HCMC (Ho Chi Minh City) - and it only took us 6 hours. We were so proud of ourselves.

So the next day, even though we were in a new city we knew we could crush it getting to Can Tho, deep in the Mekong Delta from the city center of HCMC. We did. But how we did it remains a complete mystery.

Uber exists in Vietnam and we found that taking an Ubermoto is super cheep. So Bill and I took separate Uber motos from our homestay to the bus terminal. I arrived first and bought our bus tickets to Can Tho for the bus that was apparently leaving "right now". Oops. With no Bill in sight, because his moto driver struggled to find the bus station, I refused to board the bus despite some protests. 10 minutes later Bill arrived and we were whisked away by a woman to jump on the bus. Only the bus was gone. The woman looked as puzzled as us. She made some phone calls (having the language mastery here would have been nice) and then motioned for us to get into a rusty silver Ford SUV. Sure, let's get into this car with a stranger. Another man got in the front seat. Hey! why not? Dirty car with two strangers might seem sketchy (and totally counter to all the beautiful fear inducing PSAs of our nostalgic American youth) but by this time the strange orchestra of beautifully disparate vehicles and humans conducted by a mysterious something that ties the whole transit system together had worked for us so many times that the thought that I might be getting kidnapped or murdered didn't even cross my mind. I trusted these people.

A few miles down the road there was our bus. We were ushered onto it and ordered to sit in the back.

A few hours later the bus stopped on the side of the highway for a seeming unknown reason. It's dark. No bus stop nearby. No real good reason to stop. Everyone stays put. Two minutes later another bus pulls up behind us and half of our bus's contents relocates to the new one. Bill and I stand but we are motioned to stay put. "Can Tho?" We ask to no one in particular. A woman with a friendly face shakes her head. She knows where we are trying to go and will now be our unofficial guide.

Another few hours pass and again we stop on the side of the road. This time we are told to get out. We are standing in the dark on the side of the highway with 5 Vietnamese people who ask us the standard question: "Where are you from?" Once we say USA they smile and nod and then go back to Vietnamese, their language of choice. We just stand there, hopeful that the system won't fail us now.

Five minutes later another unmarked scraggly SUV pulls up. Everyone climbs inside. The friendly-faced woman motions for us to climb in too. She speaks volumes to us in Vietnamese. I'm sure she's explaining everything. We just smile and nod. 20 minutes pass in the crowded car. Obviously there are no seat belts.

And then - like it was all meant to be - we arrive. Two Ubermotos. An unmarked SUV. A rickety bus. A roadside transfer and another unmarked vehicle and we're there. Seems like there was a plan all along.

This story. The "travel day story" happened at least 6 times while in Vietnam. The kind passenger who helps us look out for the right stop. The cell phone calls to organize it. The transfers. Over and over we had no clue what was happening and over and over we arrived safely to our destination.

It seems there is a Vietnamese guardian angel of sorts that ensures we make the right transfers and end up near helpful locals who have our backs. Really though, the trust comes easy. It's almost a relief to just let go and know that in one way or another you'll get there. There's no anxiety in watching a map or monitoring for turns or mile posts. There's no time crunch because you can't control that either. Your "4 hour bus ride" might take 3 or it might take 8. Just let go and let the ride happen.

The bus travel phenomenon has made me think about how being in uncomfortable foreign places can foster a sense of lack of control and how at the same time can create a warm comfort in knowing that you never had control in the first place.

Bill brings to our marriage a heavy weight on the scale for "letting go" where I tend to weigh heavier on the side of predictability and safety. Oddly, this trip has broadened our scopes as players in our marriage where lately Bill has taken the reins of organizer and planner and I've taken a backseat to a lot of it. And it works.

I thought we might struggle more with the unknowns of foreign travel as partners but so far, though our roles are somewhat shifting, we've settled into a nice rhythm that suits us both quite nicely. Yeah it's only been 3 weeks so let's not get overly optimistic, but I trust the ride will work out in neat ways that more than likely I will not really understand.

Sunday, December 25, 2016

Sending Happy Holiday love to all from the Mekong Delta. Xoxox Taryn and Bill

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Thursday, December 22, 2016

I think I want to be a Host

If there is one generalization I could make about the Vietnamese so far it is that they are endlessly generous. This may entirely be because they are seeking good reviews on TripAdvisor but I'm going to take the non-cynical route and hope all the kindness is the for real kind.

Today we spent the day wandering the side roads in Tam Coc and the outskirts of Ninh Binh on bicycles. (Side note for another blog: having our own vehicle for self-guided independence dramatically enhances our enjoyment of whatever activity we are doing).

Around 3pm we became hungry and chanced upon Quan Cay Xuan Restaurant - which was completely deserted at this time save for a comically eager host who flagged us down.

Trust me - this picture makes her look subdued. She was eager. Look at that sassy hip pop. You can tell she has it in her. Typically we ignore this eager beaver behavior because it's ubiquitous around here and the place was empty (bad sign), but hunger has a way of making decisions for us. Regardless, we sat down and ordered beer and chicken skewers.

"Ok!" said the host's son, and he got got on his motor bike to go search for the chicken that we had ordered. I mean who does that. They put stuff on their menu that they may or may not have but then are fully prepared to drive around town looking for ingredients in order to serve you. A similar thing happened in Ha Giang when we were at a BBQ place. We ordered a beer and a few minutes later a guy on a bike arrived with a grocery bag with beer inside. Turns out they didn't have beer either but the customer is always right so when we ordered it they quickly ran to the store to be able to serve us.

Anyway, while the son was on a wild chicken hunt, the host brought us her English class pamphlet so she could practice. She also brought shelled peanuts. Removed the skins and held the perfect nut so close to my mouth in an offering that I almost just opened my mouth and let her feed me. Almost.

She enthusiastically scrolled through her book of English phrases and wanted to know, in this order: 1. Where are you from? 2. What is your name? 3. What is your profession? (Options for professions in her book were doctor, teacher and worker. So I had to telll her Bill was a worker) 4. Are you married?

I love the phonetic pronunciations in Vietnamese. "Well" is phonetically "woco". No wonder we struggle to understand each other!

Minutes later the father of the family came home. He speaks some German so wanted to practice on us. As much as we tried to tell him "English" it was to no avail. We just kept laughing and responding with Guten tag and Danke shun. To this piss-poor German, the father of the house was extremely pleased and bemused.

Then the handyman came over. It was like this for 30 minutes. All residents of the home sitting with us and chatting to the best of their abilities.

Then they wanted pictures. They wanted us to stay longer. Look, I know that they likely wanted our business which was part of their effusive interest in us but even in America we would rarely show so much attention to a stranger even if we did want their business. OK maybe we would but this type of adorably inadequate conversation with smiles and hugs felt really genuine. I sensed a feeling of sincerity from these restaurant owners. It was inspiring.

I'm never this nice to strangers. I think I want to be, though.

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This was not the only time this has happened. A few days ago when we were in Cat Ba (pretty touristy, dirty place so we didn't take much time to rave about it) a man named San took such good care of us. The poor man must have thought we were the most picky, high maintenance tourists ever (which made us feel like shit but what can you do?) but he still made sure we were taken care of with a smile. When we arrived to our hotel the receptionist didn't speak English so he called San, who was busy painting his house, to come to the hotel to help us. Covered in white paint, he showed up happy to see us and arranged a tour for us the next day. He also arranged our bus tickets and took Bill out to breakfast. He personally drove Bill to the pharmacy to get the magical drug, Loperamide, when my insides turned to liquid and wanted to exit all at once. He showed up 4 or 5 times, paint spotted, always with a smile.

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In Ha Giang, Bill and I lost each other on our motorcycles in the dark. Once I finally made it back to the hotel, the receptionist brought me hot tea, hugged me profusely over and over and then went and found bananas and apples and cut them up for me to eat. After that, she hugged me some more.

This got me thinking. I'm racking my brain to remember the last time I cared so much about the fate of a stranger. I think of myself as a generally kind and giving person, especially in the work I do, but I think I almost use that as an exemption to allow me to be selfish in my daily life.

The giving that we have felt most warmly about has been the generosity of strangers to share their homes with us. Bill and I agree that we want to be more connected with travelers and outsiders. We have the capacity in Salt Lake to offer shelter and a local experience in our home in much the same way that the Vietnamese hosts Zizi and San and Tan have done for us. So why shouldn't we? When we get back, we have considered putting our extra room on Air BnB, reconnecting with hosting dinners with international visitors via the Utah Council for Citizen Diplomacy, maybe take in foreign exchange students, and/or reach out to local sports teams to volunteer as a host family for athletes. We have loved and appreciated the interaction with foreigners this far and we want to perpetuate that continued experience by including it into our domestic lives.

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

We made it to another Jungle. (But this place feels real jungle-y). This is our home for 2 days and then we'll finally head south. HCMC on the 23rd.

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Monday, December 19, 2016

School bus for kids who live on floating villages. #seafoamgreen

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Like ships in the night.

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Sunday, December 18, 2016

My feelings about motorbikes

The first thing you need to know is that all the painted white and yellow lines on roads that separate lanes or opposing traffic are viewed as mere suggestions. Not even that. Less than suggestions. They might as well not be there at all. I am actually not sure why anyone bothers to paint these lines at all since vehicles certainly don't seem to notice them. If you are in a vehicle you can drive on any part of the road in any direction and at any speed you like in order to get to your destination. Sometimes the roads are wide and can fit a whole car width and sometimes, like in rural northern Vietnam, the roads are hardly one car width wide and yet two cargo trucks full of pigs or cement or whatever make it work.

So on Friday Bill and I decided that the best way to get from Ha Giang up to Dong Van and Meo Vac was to do so by motorbike.

That's what all the recommendations said. It should be said as well that for years my stance on motorcycles has been No. No way. Too unsafe. Bill, you absolutely cannot have a motorcycle. So we rented two motorbikes.

The trip is 142 kilometers one way and the recommendation is to leave early to avoid nightfall - therefore we left at noon. Just enough time to get us there in the dark. Turns out the moto's light works pretty well. Unlit barely paved winding mountain roads are the best way to discover that.

The motos took a few minutes to figure out but within 10 minutes as we were gliding past densely green forested bamboo and banana mountains next to torquoise streams and ancient stilted homes of the indigenous locals I was thinking "motor bikes are the absolute best way to travel!" and was scheming about our next moto tour. I continued to feel this way for the next 279 kms.

We had to go over 3 mountain passes on those narrow roads I was telling you about. Chickens, dogs and water buffalo wander around as rudimentary rock grinders and hand tools are used to pave the parts that are still dirt and gravel. For the most part the motos handled so nicely it was no worry but every time a big truck or bus came roaring around a blind corner, horn blazing, I held my breath and clenched my fists tighter.

The mountain passes were so much colder than I had imagined. Despite 4 layers and wool socks I was shivering the whole time (smiling too - but also tense with bone-deep coldness).

There were hundreds of pinch me moments. Every time I tried to take a picture it just didn't even come close to capturing the vastness and the depths of the winding canyons of these ancient mountains. The shadow work of the layered monolithic heaps was surreal. Watching the road wind around and on the edges of mountains as the clouds wrapped themselves around the landscape was magical. The place was so raw. Looking. Back over a pass into the misty shadows it was hard to imagine so many people making their lives and living in this ultimate frontier. Even though the man-made farming terraces carved into the mountain sides gave clear hints to the presence of people, the perfectly beautiful gardens, flowers and bee hives seemed to belong there. So many times it really didn't even feel real. Except for the crazy numbing cold part. I felt that. Felt it real good.

There are 12 indigenous tribes of people that live in these mountains and looking at their settlements and farms and crumbling rock walls built with black volcanic rock I kept reminding myself that these people have lived here in much the same way for thousands of years. Thousands.

When we arrived in Dong Van on Friday night we were so cold that we checked into our hotel (a pricy but very nice $15/night) took hot showers, climbed under the covers and never got out of bed. We watched the new Dumb and Dumber movie (what a terrible mistake) and Date Night (where I got to ponder about how much perfection and control makes me stressed out in daily life - just let Bill make a messy goddamn sandwich and be okay with it!)

The return moto ride on Saturday was a little longer and we had to stop a few times to get hot tea to warm up.

We made it 280 kilometers and averted innumerable errors on our magical mountain pass ride before our luck ran out. Bill and I were somehow separated just outside of the city and right at dusk. He returned to the hotel while I rode up and down the road looking for him to no avail as the sun set, my gas gauge said empty, I had a dead cell phone and no money (don't worry we learned some valuable lessons here). The kindest hotel owner was fluttering around trying to "fix it" when Bill returned alone asking "have you seen my wife?" But language barriers are really hard.

Eventually we found each other back on the country road and the surge of relief and fear didn't make me cry until we got back to the hotel where I processed all the what ifs into Bill's shoulder.

So how do I feel about motorbikes? Pretty mixed at the moment. Are they terrifying and unsafe? Oh yes. Will I ride one any time soon? No I will not. Are they probably the most fun and exciting way to explore a new country? Of course they are. Was the 2-day moto tour the absolute best part of our trip? It most certainly was. It so so so so was.

Saturday, December 17, 2016

My feelings about motorbikes

The first thing you need to know is that all the painted white and yellow lines on roads that separate lanes or opposing traffic are less than mere suggestions. I am not sure why anyone bothers to paint these lines at all since vehicles certainly don't seem to notice them. If you are in a vehicle you can driven any part of the road in any direction and at any speed you like in order to get to your destination. Sometimes the roads are wide and can fit a whole car width and sometimes, like in rural northern Vietnam, the roads are hardly one car width wide and yet two cargo trucks full of pigs or cement or whatever make it work.

So on Friday Bill and I decided that the best way to get from Ha Giang up to Dong Van and Meo Vac was to do so by motorbike.

That's what all the recommendations said. It should be said as well that for years my stance on motorcycles is No. No way. Too unsafe. Bill, you absolutely cannot have a motorcycle. So we rented two motorbikes.

The trip is 142 kilometers one way and we left at noon. Just enough time to get us there in the dark.

The bikes took a few minutes to figure out but within 10 minutes as we were gliding past densely green forested bamboo and banana mountains next to torquoise streams and ancient stilted homes of the indigenous locals I was thinking "motor bikes are the absolute best way to travel!" And was scheming about our next moto tour.

We had to go over 3 mountain passes on those narrow roads I was telling you about. For the most part the motos handle so nicely it's no worry but every time a big truck or bus passed by I heald my breath and clenched my fists a little.

The mountain passes were way way colder than I thought. Despite 4 layers and wool socks I was shivering the whole time.

When we arrived in Dong Van we were so cold that we checked into our hotel (a pricy but very nice $15/night) took hot showers, climbed under the covers and never got out of bed. We watched the new Dumb and Dumber movie (terrible mistake) and Date Night (where I got to ponder about how much perfection and control makes me stressed out in daily life).

The return moto ride was a little longer and we had to stop a few times to get hot tea to warm up.

We made it 280 kilometers and averted innumerable errors on our magical mountain pass ride before our luck ran out. Bill and I were separated for a bit just outside of the city and right at dusk. He returned to the hotel while I rode up and down the road looking for Bill to no avail as the sun set and my gas gage said empty and I had a dead cell phone and no money (don't worry we learned some valuable lessons here). The kindest hotel owner was fluttering around trying to "fix it" when Bill returned alone asking "have you seen my wife?" But language barriers are really hard.

Eventually we found each other back on the country road and the surge of relief and fear didn't make me cry until we got back to the hotel where I processed all the what ifs into Bill's shoulder.