I'll Probably Move To Hoi An Once My Tits Start Sagging And Live Out My Days In Peace

Hoi An is a tiny town ( a UNESCO World Heritage Site, in fact) with obvious French, Chinese, and Japanese influence. It's a town of romantic narrow streets, Chinese assembly halls, and tailors at every corner.
This is also the shittiest photo ever taken of Hoi An. I don't know why I don't have any good town photos. Better luck next time...














This is the place to get that cheap n' fabulous iridescent green silk suit you've been dreaming about, tailored just for you for a mere $60. We were raided by a pair of hyper and hilarious girls hawking their store. They knew how to work us with their charm from beginning to end. Stevhan got a gray silk suit, which he wore to a wedding later and looked smoking hot. I got me a cream-colored winter coat to wear to the opera and all those charity balls I attend. Fits me like a dream.

And yes, we stayed at another fabulous hotel, with a jacuzzi! and a balcony (where I smoked my artsy cigarettes).















All the hotel staff in this town wear ao dai, the national (and sexy!) dress for the ladies. Even the nursing students had all white dresses as unforms. I saw many beautiful Vietnamese women in ao dai and many hulking foreign women in chintzy knock-offs. Yeesh!

We went out that evening to preview the beach and explore the town. Stev took a quick dip in the ocean













and we met some hilarious vendor ladies











("No money, no honey." "You open your heart when you open your wallet").

It seems a lot of locals drag out the plastic tables and sup beachside. Excellent idea.













We headed back into town. The architecture, the paper lanterns reflected in the river, and the ladies selling Viet-snacks by gaslight all contributed to the romantic atmosphere.















We went to one of the riverside restaurants to take in the evening. The place was picturesque, with their outdoor balcony and colored lanterns. The ladies serving us, however, were straight out whatever shitty diner you have in your hometown. The one that's got the waitresses smoking behind the counter and giving you the stink-eye. Later, when I got beer spilled on my dress, they just sorta sat back and smiled......and then got a rag.
Feeling crabby out having a sticky beer lap, I sulked as we walked the cobblestones. I was about to whine to Stev when I noticed a sexy Filipino-American out of the corner of my eye.
It was Paulette! From Miyakejima! (island next door to mine) Holy cow, what are the odds?! Well, pretty big considering we knew we were gonna be in Vietnam at the same time. So, cool! We joined her and her man Minh (for you readers keeping up, he's the economic reporter boyfriend who crashed the Tokyo JETs conference) and had ourselves some drinks.















Later, we were on the street of our hotels (they were only yards away! What are the odds?! Well, pretty big consider-), when we heard a thumping bass. Turns out there's a handy disco nearby. Paulette and I got a crazed glint in our eyes and the mens barely had time to send a prayer to heaven before we dragged them to the pleasure den.

Oh man! The place was decorated in the Italian-villa-by-way-of-the-ninety-nine-cents-store motif. The music was loud and terrible, the drinks over-priced, and the dance floor had a few stragglers. This was the perfect opportunity to take over the place and make it ours for the evening.












You can ˆfeelˆStev's weariness....


















I also didn't know fingers could bend like that.

We waited for the perfect tune. Then, figuring we'd be waiting forever with this dj, we waited for a less obnoxious song. Then we downed the shots Minh had so thoughtfully provided us with and sprang into action. We had moooooves that nobody had ever seen before. At least, that's what we were thinking as we snaked across the floor. We were joined by two wasted dudes who were trying out fancier shit than us. And pulling it off, thanks to the bottle of Jack Daniels at their table.
We took a short break and then, because I hate to see a drunkard dancing alone, I joined him on the floor. The world melted away as we spun, boogied, twirled. There is video of this dance floor magic, but I curse myself for not knowing how to upload a video. But I did manage to snag the stills.

































Fucking magical. Just know that Travolta and Karen Lynn Gorney ain't got nothing on us.
And how do you top off a evening like that? Skinny-dipping in the hotel pool! For two minutes! (It was cold...)

The next day we rented a motorbike and I prayed for my life. We had plans to spend the rest of the day at the beach. But first we stopped in at the Hoi An orphanage.
After meeting the orphanage director, she left us to wander around the place. It was an airy compound, with brightly painted walls and a large courtyard. We sat in on a lesson. The teachers didn't pay too much attention, but the kids regarded us with curiosity and then perked up when we busted out some stickers. There was a mix of disabled and able bodied children ranging from two to eighteen.
And here's where I get slammed with a jumble of feelings. We've got these smiling kids running around with stickers on their noses. One boy, Tuan is eleven years old, has cerebral palsy, and is the smartest kid ever. He was chatting me up in English and laughing at me and Stev goofing off. These guys were so charming, so guileless, I had to step outside and collect myself before I burst into tears. Even now, my heart wrenches. "Yeah, duh. You're in a roomful of orphans." I know, but it's coming face to face with cruel realities and seeing people still retain their sense of grace. It's given me direct contact with things that are only seen at a safe distance by most people. I don't know how to describe it. Fuck, I'm an actor, not a writer. I'll emote all this later.

And then I wondered if I was gonna go all Angelina and start adopting babies. Well, no. I'm a deadbeat artist and they only hand out kids to the famous ones. And it's not about saving one. It's about making it better for everyone else. So I've added two organizations to my links list. The Kianh Foundation helps the Hoi An orphanage directly. We met one of the founders, Jackie, who told us about the condition of the place before they swooped in and whipped the place into shape and the personal histories of a few kids around us. They like visitors. Just don't bring candy, they're getting dental work done.
The other one is Shinta Mani, which helps train at-risk youth in Cambodia to work in the hospitality. You can also donate items to a village, like a pair of pigs or a well. Donate to one or both of these organizations and I'll buy you five drinks or help you move or something.
Okay, I'm climbing off my soapbox. Stev and I hopped on our motorbike and drove off, not saying much, just holding each other close.

We got back into vacation mode by lounging on the beach all day with Paulette and Minh.


























Paulette and I met a Vietnamese mermaid who's name escapes me now. That's mermaids for you, always bewitching your mind and shit. She had been in the water since 8am, playing with an empty water bottle. By night, she changes into a bartender at the Victoria Hotel. Keep an eye out for her.
In the afternoon, we rode on our motorbikes to check out the outlying countryside. The sun was setting and there was lushness and greenery around us.
















We shouted at the high schoolers, cheered at a wedding party, and smiled at babies.














































And we really did feel this cool (photo courtesy of Paulette).


We topped off our evening with a delicious and satisfying meal at a pho joint. Nothing like hot n' spicy soup with cold beer after a day in the sun.

Later, Paulette and I wanted to get massages. Her hotel recommended a place that was between her place and mine.
"Huh, I don't remember seeing a beauty salon nearby..." That's because I wasn't looking for a SHACK made of corrugated tin. It looked pretty low-rent.

"Hi. Um, do you give massages?"
(Two ladies looking at each other and muttering something in Vietnamese)"....y-y-yeeesss...."
(Me, looking skeptical) "Really?"
"Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure"

What followed was one of the lamest backrubs of my life. You know how when you make your friend or lover-man (lover-lady) try to give you a massage when they're not in the mood? It was like that. For an hour. It's like they had a friend who went to massage school and showed them a few tricks. One of them busted out a shoulder-massager and kinda pounded the back of my neck. Later, a poisonous centipede showed up and so we decided to call it a night. Still, a half-assed rub-down's better than nothing, eh?

It was our last night in town and Stev and I went for a nightcap. We spent it at this nice, quite bar. Really nice, actually, except for the hand-sized cockroaches lounging on the sofas. We arrived in time to see a man shoo one out of his pant leg. I stayed perfectly balanced on my bar stool the whole time.
We sipped our whiskey and played ten rounds of Connect Four (it's big in the 'Nam bar scene). Then a puppy showed up.
Ladies, you're about to see one of the most adorable pictures ever. Yes, it's a full grown handsome man cuddling a puppy. Try not to tear your clothes off.


















Aww! So sensitive! (Ok, yeah he is a tad red...)
















I love this man.

The next day was a flurry of tchotchke-buying before we took a bus back to Hue. I also snagged a de-LI-cious BLT from the local boulangerie. Goddamn, must everything here be so fucking good! (I'm currently writing this on an empty stomach with no tantalizing prospects in sight). We hopped our bus and went back to Hue. We had a couple hours to kill before our flight to Saigon, so we did a quickie tour of the ancient Imperial City by dusk with this guy














and then had dinner at this place where the food was eh, but the bottle openers are awesome. It's the wooden thingy with red lettering.














A deaf dude runs the joint and he gestured that he wanted us to treasure our bottle openers and send us pictures of them from exotic locales. No problem. I'm taking this baby with me to Niijima beach parties.

And then back to Saigon. We got there pretty late. We hunted for fried chicken for Stev to eat on his long flight back home. We drank at a backpacker bar that was full of dumb gaijin who thought we ALL wanted to hear what was on their ipods. We went back to our hotel and enjoyed each other's physical presence for a few hours more.













Stevhan left at 4 am. My flight didn't leave till midnight the same day. I mean, I did stuff. I went to the market, shopped, had amazing food, shopped, more amazing food, got a massage (blissful this time). But honestly, I felt pretty dejected. My baby had left, I wasn't gonna see him for three months, and I was alone in this overcrowded city. I was happy to board the plane.

In typical Brenda fashion, disaster struck as soon as I got off the plane. I had been counting on taking money out of the ATM so I could buy my boat ticket. But, because the Japanese are RETARDED, they shut down the bank machines on holidays. WTF?!! Then, the boat to Niijima was cancelled. And then, my phone died and the power cord to it broke.

....

Aw, jeez. Clearly I made it back, with only a few tears shed. And you know what? I'm so going back to Vietnam. Within two years. There's so many things I didn't do: eat bun cha, crash a local wedding, try the snake wine...

So, we landed with no further expelling of fluids. And off to explore Hanoi's nightlife! Except that my stomach was still cramping up and the area near our hotel seemed totally dead. I went right to bed and Stevhan went off to forage for supplies. I guess after nine pm, you can get a prostitute but not cigarettes or a Pepsi. Priorities.

The next day I felt much better, but still kinda weak. Stev was suffering from sympathy diarrhea, so we took it slow and steady. We explored the Old Quarter of the city,



































which used to be walled in, to keep all the dollar store treasures in, I suppose. It was like going through a giant, labrynthian Dollar Tree, except outside, exotic, and with delicious food. In the two days we were there, we bought an umbrella, two lamps, embroidered wallets, bras, fake Pumas, and a pack of Vinataba cigarettes (What the artists smoke!). If I wanted to, I could've bought: A giant pink lotus lamp,
a puppy,









exotic vegetables, hot pink Buddha paintings, snake wine, plastic cups, and a woman.
I'm sorry there's so few photos of this area, but you had to keep your wits about you to avoid being hit by a motorbike.

Hanoi has a cosmopolitan feel to it among the French and Chinese influenced architecture....



















(the view from Hoan Kiem lake)




























Yeah, duh. It was the capitol of French Indochina from 1887-1945 (Thank God for Wikipedia. Making dumbasses sound like history buffs since 2001.)
























Even the Commie posters have a slight retro vibe:















And something about the people here. All these hip, chic Vietnamese girls would be out, riding their lemon yellow Vespas. There's a proliferation of art galleries and designer boutiques. There's an art scene starting to brew, but mainly what we saw were a lot of shops that could make you your very own Rothko reproduction or turn that dusty old GlamorShots photo into a 32x24 oil painting to hang above the mantlepiece.
In the evening, couples would be out strolling around the lake. I ate a delicious chocolate n' strawberry gelato and Stev enjoyed a beer at a lakeside bistro. The next night we got pizza with a perfect thin crust (and from a real live Italian ex-pat!) Que romantico!


















We did some other stuff, like a take a peek at the Temple of Literature, (something about this place being the seat of Confucian learning or something. I dunno, I was looking for the gift shop.)


































and get scammed by a taxi driver. We thought about getting our ears cleaned at this shack by this twelve year old girl with a miner's light on her head (man, I wish I'd gotten a picture of that!), but we had to get moving on.

On our last day, we dived back into the Old Quarter again for dinner at Little Saigon. The restaurant was hidden away in an alley, but when we got there it was packed. And with good reason. The food there was, yup, so fucking good. We had these roll-your-on rice paper rolls,












some delicious sesame beef and veggies, and cold, cold beer.

Then we wandered around the alleys,
















until we pulled up a plastic stool and had 2,000 dong beer on the curb, along with all the other (cool) backpackers. If 16,000 dong is the dollar equivalent, that makes it what, a dime beer? A penny? You do the math. It was good n' cheap and we had a lovely chat with an Irish dude.

And of course we had to stop and drink at this bar,

















because they ordered us to:















We did a couple shots of whiskey. For the puppy.

We were sorry to go but we had a train to Hue to catch at 11pm.

We got to the station,













and stocked up on beer and snacks and got in our car. Even though our compartment was tiny











(how they manage to cram six beds in, I don't know),


it was still in keeping with the Romantic Hanoi theme. We had two nice guys in the compartment telling us about livin' it up in Vietnam. There was weird and terrible music playing (Veitnamese pop and Celine Dion) and down the hall, dudes had their impromptu drinking parties set up. I popped a Xanex and fell asleep, lulled by some bizarre French music.

The next morning, I woke up and looked out my window. There was lush, green countryside everywhere. Snaking rivers bordered by misty mountains, people in conical hats working in the rice fields. I wanted to get off the train, hop a bike and take a good look around. I broke my rule once again and took a ton of stupid pictures from the window. You guys only have to look at one:







Not even close to representing the beauty of the landscape. Next time, I'm getting off for a closer look.




We arrived in Hue. It was only a day stop on our way to Hoi An. It was rainy outside, so we took the time to explore and enjoy the amenities in our room. Well, Stev did.



















While he was in the shower, I did a little channel surfing and came across these beauties:
















It looked like a girl group singing Vietnamese worker songs in a refinery or mining camp or something. They had matching sparkly kerchiefs and sometimes would be hanging off the equipment or steel bars. What is this? Who are they? Are Commie girl bands the next pop sensation? Just remember, you heard it here first.

Nothing much else happened other than meeting these cool kids who stopped their soccer game so they could jump around in front of the camera and whoop and holler some English gibberish.
















Oh yeah, and we also found some other cool kids and played badminton with them in dark (and near a busy street. Dangerous!), then cooled off at another curbside joint with a beer. Unfortunately, no photographic evidence of this amusing interlude exists.
At 7am the next morning, we caught another bus to Hoi An. And when we got there.... well, let's just say we were kicking ourselves for not having spent our whole time here. Shit, you know what? It's gonna have to be a four-parter. There was just too much cool stuff that happened there. Stay tuned....

I Barfed On My Way To Hanoi and Other Adventures in Southeast Asia Pt 2

We are so fucking cool...




And then we arrived in Siem Reap. It's a little smaller and dustier than the capitol, and because we were there in the low season, a bit more mellow. We (along with everyone else) were there to see Angkor Wat and to try out some of the local cuisine at this chi-chi restaurant called Meric. One evoked awe and glory and one was a total fucking disappointment. I'm sure you can guess.

We arrived in the afternoon at another bitchin' hotel. The Golden Banana is more casual and has fabulous pretty Cambodian gay boys to attend to your every need. Our room was a two story affair with a balcony and a cocoon chair on the first floor. Stev told me they're called papasans, but why the hell would you name it something lame like that? Cocoon chair it is. The second floor had an airy bedroom complete with geckos.










What's also great about hotels here are the mini-bars. Beers are a dollar! Water's free! But champagne's still like forty bucks (damn.)

We got unstinky from the bus ride (I managed to douse my lap with beer during hour two of the six hour bus ride) and splashed about in the pool. I tried out for an Agkor beer ad but the focus groups said I looked too ethnic. And fat.














We watched some old dude try to put the moves on a younger man, which he totally scared off.
I would've played it like this.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Nice backstroke."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. So, I've got this mini-bar. I think I got the deluxe sweet cuz it has all this booze and Pringles and uh.... a cheeseburger."

"A cheeseburger! No shit?"

"Yeah, totally. Wanna check it out?"

"Yeah, let me just get out of these swim trunks and grab my jean-"

"Aw, don't bother. C'mon"


We headed into town and strolled about. We wanted to try some local food, but were too tired to get adventurous, so we stopped in at.... a Mexican restaurant! Yay, my people! Actually, no. It was just some Cambodians who know how to make good taquitos, with fresh corn tortillas! We both ate eight. While we were enjoying our dollar margaritas, this little eight year old kid came up to us and started charming the pants off of us (not literally, it wasn't THAT kind of tour). 'Ben' used all his charm, wit, and mad English skillz to sell us some useless shit. Stevhan apparently has a newfound interest in the Khmer Rouge, as he bought three photocopied books about them (ten dollars!). Ben is probably the suavest guy in town and we invited him to join us for taquitos but he declined, saying he had his wife and kids to feed.

Then we headed to Angkor What? (Get it! What! WHAT! Hi-larious...), which seems to be backpacker central. For those who have done a bit of travelling, I'm sure you've noticed the difference between fellow travelers. There's the fun, mellow backpacker seeking out interesting experiences, making five-minute friends over beers, exchanging info and wacky stories. Then there are the fucking idiots who are too goddamn insufferable to put up with in their own country, so they have to go somewhere else and terrorize the locals with long-winded stories about their skeevy sexual escapades and the local economy. There were many times I wanted to throw my hot pho on some douchebag ex-pat's face or cut off their lips. But this was not one of those times. We did a couple shots of whiskey, checked out the kids in the bar, and then went back to our hotel for a midnight swim. (Note: It is very easy to go skinny dipping in Cambodian pools, especially when they turn the lights out and you've had two whiskeys and beer.)

The next day, we took off at 5am for a sunrise tour of Angkor Wat, the main temple.


















And so did everyone else.

















It would've been a lot more awesome if there hadn't been a huge crowd, or if we had our OWN personal hot air balloon,

















but still it was fairly quiet. It wasn't a spectacular, dazzling sunrise, but more like a lovely, creeping pink dawn.



















It was nice and cool in the morning, and even though there were people everywhere, there were still a couple of solitary nooks and crannies.













































We meandered about and came across our simian brothers and sisters. One monkey was examining his balls so intently, we were sure he had come across some sort of treasure... or a snack.

















We also came across a horse who kicked me when I tried to get a closer shot. I bought him for $20 and then had him slaughtered.




















Then we ate our breakfast at one of the nearby breakfast tents.












We had some fucking awesome banana pancakes that were so goddamn fluffy and light,






(they don't look like much, but trust me: goodness.)






along with some delicious iced coffee.

We were serenaded by Buddhist monks and their chainsaw as they sawed away at a trunk.


















Afterwards, we went to another temple,
















found this awesome tree,




















and discovered the dreaded Angkorsaurus!! (name courtesy of Stevhan's fertile imagination)


















Legend has it the evil Angkorsaurus ate all the Khmer kings and now lives at the bottom of the Tonle Sap lake, digesting. That's what I like to think anyway.
There was an assortment of mythical creatures hanging about. I know this one is the dreaded Naga!


















I don't know who this is...


















We also found this mischievious fellow.












We don't know what mythical creature he is, but we did notice his tiny penis.


And this is Stev looking shy next to a lovely Apsara, who came from the Sea of Churning Milk. Sexy....


















Seeing all that ancient glory really wipes you out, so we headed back for a nap and swimming. There was a cute little two-year-old hanging out. He had hidden orange slices in his little underpants and would pull them out for a midday snack. Later he tried to throw rocks at me. I fell in love with him.

That evening, we headed to Meric at Hotel De La Paix for a luxurious meal. I was pretty stoked about going. I had read about head chef Joannes Riviere, about how he immersed himself in Khmer culture, learning the language and publishing the only French language Khmer cookbook. I was ready to be amazed, especially since I'd been kind of shying away from the food stalls. Fermented fish paste ain't really my thing.

We decided against the swinging bed table thingies cuz we're whores for air conditioning. I was all set to try to the Khmer tasting menu (they also had a regular Western menu), but the more I browsed, the less appetizing the menu items seemed. I decided on one thing from the Khmer side (a sort of chicken lime soup) and a main course from the Western menu.We started off with Foie Gras Terrine on roasted mango and walnut crumble. I got the Lamb Loin and Garlic Confit and Stev got Grilled King Prawns with pan-fried gnocchi.

It was....alright. The starter was pretty good, but I wasn't amazed by the rest of the meal and really, I think I'm just not into Khmer flavors and spices. But even our Western dishes, which should've been a cakewalk for a French-trained chef were...eh! For a fancy-ass restaurant, I was expecting stellar. The $100 bill, which is two or three times the amount a Cambodian earns in one month, added to my guilt and bad mood. Man, we should've gone back to the Mexican joint. Or tried some Khmer food at a cheaper place. That's what I get for being stuck up. Lesson learned.


And lo, the next day we went forth through the mighty gate again to check out more of Angkor Wat.













We noticed all the headless and limbless statues and wondered how many fat bitches have pillaged loot decorating their hallways. Dicks.


















































I know, I know. I haven't been to specific with the names of places. Angkor Wat is the name of the complex where all the temples are, so I'll be damned if I can remember all of them. Yeah, I'm a jerk. And I'm not even gonna attempt to convey the majesty and crumbling grandeur and pulsating history that emantes from this place, so don't bother asking. Just work the extra shifts, scrape up enough for a holiday and get your ass over there before all the assholes ruin it.

We were heading back to Vietnam and I stopped by a food stall to pick up some sandwiches as a snack. I had been there the day before and Stev and I had both scarfed down beef sandwiches and they had been delicious. Stev turned his nose up at another and so I chowed down on two before the flight. Of course, I was extremely pissed when I saw that Siem Reap's airport had a DAIRY QUEEN, complete with hot dogs and Blizzards. Still, all was well ( I tried the local food, and so I am adventurous and fearless.) UNTIL! I was on the plane and my stomach wouldn't stop fussing. I tried to distract myself by reading the in-flight magazine's article on Scranton, Pennsylvania ("The Future Is Here, In Scranton"), but finally I reached for the barf bag.
Stevhan was a total gentleman. Instead of hissing in my ear, "I told you. You'll probably die of the yellow fever!!", he quietly rubbed my back and held the bag. It was rancid, friends. The smell actually made me barf a second time and Stev was looking a little peaked. There was a group of middle-aged French ladies watching, but I was too weak to give them the finger. Instead, I primly sealed the bag and wiped my mouth with a handi-wipe. A lady always steals a couple extra from a restaurant, for just such an emergency.

Jesus Cristos! I'm wiped out. This is gonna have to be a three parter, perhaps even four. I don't know, I DON'T KNOW!! Tommorrow, Hanoi and the rest of 'Nam....