Tibetan Pilgrim on White.

-3882, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Potala Palace, Lhasa.

Magic Circle Pop - Happy Father's Day!

IMG_4742, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

The Beginning of Father's Day Story

Historians have recorded that there was a tradition to celebrate Father's Day even thousands of years ago. Their study say that 4,000 years ago in Babylon a son called Elmesu carved a father's day message on a clay card. In his message Elmesu wished his father a long and healthy life. There is no knowledge as to what happened to this father son duo but it is believed that several countries retained the custom of celebrating Father's Day.

********

Genesis of Father's Day in Modern Society

The tradition of celebrating Father's Day as seen today originated in the last century. Though there are several people who are credited for furthering the cause of Father's Day, there is far greater acceptance for Ms Sonora Louise Smart Dodd's contribution. A doting daughter from Spokane, Washington, Ms Dodd is recognized as the Founder or Mother of the Father's Day Festival.

Inception of the Father's Day took place in Sonora's mind when she happened to hear a Mother's Day sermon in 1909. Sonora, who was 27 then, had begun to recognize the hardships her father must have gone through while bringing up his six children alone. When Sonora was 16, her mother had died during childbirth. Sonora's father a Civil War veteran by the name of William Jackson Smart raised six children including the newborn on his own. Sonora questioned that if there is a day to recognize mothers then why is not there a day to honor fathers?

Many people laughed and joked at Sonora's idea. But her will did not droop. She began a sincere campaign lobbying for the cause of Father's Day. Her hard work began to show signs of success when Spokane celebrated its first Father's Day on June 19, 1910 with the support of Spokane Ministerial Association and the local Young Men's Christian Association (YMCA). To pay tribute to her affectionate father, Sonora wished that Father's Day be celebrated on her father's birthday on June 5, but it so happened that there was not enough time for preparation and the day came to be celebrated on third Sunday in the month of June.

The noble idea of celebrating Father's Day became quite popular in US so much so that President Woodrow Wilson approved of the festival in 1916. President Calvin Coolidge too supported the idea but it was President Lyndon Johnson who signed a Presidential Proclamation declaring the third Sunday of June as Father's Day in 1966. Then in 1972, President Richard Nixon established a permanent national observance of Father's Day to be held on the third Sunday of June.

-http://www.fathersdaycelebration.com/story-of-fathers-day.html

Since all the Father's Day poems suck, and today, for me, is a happy sunny Sunday (wishing all the same to ya'll!), here's my quick crack attack at it:

(Buffalo Soldier,
Dreadlock Rasta..
There was a Buffalo Soldier,
In the Heart of America....)

If oft a spirit refused to be tamed,
there was no song used to melody his name.
There was an idea in a youth grown to break the sky,
but alas, we still haven't all the answers why.

Through a journey tangled, mangled, and mauled,
stood a dignity bred to stand forever tall.
Against an Age now a ravaged history,
fought a man and a soldier, now a father to me.

On a day that's designed to inspire praise,
This is my Ode, on Father's Day.
Without you, there'd be no me.
Without you, I'd never have first swum the sea.
Without you, my father, I'd be technically naught;
it was with your guidance that I rewired and sought
to breakdown boundaries and borders and fight for my dreams
and to have a good time watching Terminator scenes.

This is a poem to you, dear father of mine.
Something I've created, a thanks in kind. ;)

Greatest Picture of Enz Ever Taken (Full Stop)

IMG_5294, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

For those of you who are too lazy to skim the photos on my flickr account, you have to see this.

It seems that I have inspired my friends to also forgo the traditional stand and pose-for-it photo..

Kickin' it with the DJ's in the Club

IMG_1716, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Learning to Master Light and Time.

A Humple Pilgrim.

IMG_4211, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Stands in front of a massive Mani wheel in an enclave of the Jokhang Temple, Lhasa, spinning a hand-held Mani wheel. These wheels have long pieces of scripture wound around the inside, usually with the mantra 'Om Mani Padme Hum' written continuously in Tibetan or Sanskrit the length of the scroll. The Mani wheels are always spun from right to left, or clockwise, as are the pray beads progressed through, while reciting this mantra.

Aside: the native religion of Tibet before Buddhism was introduced from India, Bön, also used the swastika symbol, but is distinctly different as it is written counterclockwise.

Tibetan Nuns, outside the Bodala Palace, Lhasa, Tibet

IMG_4049, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

As I was leaving the palace, two nuns stopped and allowed me to photograph them. I ended up seeing the nun on the left again in a set of photographs I had taken a few days later, so it seems like it's a fairly small community. That, however, doesn't mean that there aren't monks and nuns everywhere, walking the streets, enjoying the sweet or buttery Tibetan milk tea, and praying alongside the countless pilgrims that have walked the countless miles to pray at the temples and monasteries of Lhasa. 'O ma ni bae mae ohm.'

A place of immense spirituality and awe inspiring religious dedication, I dedicate this photo with special affection to Sister Barbara.

www.artafire.homestead.com - Where Art and Spirituality meet!

Namtso Lake, the Highest Lake in the World

IMG_1860, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

And so goes life. At the highest lake in the world, riding yaks, hanging prayer flags, and climbing mountains.

My days in Tibet have been graced with friends and music, parties and monastaries. Tibet hasn't failed to become the most beautiful, the most special, and the most amazing place I've ever been in my life.

I could try to explain and tell stories, but I'll let the photographs speak for themselves.

Postcards?

If anyone wants a postcard from Tibet, send me your mailing address!!

--


Woody Allen  - "Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons."

Zebang si miao (Temple)

IMG_1699[1], originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Haha, so, thinking that we were the coolest thing since ice-cube trays, we didn‘t bring our passports or permits.

Me: "Enz, do I need t carry my permit with me everywhere?"

Enzi: "No way, no one will ever ask you for that again."

Me: "Should I bring my passport?"

Enz: "Nahh, suan le." ('Forget it')

IMG_1701[1]

IMG_1701[1], originally uploaded by punkkafari.

In front of Bodala Temple

IMG_1686[1], originally uploaded by punkkafari.

:)

A Grand Welcoming

IMG_1669, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Enz and Asan greet me at the airport. I hadn't seen skies this blue since Australia.

IMG_1643

IMG_1643, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Taken through a plane window - no justice. Should have taken a video.

Mountain Peaks at Eye Level

IMG_1641, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

About two weeks after I arrived home in Chengdu from my Indochina stint, I decided (with the help of a special donation!) that I would drop everything that I hadn't yet picked up, and run off to meet my flatmate Enz and my friend Asan who had just left to DJ in Tibet.

After the two weeks of wanting to go, but not going, and then going, but not going, and waiting for a permit, and not going, and going and then abruptly leaving at 7 am this last Tuesday morning, I found myself over tired and a bit excited on a plane heading for Lhasa.

I wasn't expecting it, but as I looked out my window at the not so unusual blanket of clouds covering the expanse of the world below in the early morning sunlight, I stopped breathing as I saw a mountain at eye level. As the clouds began to clear, the Tibetan landscape opened up below with red and blue and gray and green and white mountains, hidden lakes and snaking rivers, and scattered villages that seemed impossibly close at our current flying altitude, I almost cried.

I have been traveling and living abroad for so long that it's getting harder to avoid a complete saturation, reaching a point where nothing can break past the confines of the mundane. But at that moment, 5000 meters above sea level on my way to one of the most treasured places on our planet to meet friends, to be welcomed not as a stranger but as a guest and someone missed, my eyes swelled up with the feeling of a dream surpassed.

The Tibetan plateau is one of the most beautiful sites I have ever seen.

Thank you Mom, Dad, Grandpa, Cousin Jay and everyone. From the Top of the World, you are forever in my heart and mind and soul.


My Tibet flickr set page:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/andrewgardejoiaphotography/sets/72157619582843030/

Fwd: Destination, Lhasa.

7:40 am - June 9th, 2009 - Chengdu to Lhasa, Tibet.


--

Sent from Lhasa, 54, China

the sun at night.

well, she said, i wanna be the sun

and i said, well what about the moon

and she said, i want to be the cream

and i said well, what about the spoon

and she said, i want to be the one, O, the one!

and i said, one's more fun with two

-

You know, though the sun rises up to the sky

i said, without the moon, im sure that we would die

she said, but without the sun we'd be so cold

and i said, at night, with the moon, you're not alone.

She screamed aloud, The sun is my light!

I said, to her, the moon is the sun at night!

My Flame Dwindles Without Your Warmth

An old poem I found while cleaning out my computer.

 

Is it the pain or the love that causes such sadness?

Is it the fire that burns inside, or the fire that no longer burns beside?

There is desire, and there is the hope and there is the fear and there is the rage and then -

There is the other that holds your hand and your heart and your head and your fears and your dreams.

 

There is the fight for life and the fight for a good tomorrow

A fight for pride and fulfillment

And the there is the love that makes the fight worth fighting

The flame that needs your love to burn, that makes your flame worth keeping lit.

 

My flame dwindles without your warmth.

IMG_9734

IMG_9734, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

This was actually taken with my small S80.

Jinhong, China, along the mighty Mekong

IMG_9360, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Taken at Koh Rong Saloem, an island off the coast of Sihanoukville, Cambodia.

IMG_9014

IMG_9014, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Welcome to the XTi photographs! Now begins all the photographs I couldn't upload because they were in a RAW format.

Cambodia.

So what the hell happened in Saigon?

***read after C'est La Vie Pt. 3***

*************************************************

Having contacted a host through Couchsurfing.com, I drove my (now relinquished) motorbike  from Cần Thơ, where I spent a quaint few days with a gay Vietnamese guy and his silly friends, taking boat rides through floating markets, tasting some local food, and just sort of aimlessly being led around to do nothing in particular, to Ho Chi Minh City. I drove the several hundred kilometers in about 3.5 hours, stopping only once to take my just reward of a one half-hour nap in a roadside hammock at an outdoors billiards spot, local Viet café súa da in hand. 

----

Aside from the not-as-stressful-as-I-made-it-out-to-be stint on Phú Quốc island (tropical islands are never that stressful), the two weeks motorbiking through the Mekong Delta were tranquil: 

random bouts of torrential 15 minute downpours, dodged cattle and cats, dogs and run-amok children, riverside road cruises with the wind in my face and screaming through the gaps in my helmet; lush green trees and vegetation along windingly trafficked canals with ancient bridges and homes only accessible by means of three bamboo polls tied to opposing shores. 

But then, gradually, dirt roads and infrequent passing motorists gave way to the gates of the Thunderdome, 2009. The dirt turned into paved roads and then an endless stretch of highway. At the beginning of the outskirts of the capital, there were more cars and trucks and honks and motorbikes and madness than the dust being kicked in the air could ever hope to dissuade to lessen. Driving became an intense racing game of frantic starts and panic-stricken stops, reflexive gear changing, puddle dodging, and the beginning of an adrenaline addiction. 

"Saigon, bring it!" I said.

And it brung it, hard and subtle, slow like water-boarding, yet comforting like the initial caress of a black-widow spider. My arrival into the old South Vietnamese capital was nuts and berserk and changed everything.

It started off great. My host Marc was a cool guy with about a decade of ex-pat life in Asia, conversant in Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, and a respectable amount of Thai. We hit it off well enough; we had time in China and our Jewishness in common, he had a spare room, and I needed a place to stay. He, in his despicable but charming way, made me wait for most of the first day whilst he, against possible condemnation, "was distracted" by a pretty guest. It started to rain. I got pissed-off, to neither avail nor to any length of time, and he finally called me. What a way to start a trip. He directed me through the tangled mess of streets and districts to what would become my over-staying-my-welcome home sweet home for the next three something weeks. 

To be continued...

C'est La Vie Pt. 3

I'm back. In the wonderful land of my beloved China. 

This strange and foreign place, after all of this time, has really become my home. Over mountains and under seas, down the mighty Mekong and across the white sand dunes of Mui Ne, I've been missing, yearning even, to return, to speak again my second language, to taste again the ma-la  of my Sichuan cai, to see and embrace and reminisce and remember and catch up. To chill-out.

And, now, fantastically, I've made it... Not all the way to Chengdu, mind you, that'll be the glorious homecoming of tomorrow. I'm in Chongqing. It only took forever and a day to get here, but Kerouac would have been proud. 

---

The final leg of my Indochina journey began with me waking up at three something A.M., semi-consciously gathering my strewn belongings, and marching off into the rain of the pre-dawn morning. Humping my pack and positive that there was no chance in the world that I would make it the hundreds upon hundreds of kilometers - let alone across the Chinese border - to catch a plane in fifteen hours, I marched out to the highway, turned on my Nokia's flashlight, and hoped for what seemed like, at the least, something very unlikely: to hitch a ride on a north-bound Vietnam bus at 4:30 am in the rain. 

But Luck and the Fates showed favor upon my ponchoed head. I hailed down a Hanoi bound sleeper bus, reacted poorly to all orders and instructions, and promptly fell into peaceful slumber for the two hours from Ninh Binh to Hanoi; the journey had suddenly became a length of 'maybe', and The Impossible was vanquished.

In Hanoi, I hailed a senile old cabbie ominously driving a beaten up old black-and-yellow, and after the required though utterly pathetic attempt to pronounce the Vietnamese, I showed him the address at which, according to the nice lady's voice on the phone from the day before, I could be sure to have a magical ticket waiting for me, exchangeable for passage to Nanning, China. Being seemingly blind and senile, however, it took him forever and numerous inquiries to find the office. The office was annoyingly hidden away in some nondescript lot in the obscure out-skirt of the main city, to his defense, but nonetheless we arrived to find that I was in fact early, and that the office was closed until 7:30 am. Astounding. I got the cabbie to drop me off at some little street side Phở restaurant for a quick meal before whatever ordeal might present itself. I tell you though,  it was the worst Phở in the whole of Viet Nam. It was time to go home.

When I got back to the ticket office, I stepped through the wide-open double doors and quietly placed my bags in the corner. I walked over to the receptionist, and, restraining my excitement I asked, Ni hui shuo zhongwen ma? She self-consciously replied, "yi dian dian." "A little", not quite there yet, I thought... but then, OMFG! Freedom! Oh the beauteous glory of language and communication. The woman next to me was fluent in Chinese and Vietnamese! The lovely Xiao Chen responded to my inquiry. She helped me sort my ticket out and answered all my questions about time and place and money exchanging and everything in the wonderful dancing tones of Putonghua! It sounded like home. I wanted to hug this woman!

And we happily chatted in Mandarin, with several other surprised Zhongguoren joining in, for the next 11 hours.

.smile.

Arriving at the Nanning airport, I was giddy. Everything worked out so well, everyone spoke Chinese. I was full of good Phở by this time and in possession of a currency that made sense to me. I had gotten a good nap in on the ride to the border, and I had received word that my flat mate had successfully handed my business suit off to my associate. There was a hotel already waiting for me with all of its plush and free glory at the other end of the flight, and all I had to do - my job even - was to now, after four months of uncertain travels, sit casually with the lovely, though short-sighted, Xiao Chen as I waited to board the 7:55 to Chongqing. (Xiao Chen thought, incorrectly, that she could simply show up at the airport and buy the next ticket to Chengdu.. syke! Hopefully she made it by now though, and maybe I'll see her tomorrow... poor thing.)

----

I thought for sure that it would have been an impossible accomplishment; fourteen days after I picked up my Chinese visa, and just one week from the moment I got on the Open Tour Bus leaving Saigon, I am sitting pretty, shaven, clean, sipping Chinese coffee with one of the many pulsing hearts of the Chongqing skyline glowing through my hotel window. I'm back in the land where the name An Xiao Long holds meaning, respect, a wage, dresses in shui suits and gets his expenses paid; I type on my equally longed-for 17-inch Powerbook, well fed and very content. 

But it hasn't been like this; I have been sick and poor and needy and aimless. I have with little success been trying to speak Vietnamese and trying desperately to find cheap and edible Vietnamese food as I waited for money that never came, money that was to be my salvation and the key to a dream come true. Saigon, oh, Saigon...

The Final Taste of More to Come..

IMG_1382, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

The White Sand Dunes of Mui Ne in southern Vietnam.

To see all of the photos uploaded, check out

http://www.flickr.com/photos/andrewgardejoiaphotography/

And keep in mind.. these are all the photos that I've taken with my little point and shoot Powershot S80; the Rebel XTi SLR shots are all in RAW and I can't upload them. I took about 700 photos with my other camera over the past two days...

Broken Egg Shells

IMG_1237, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

These were carefully and intricately created with pieces of broken egg shells.

In the workshop

IMG_1246, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Unclear if this is actually a sweatshop, these victims of debilitating injuries caused by mines and other remnants from the war make a living as craftsmen and women. But, man, were they skilled. I would have bought the whole shop (if I wasn't broke).

The Fall of Saigon.

IMG_1219, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

A Relic. At a Monastery in Hue, Vietnam

IMG_1421, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

"In this car The Most Venerable Thich Quang Duc went from An Quang Pagoda to the intersection of Phan dihn Phung street and Le van Duyet street on June 11, 1963 in Saigon.

As soon as he got out of the car, The Most Venerable sat down in the lotus position and burnt himself to death in protest against the Ngo dinh Diem regime's policies of discriminating against Buddhists and violating religious freedom."

War Museum

IMG_1218, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

I'm too tired, and it's too much to write...

The war museums in Vietnam and Cambodia are horrifying and sickening and particularly poignant for us Americans.

God, if you exist. Help us.

Women in the Kitchen.

IMG_1216, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

I helped! I totally washed some of the vegetables and set the table between chocolates and beers.

IMG_1210

IMG_1210, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Best retarded face ever.

No, I am not P.C.

Im awesome.

IMG_1209, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Fashion furious!

.smile.

IMG_1208, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Me, sitting on the floor, "enjoiing" the Dorques concert.

The Dorques

IMG_1205, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Ok.. this band.. oh, man.

These guys were from the Philippines. Weezer meets how do you play a D-chord again?

But, music is music. And beer makes music better. They were cool people, and if I were better at exchanging contacts, we'd still be friends.. shame shame.

Break a bike?

IMG_1202, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Allz Fair is Fair. Vietnam brang it.

IMG_1192

IMG_1192, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

I don't know if I'd call Ben a "Soul Rebel", but my Icelandic friend Kris said that we have the same smile. True? or no?

Big Party, Decent Music

IMG_1181, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Pretty colors..

I and I got de Lion dredz.

IMG_1172, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

'Mon.

Big Party, Loud Music

IMG_1176, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Sometimes, not so bored!

Embrace the Dread!

IMG_1164, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Does anyone else get bored at big parties with loud music? Hmm... sometimes..

The Real Sunrise Over Saigon

IMG_1155, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

From the balcony of my friend Marc's pad. Marc was the masochistic bastard that let me stay at his place until a girl wanted to take my spot.

Thanks Marc. Through the good and the sad that we had, it wasn't that bad. I really do appreciate everything, and I hope I can show you the same if you ever come kick it with me wherever in the world I may be.

My Orange Friend

IMG_1150, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Another photo of my buddy from the Zoo. Although it's a sad reference, you should read "Life of Pi," by Canadian author Yann Martel.

".C'est la vie." Pt. 2

Oh yea, I forgot to tell you what the hell happened to me. It's a long convoluted story, but I don't have much else to do but worry about the logistics and timing of what is to be the last leg of this journey.

Important points:

- I missed almost every site on my itinerary.

- My motorbike did not leave Saigon with me.

- Someone else had to cover my rent, a.k.a. I'm in debt.

- I now have to catch an 8 pm flight to Chongqing from Nanning in the Guangxi province of China. To give a seminar. On something related to Yale.

- I am not in China. I am still in Vietnam. To catch my 8pm flight, I have to catch a 5amish bus from here in Ninh Binh, Vietnam, to Hanoi, where I will have to first find my bus ticket at some location designated in a text message I received from some trust-worthy-as-I-could-possibly-hope-for-at-this-stage receptionist, then find the bus station and catch the 8:30am bus that will take me to the Chinese border, when I will of course then have to go through all the walking across the border BS, catch a connecting bus on the Chinese side (thank god I speak Chinese!) and make it to the Nanning airport before check in closes at around I-don't-know o'clock. PM. (Post Mortem?)

- I still have not received all of the money for my website, and because someone else took it over, it doesn't work properly so I'm still getting residual shyte in the ear.

- I was stuck in Saigon for over one month.

Sorry, all that made me tired. And I have to get up at 4 am. You'll just have to enjoi the photos until I write another post!
--

Sent from Ninh Binh, Vietnam

P. J. O'Rourke  - "Never fight an inanimate object."

".C'est la vie."

And so it goes..

It's been a while, hasn't it?

Well Life, as it continues to prove itself to be, is difficult at times. At other times, it flies and spins and offers platters upon platters of silver spoons for no particular reason. I finished reading Fools Die, by Mario Puzo on Monday. Yesterday, on some stretch of highway between Hue and Ninh Binh, Vietnam, I finished Kerouac's Dharma Bums. Haha, at least for the most resent past, that about sums it up, wouldn't you say?

Book Summaries:

Fools Die is pretty good, but much more mellow than I had expected Puzo's writing to be. Very masochistic, yet well written, but mostly a collection of intertwined life stories that aren't all interesting. Conclusion: I still want lots of money, crime continues to be appealing if (a) you don't get caught and (b) some other criminal doesn't deal you the "Big Ace".

Also, I think I want to run a hotel someplace pretty.


Dharma Bums is pretty good, but he writes like a child. Perhaps it's just me, but I'm glad that the Beat Generation grew up. I mean: and for those of them that didn't, get a job already. Don't get me wrong, I get the whole stream of consciousness thing, but breaking down the walls of conformity is old skool now. The new/old hip is to be responsibly authentic. You don't break rules just because there are rules, and free spirit doesn't mean you never grow up. Conscious and conscientious maturation of a unified mind body and soul leads to harmonious progress, duh, but don't just sit around trying to be the empty nothing everything, be the beauteous something. Or don't, but if you don't, don't expect anyone to care. Stop trying to be happy, because if you're being responsibly authentic, happiness just tends to be who you are - or some such nonsense. On that note: To white Buddhists with good economic standing, you have no idea what you are talking about, because if you did, you'd stop talking. Conclusion: Go climb a mountain and stand on your head (see flickr video).

God, call me a hypocrite.
--


George Carlin  - "Electricity is really just organized lightning."

Oh, yea!

Donate some money. (Click the Donate button on the blog page.) It was hard to set up, and, well, clearly, I deserve it.

Stop, Regain momentum. Forward.

IMG_1120, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Ahh, so you ask: "What the hell am I doing/WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, Drew?!!!"

Saigon.. alas, I am still in Saigon.

I am not drunk, but I am close to it.

I am not dead, but I am injured.

My love goes out to you, the few, who follow such a blog.. who are interested in the happenings of my meager life. Yes, I am still in Saigon. But I am not proud of it.. Why? Why am I still in Saigon. Ha! It is a simple answer you seek. Why do you ever stay anywhere for too long?

Answer: You've run out of money.

After kind consideration from a few family members, I was able to collect enough funds to not have to sell my motorbike.. to not have to immediately discontinue my travels through Vietnam.. enough funds to wonder if I have enough funds...

But then along came couch surfing.. the sole savior to the lone traveler after the ruinous Lonely Planet.. "The Book" as I've once called it, that has single handedly made the entire Earth a tourist trap... impressive? Yes. Useful? Of course.. More destructive and powerful then the invisible hand of globalization? You bet.

Ahh.. Banh Bao.. Wo de hao chi de baozi... my true friend..

Anyway, I digress. I am here, in Ho Chi Minh City. The land of the Communist Success, the land of the "American War," the land of motorbikes... and now, the land of the broken motorbike and the injured foot..

Tonight, I had my first accident. Don't worry, Mom, Dad... it was but a flesh wound. But, thankfully, I have fallen off enough skateboards to have the reflexes of one who never got good enough to "stomp a landing;" I bailed. He was pissed.. my bike was broke.. and, 300,000 VND later, I got my key back in the ignition and went to the bar. It may have been an ambush, but I was driving too fast. There was an opening and then a collision; I blame myself. Later, after much hand sanitizer, tissues, and double sided wall mounting tape, I drank enough to start to consider the medical implications of thinned blood, and then subsequently won a dance competition, winning a Dorques band T. Whatever doesn't kill you.. so they say.

BUT, the initial question: How, after an initial intention of but a few days have I ended up spending well over a week-and-some in this city of shocks and throttle, this city of sighs long gone? I ran out of money, and then, thanks to a one well known Natasha Stalker, I got a job.

During my stint of heartbroken depression that dwindled into steadfast self improvement, I learned graphic and webdesign because.. I don't know. What else do you do with a degree in biology whilst stranded in the heart of a concrete jungle?

Stint as a bum, the couchsurfing community (couchsurfing.com) yielded a spare room and a social life, some connections and a job. And for the past week, I have been working rigorously (with the necessary alcohol consumption breaks) on performingartsacademyhcmc.com, and, today, it is finished (as long as you don't actually click on the slideshow..). Socially indebted to the great Vietnamese Couchsurfing Ambassador, I have made the loot, and.. oh, I don't know.. some time next week.. I'll keep heading north? Fingers crossed, mind in a sea of doubt.. with cries of "Where the F is he, and we have to pay rent" streaming down from the great middle of the great Middle Kingdom... my bike goes back to the shop, I head back to the beach, and the world keeps spinning in the void of the nothing. Tit for tat, said the rat... (and time to go to bed, said the dread head.)

But Saigon has been a blast. Bars and.. well.. the friends that you go to bars with. I'm lucky to have acquired a skill that can save my ass in the pinch, and after tonight's head-on collision, along with the money from the website and the donation from those that care, I am more than ever determined to ride my not-trusty-at-f-in-all Mr. Diamond Honda Dream to the border of China... and I figured I'd tell you so.

Viet Nam? Bring it.

--


Will Rogers - "I don't make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts."

Sunrise Over Saigon

Untitled, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

6:07am

A Day at the ZoO

Although we successfully failed to make it to the CuChi tunnels this afternoon, I, along my new Icelandic friend, Kristinn Eliasson, had an exceptional day at the zoo. After stumbling across this totally random but awesome Vietnamese ceremony



(which everyone eagerly invited me to join), we found ourselves engrossed in a bonding experience with my new orangutan buddy here. We had met Mr. O just prior to the prayer ceremony, but our first encounter was one of longing, struggling to break through the barriers of his imprisonment. We bonded, to the point that he was even trying to share his food with me, and when he was let loose for a bit of a walk, he saw me...



He recognized me as we exchanged acknowledgments, and he reached out to take my hand and to remind me of the root of our humanity: companionship.

Thanks to Kist for being the cameraman when I couldn't.

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.

IMG_1054, originally uploaded by punkkafari.

How to begin, how to begin.

Life…

Life is good. When I say it - when I think it - the sentence “I am in Saigon” forces a smile across my face.

Driving with the wind tattering my poncho and whipping my dreads up around the back of my helmet, with sun cooking my flesh, with bits of gravel and dirt stinging my skin, with the rain… with the cows and the noodles, with the hope and the despair.

With the fear and the thrill, with the throttle and the unsettling sound of gearbox crunches.

With multilingual ‘hello’s; with attempts at frendships and the destructive force of time and progress.

With the loss of money, and the gains brought of kind generosity.

With the pain of history splattered across a backdrop hidden behind a globalizing juggernaut.

With the shame, under flags and unconscious steps over unknown graves.

I travel.

Viet Nam? Bring it!

IMG_0981[1], originally uploaded by punkkafari.

Ok.. so.. Mom, Dad, don't read this.

I just spent half the money in my savings account, and bought a Honda motorbike. $200 bones, 3.7 mil Dong. Butterflies, O butterflies, do let me be.

But I'm stoked and hoping that the butterflies will give me the wings to take flight along safe travels.

With such a relatively major purchase, I have just put myself in the "So budgt I can't afford 'e's" category of traveler in the hopes that I will be exchanging my millions for the priceless experience that I'm sure this will be.

Still in Ha Tien, I have a acquired a Vietnamese name, Nguyen Thanh Phong, that supposedly means "Handsome man," or something along those lines, and tomorrow, along with my moto, which I'll name Mr. Diamond after a story from the shady shores of Sihanouk Ville that I can only remember half of, I'll take a bit of a mini beach holiday before beginning this leg of my international Asian tour.

The currently sketchy unguidebook-aided plan will bring me through the Mekong delta to Saigon, and from Saigon I will figure out some sort of amazingly awesome route, both along coast and mountain, that will bring me up to Hanoi. I haven't decided yet, but I'm planning on selling my moto in Hanoi, continuing up through northern Vietnam's Sapa region, and then crossing over into China, to return to work and friends and my sweet sweet abode.
I wouldn't have been off to such a great start if it weren't for my new friend The (pronounced 'Tay'), who picked me up from the Cambodian border. A deeply kind soul, over the past 24 hours he has already taught me a solid bit of Vietnamese, given me my 'handsome' name, and helped me immeasurably in purchasing my motorbike. I had originally expected to have to pay at least $500 for a moto, but he was able to help me find a decent (though not the prettiest) moto, get it ready to roll, and give me a general sense of how the Southern Vietnamese view Americans, French, the rest of Asia, and Northern Vietnam.

It's been a good start.Goodmorning Viet Nam? Bring it. Want souveniers? Send money :)

Keeping the locals entertained.

IMG_0968, originally uploaded by punkkafari.