It`s been so long. I picked up this here blog like a long forgotten volume on a hidden shelf and took a deep breath, exhaling with purpose to remove layers of dust from the cover. I`ve been busy washing dishes again, back where my internet musings began. I spent the last two weeks on an organic farm of sorts in Gujo Hachiman. A cozy mountain town in Gifu Prefecture, Gujo - as I will refer to it here to forth - is deeply green, tangled with rivers and streams, awash in Japanese history and blanketed with edible mountain plants. My desire to serve some sort of purpose while I travel Japan landed me there. Helping on organic farms is a means to an end. I get room and board in exchange for some toil in the fields. Not a bad arrangement. I guess if you`re lazy and need to be entertained all the time this setup would not be your cup or matcha, but I found the work to be enlightening and part of the adventure. As the arrangement in Gujo had me living with a family, the chores I was charged with often included helping cook and of course the one area of expertise where I`m a viking: washing the dishes...
Gujo brought some new experiences that resonated with things I am familiar with. I dug up and shaped some earth into rows that will soon host edible plants. Hard farm work is a first for me and I felt it in my aching bones and blistered hands, but a long day on my feet is nothing new. The tasks brought a familiar sense of ownership and determination that I know well from endless hours in the kitchen. I`ve always identified with the work that farmers whom I purchase from do each and every day. We may lead very different lives, but have similar routines and motivations. Neither chefs nor farmers count hours. They work until the job is done, and if they are determined to do it right then it takes that much longer. It`s not for the sake of impressing a boss or making a bonus. It`s just the way we do. Or should be doing. It shows in the results and people who care will notice. While helping on farms began as a means to an end, I always hoped in the back of my mind that it would provide some insight into how farmers live and work. After all, we play into the same cycle of growing and shaping food. While the specifics may differ, our purpose and motivation is similar.
This theme has been playing out in my head and reached a booming crescendo today while I was ambling through the National Museum of Ethnology in Osaka. One of the more outstanding museums I have had the pleasure of visiting, I spent over four hours browsing the exhibits that had little to no English signage. Towards the end I was merely breezing through, my brain too glazed over to consult the paltry, photocopied guide that was provided in my only understandable language. It didn`t matter, though. The exhibits themselves spoke volumes of how distinct cultures, in every respect show clear similarities in how they live and evolve. My chef/farmer connection began to make more sense in the context that the museum offered, especially where food cultivation and preparation was examined. I marvel continuously at how the tools used to farm and cook cross cultural boundaries, and how in the modern world we may update the appearance and price tag, but the basic function remains the same. I certainly don`t mean to downplay technological advancement, but I have always maintained that there is a fine line between use of a good thing and abuse of the same. Examined as a whole in the Museum of Ethnology, one begins to see where cultural evolution fractures and the abuse of something positive damages the world we live in. Apply this idea to food as you see fit. I think the implications in farming and cooking are obvious to those who care.
But I digress. The farm work in Japan - of which there is more to come - and the mind boggling examples of cross cultural similarities at the museum touched me quite a bit. While I wandered among exhibits, I was also engaged in a conversation with an old friend via smart phone instant messages (Viva technology!). Both traveling at the moment in different parts of the world, we discussed the merits of pursuing our own creative endeavors. On the one hand it`s more fulfilling, but on the other it`s risky and consumes you. By sacrificing freedom and working for other people, you have the chance to live a more balanced life, or at least that`s the idea, right? Looking back on my experience as a chef, I`ve been hoping to find more balance in the future. The dedication and ownership that forms the cultural link between chefs and farmers continues to resonate with me though, and it`s getting harder to understand applying and maintaining those ideals while working for other people`s monetary gain. A work until the job is done and done well mentality begs for the person sporting it to answer to no one else.
A journey need not have only one end and a question can certainly have more than one correct answer. There`s always an expectation however, that you`ll start in one place and end up somewhere new. It`s funny then, that some journeys can end up right back where it all began. For me at the moment, it`s hovered over a sink, scrubbing dishes, on the farm this time.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Where in the world are my pants!?!
Now that I have your attention I must confess that I did not misplace my pants in a hazy moment of debauchery in Bangkok, or anything like that. So sorry to disappoint. I left Thailand not long ago for a brief stop in Hong Kong where I ate plenty of roast goose, and even bet on some horse racing in the rain. Now I`m in Tokyo where I have for the last four days been stuffing my face with strange and fantastic foods. And looking for my pants, of course.
Two months in the grittiness of South East Asia will do a number on the clothing you bring along. Not to mention that I did a horrible job packing. First I had too much and sent some home. Then I had to buy stuff I didn`t have. Now I`m trying to make do with clothing that isn`t quite right for where I`m at. So, everywhere I go I`m constantly searching for a great pair of pants. They have to be durable, versatile, stylish and cheap. Not only is my current attire grubby, but the people of Tokyo are so gosh darned cool that I`m beginning to feel a little self conscious about my wardrobe. Rush to visit here if you haven`t already. It`s enchanting.
There`s always talk of Japan being a strange and quirky place for Americans. Let me clarify, at least from my perspective. Culturally, I find Japan to be more like American than the other parts of Asia I`ve visited. Day to day life in a city like Tokyo is the same as New York or any other similar metropolis. I think the curiosity comes into play because there are fewer people who will converse in English and similarly much less English signage than, say in Thailand. That makes travel here mysterious, exciting and sometimes strange. Baring pictures or plastic models of the food I`m ordering, I just point to the menu and anticipate what wonderful thing will be put in front of me. Earlier today I stood on line for fifteen minutes, not knowing what was at the end. I only knew it was going to be great because people were lining up for it. I`ve been eating mainly what would be considered fast food in Tokyo. Cheap and quick, but unlike the burgers and fried offerings we associate with the genre in America, convenience eating choices in Japan are vast and often light. In a country that is thought of as expensive, I`ve managed not to spend too much of my Yen on food. The only real issue is searching for that perfect meal, because restaurants are literally everywhere in Tokyo.
Searching has become a theme for me lately. Searching for food, searching for an organic farm or two in Japan to spend some time working with, and searching for my pants of course. I`m also searching for some direction to take when I decide that my time traveling needs to end. The food is easy. I`m not sure I`ll ever find my pants! Searching for direction in such a fantastic and unfamiliar place will prove to be interesting, though. I`m looking forward to the next two months and what insights I may find.
Two months in the grittiness of South East Asia will do a number on the clothing you bring along. Not to mention that I did a horrible job packing. First I had too much and sent some home. Then I had to buy stuff I didn`t have. Now I`m trying to make do with clothing that isn`t quite right for where I`m at. So, everywhere I go I`m constantly searching for a great pair of pants. They have to be durable, versatile, stylish and cheap. Not only is my current attire grubby, but the people of Tokyo are so gosh darned cool that I`m beginning to feel a little self conscious about my wardrobe. Rush to visit here if you haven`t already. It`s enchanting.
There`s always talk of Japan being a strange and quirky place for Americans. Let me clarify, at least from my perspective. Culturally, I find Japan to be more like American than the other parts of Asia I`ve visited. Day to day life in a city like Tokyo is the same as New York or any other similar metropolis. I think the curiosity comes into play because there are fewer people who will converse in English and similarly much less English signage than, say in Thailand. That makes travel here mysterious, exciting and sometimes strange. Baring pictures or plastic models of the food I`m ordering, I just point to the menu and anticipate what wonderful thing will be put in front of me. Earlier today I stood on line for fifteen minutes, not knowing what was at the end. I only knew it was going to be great because people were lining up for it. I`ve been eating mainly what would be considered fast food in Tokyo. Cheap and quick, but unlike the burgers and fried offerings we associate with the genre in America, convenience eating choices in Japan are vast and often light. In a country that is thought of as expensive, I`ve managed not to spend too much of my Yen on food. The only real issue is searching for that perfect meal, because restaurants are literally everywhere in Tokyo.
Searching has become a theme for me lately. Searching for food, searching for an organic farm or two in Japan to spend some time working with, and searching for my pants of course. I`m also searching for some direction to take when I decide that my time traveling needs to end. The food is easy. I`m not sure I`ll ever find my pants! Searching for direction in such a fantastic and unfamiliar place will prove to be interesting, though. I`m looking forward to the next two months and what insights I may find.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Finally Oriented (pun still inteded)
I've been wandering South East Asia for two months now and find myself full circle, back in Bangkok where I started. You may recall from the blog post I wrote upon arriving here that this utterly chaotic behemoth of a city irked me a bit, as did the idea of wandering with no real schedule or purpose. I'm not going to claim having any epiphanies or finding any new religion (orgnized or othewise), but I can say with confidence that I've settled in nicely. Bangkok doesn't seem half as intimidating as the last time I was here, even with violent political discourse taking place on the other side of town. It's a noticeable shift in my demeanor and without drifting into cliched reflections of what I hoped to accomplish by traveling the world, let me just say simply that I find it a positive shift. South East Asia is a unique place, and there is no excuse for not allowing it to make a profound cultural impression on you. While excentric quirks and heartwarming moments are too numerous to list or even remember entirely, I thought I would reflect on a few things that stood out to me while spendign the last two months here.
The driving situation, especially in cities is unlike anything I have ever seen in my life. Forget lacadazical sunday drivers in Portland or the oblivious speedsters in Boston. In Asia rules are no more than a suggestion, and apparently one that most people never recieved. I consider myself adept at crossing city streets, but this was something alltogether different. Usually, one can rely on a break in traffic, however brief, to dart accross. No suck luck. Traffic lights and crossing signals are rare, and drivers paying attention to them when present even more so. Eventually, it all comes down to a leap of faith. You just need to walk and hope that the motorbikes will dodge YOU. Speaking of which, motorbikes is a phenomenon I'm still trying to grasp. Sure there are a lot, but that spectacle gets old quickly. I'm still amazed at how many people and objects can balance on one. I saw the standard two person ride all the time. Three was not a stretch either. Four and five people at a time got me to turn my head. Not just adults of legal(?) driving age though. I saw babies (yes, more than one) balanced on laps and handle bars. I also saw dogs, cats, chickens, ducks, a monkey once, and various food sales operations. Often, it was a combination of two or more of these things. My conclusion is that people in South East Asia are not only fearless, but also have impeccable balance. Oh yeah...and everyone is always honking. It's not so much an agitated response to someone else's driving, but a warning that the honking party is coming, and probably can't see anything because he or she has two passengers, market purchases between the legs, a knapsack under the chin and a baby sitting on the shoulders.
In such an overtly commercial society, you might expect a competitive nature among the various people all selling the same thing up and down each street. Not the case. There is essentially one standard sales pitch with a few minor variations. The basic idea is that all foriegn visitors have a burning desire to be purchasing something at every moment, but that they need to be reminded of this over and over again and steered towards the product. The assumption must be that these ravenous bric-a-brac consuming tourists need to be jarred out of their shopping induced stupor and called back home to feed on products that are identical everywhere you look. The same theory applies to taxi, motorbike and tuk tuk drivers. In Thailand, these folks are cool and calm. They've started to recognize the benefits of laying back and letting people browse a bit. In Vietnam, there's no time for niceties. I'm still haunted by the shrill voices of a thousand Vietnamese women yelling, "YOU! SIR! YOU COME HERE! BUY FROM ME! NOW!" I cringe and say no thank you. And then, "SIR, SIR, SIR, YOU......" as I walk away. It continues like this until you are safely back in your hotel room. The Cambodian twist to this sales pitch wins out, though. Everywhere I went in Cambodia, women hawking food and clothing at bus stops or tourist attractions would sidle up and make me feel like the most important person in the world. It always starts with, "Hello, I remeber you," which is utterly outrageous since I've never been to Cambodia, yet I found myslef believing it for a split second a few times. They always ask where you are from, which is a pretty standard question to get in Asia, but these little temptresses would often throw in a little, "United States! Capital Washington D.C.!" Yes very nice, and obvious. Do you know the capital of Connecticut, though. I thought not. One gal hanging on me at Angkor Wat knew the capital of Oregon. I think I bought an iced tea from her. It was way overpriced. I even heard more than once, "You buy from me, or I cry." All the attention had me thinking about sticking around a bit longer. The extreme heat and dustiness was enough to get me back on track, though.
Most people have really cheesey pop music as their ringtone, even grown men. Since the ringers are always on loud, apparently there is no shame in liking Usher, and letting everyone know it.
I love soup, and must admit that it was huge motivation for traveling in Asia. I can't figure out for the life of me how people here eat soup in such oppressive heat. One would think there would be a little more salad, or anything chilled for that matter. Nope! I had to give up on soup after a while, as I found myself feeling like one of the noodles I was trying to eat, cooking in my own persperation.
Fruit is fast food here. No jokes about this one. It's awesome and I'll miss it dreadfully. Tropical fruits are some of the best in the world, and you can't swing a tailless cat in Sout East Asia without hitting a fruit stand!
Black coffee is sweet. What's up with that. I'm a daily coffee drinker, and while I can go without if need be, it's a small creature comfort that soothes the longings for home every now and again. It misses the mark when the coffee, while still black, is sweet. It was me throwing the sideways glance when they passed me the sugar bowl. You mean this is not sweet enough for some people?
Asia has the best sunsets. Maybe it's because I'm closer to the equator or maybe it's just the air pollution. All I know is that I've got enough sunset photos for a coffee table book...to flip through while drinking really really sweet coffee.
There's always something shadowy going on. Don't take this to mean I am being judgemental. People in South East Asia are exceptionally genuine and kind. There always seemed to be something going on that I couldn't quite figure out, like busdrivers picking up passengers and cargo along the route and collecting cash. I guess it adds to the mystery.
Finally...and my favorite...A restaurant can be anywhere. Any cook's dream is to have your own platform to create. You spend years slaving away so others can take the credit, and no matter how prestigious the job or knowledgeable the chef you work for is, most cooks I know would trade it all in for an opportunity to be judged on their own product. In America, you need the planets to align properly before the finances, permits and luck all fall into place. This can take a lifetime or never happen at all. In South East Asia, it doesn't take much more effort than wheeling your cart onto the street and setting up some small plastic tables and chairs. A small budget with healthy ambition can take you far. I've spent more than ten years working in various restaurants in various cities, following one job and opportunity to the next. Traveling is no different, with each location and experience segueing into another. What resonates for me the most being here now is that opportunity is everywhere. One need only to be aware when it presents itself. That is why I'm seeing the world and definitely why I cook for a living.
The driving situation, especially in cities is unlike anything I have ever seen in my life. Forget lacadazical sunday drivers in Portland or the oblivious speedsters in Boston. In Asia rules are no more than a suggestion, and apparently one that most people never recieved. I consider myself adept at crossing city streets, but this was something alltogether different. Usually, one can rely on a break in traffic, however brief, to dart accross. No suck luck. Traffic lights and crossing signals are rare, and drivers paying attention to them when present even more so. Eventually, it all comes down to a leap of faith. You just need to walk and hope that the motorbikes will dodge YOU. Speaking of which, motorbikes is a phenomenon I'm still trying to grasp. Sure there are a lot, but that spectacle gets old quickly. I'm still amazed at how many people and objects can balance on one. I saw the standard two person ride all the time. Three was not a stretch either. Four and five people at a time got me to turn my head. Not just adults of legal(?) driving age though. I saw babies (yes, more than one) balanced on laps and handle bars. I also saw dogs, cats, chickens, ducks, a monkey once, and various food sales operations. Often, it was a combination of two or more of these things. My conclusion is that people in South East Asia are not only fearless, but also have impeccable balance. Oh yeah...and everyone is always honking. It's not so much an agitated response to someone else's driving, but a warning that the honking party is coming, and probably can't see anything because he or she has two passengers, market purchases between the legs, a knapsack under the chin and a baby sitting on the shoulders.
In such an overtly commercial society, you might expect a competitive nature among the various people all selling the same thing up and down each street. Not the case. There is essentially one standard sales pitch with a few minor variations. The basic idea is that all foriegn visitors have a burning desire to be purchasing something at every moment, but that they need to be reminded of this over and over again and steered towards the product. The assumption must be that these ravenous bric-a-brac consuming tourists need to be jarred out of their shopping induced stupor and called back home to feed on products that are identical everywhere you look. The same theory applies to taxi, motorbike and tuk tuk drivers. In Thailand, these folks are cool and calm. They've started to recognize the benefits of laying back and letting people browse a bit. In Vietnam, there's no time for niceties. I'm still haunted by the shrill voices of a thousand Vietnamese women yelling, "YOU! SIR! YOU COME HERE! BUY FROM ME! NOW!" I cringe and say no thank you. And then, "SIR, SIR, SIR, YOU......" as I walk away. It continues like this until you are safely back in your hotel room. The Cambodian twist to this sales pitch wins out, though. Everywhere I went in Cambodia, women hawking food and clothing at bus stops or tourist attractions would sidle up and make me feel like the most important person in the world. It always starts with, "Hello, I remeber you," which is utterly outrageous since I've never been to Cambodia, yet I found myslef believing it for a split second a few times. They always ask where you are from, which is a pretty standard question to get in Asia, but these little temptresses would often throw in a little, "United States! Capital Washington D.C.!" Yes very nice, and obvious. Do you know the capital of Connecticut, though. I thought not. One gal hanging on me at Angkor Wat knew the capital of Oregon. I think I bought an iced tea from her. It was way overpriced. I even heard more than once, "You buy from me, or I cry." All the attention had me thinking about sticking around a bit longer. The extreme heat and dustiness was enough to get me back on track, though.
Most people have really cheesey pop music as their ringtone, even grown men. Since the ringers are always on loud, apparently there is no shame in liking Usher, and letting everyone know it.
I love soup, and must admit that it was huge motivation for traveling in Asia. I can't figure out for the life of me how people here eat soup in such oppressive heat. One would think there would be a little more salad, or anything chilled for that matter. Nope! I had to give up on soup after a while, as I found myself feeling like one of the noodles I was trying to eat, cooking in my own persperation.
Fruit is fast food here. No jokes about this one. It's awesome and I'll miss it dreadfully. Tropical fruits are some of the best in the world, and you can't swing a tailless cat in Sout East Asia without hitting a fruit stand!
Black coffee is sweet. What's up with that. I'm a daily coffee drinker, and while I can go without if need be, it's a small creature comfort that soothes the longings for home every now and again. It misses the mark when the coffee, while still black, is sweet. It was me throwing the sideways glance when they passed me the sugar bowl. You mean this is not sweet enough for some people?
Asia has the best sunsets. Maybe it's because I'm closer to the equator or maybe it's just the air pollution. All I know is that I've got enough sunset photos for a coffee table book...to flip through while drinking really really sweet coffee.
There's always something shadowy going on. Don't take this to mean I am being judgemental. People in South East Asia are exceptionally genuine and kind. There always seemed to be something going on that I couldn't quite figure out, like busdrivers picking up passengers and cargo along the route and collecting cash. I guess it adds to the mystery.
Finally...and my favorite...A restaurant can be anywhere. Any cook's dream is to have your own platform to create. You spend years slaving away so others can take the credit, and no matter how prestigious the job or knowledgeable the chef you work for is, most cooks I know would trade it all in for an opportunity to be judged on their own product. In America, you need the planets to align properly before the finances, permits and luck all fall into place. This can take a lifetime or never happen at all. In South East Asia, it doesn't take much more effort than wheeling your cart onto the street and setting up some small plastic tables and chairs. A small budget with healthy ambition can take you far. I've spent more than ten years working in various restaurants in various cities, following one job and opportunity to the next. Traveling is no different, with each location and experience segueing into another. What resonates for me the most being here now is that opportunity is everywhere. One need only to be aware when it presents itself. That is why I'm seeing the world and definitely why I cook for a living.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Economy Rice
Dripping with sweat is a theme explored from many different points of view in Malaysia. There's taking a short walk outside around noon time sweating which engulfs the forehead and neck mainly. If you have a backpack on your shirt is ruined for the day. There's also sitting by the pool sweating, where the intensity of the sun beating down on a perfectly still body will leave a fine layer of perspiration on your arms and legs. Jumping in the pool only helps momentarily before the cycle begins a new. One of the worst is sweating while you eat. Hot, spicy food renders the entire body damp instantly. At this very moment, even after a torrential downpour of epic proportions one would expect to cool things down a bit, I'm dripping with sweat while punching out this blog post.
It was something all together different when I found myself in the Kuala Lumpur airport a few days ago clutching my left cargo pocket repeatedly feeling for something not there. There was a split second where the world around me went quiet and the coolness I had been experiencing up to that moment abruptly turned to nervous tension and swollen rivulets of perspiration running down my face in every direction. In the place were I always keep a pouch containing traveler's cheques, cash, credit cards and my passport, was nothing. Sounds awful, I know. But let's back track for a moment and talk about what all happened before I found myself in this precarious situation and why spending a few extra days in Malaysia turned out not to be an out and out loss.
I hopped over to Malaysia from Vietnam and headed straight for the beach resort town of Batu Ferrenghi on the island of Penang. Penang is the birthplace of Hawker Stalls - a staple of street-eating on the Malaysian peninsula - and is generally recognized as having the best food around. On top of that the eats are cheap in a way you might not be able to imagine, and I had secured a complimentary place to stay. I was invited by my friends Jack & Meghan Yoss to join them in their rented condo, and for the first time since I began traveling I did not much of anything for an entire week. Only after sleeping late and lounging by the pool for a while would we make an effort to get up and search out dinner. Let me try and sum up what eating in Malaysia is like for the adventurous: If there is one place on earth that can truly please everyone, then it must be Malaysia. A veritable crossroads of gustatory culture, Malaysia had my head spinning seven ways from Sunday. Normally indecisive when it comes to dinner choices, I effectively gave up and just tried everything I could fit into a sitting. I'm still trying to process it all, but here's an idea of what sorts of food were laid out before me. Malaysia boasts many different influences to it's cuisine, so naturally each will be represented individually here and there. Indian and Chinese foods are dominant, but the trade route history of the area weaves in many other ethnic variations such as Thai and Portuguese. Where they all meet is at the economy rice tables. At first I skipped over these buffets while I was basking in the glory of fresh fish grilled in banana leaves, kway teow noodles, and of course, fried chicken - a highlight of Penang - only on Saturdays. When choosing became too difficult though, I made a plate of rice with a few selections of uniquely Malay preparations a part of my daily routine. This continued in Kuala Lumpur where the missing passport incident extended my stay. There are always an endless array of curries to choose from with beef, chicken and lamb varieties. Lamb stomach curry was a high point for me. Always a number vegetable dishes to balance out the plate as well. Whole hard boiled eggs also feature prominently in a way I had not seen before. Whether it was chicken, quail or both - the eggs were served in a masala sauce and cooked perfectly throughout. It was like egg salas, without chopping up the eggs. Another feature of the economy stalls, especially in Kuala Lumpur, is roti. The dough is stretched incredibly thin in a reverse pizza toss of sorts. It's more like they are slapping it against the table. Then it's brushed with ghee, folded over on itself a few times and cooked on a blazing hot griddle. Served with a little bowl of sauce from one of the many curries, a roti became my morning meal in KL, along with a cup of sweet coffee. A heaping plate of local food at a local price, while immersed in local chatter epitomizes what travel is all about for me.
So that is how it's been each and every day for me here, trying to decide what to try next and seeing how many different salads and curries I can fit on top of a pile of rice. I was initially disappointed that I would have to stay a whole weekend before having a chance to get into the embassy and replace my passport, but in the end it provided me an opportunity to relax in a magnificent and impressive city. I settled into a little routine and it felt nice to have a moment of life not devoted to sight seeing or moving on to the next location. The State Department came through for me and hooked up a new passport. I secured a new plane ticket and tomorrow I'll press on. It's interesting to note however, that the last thee days in Malaysia that were imposed on my by a pickpocket while riding the mono-rail, were in some ways the best I spent here. I even found myself thinking that Kuala Lumpur would be a really nice city to live and work in. It's modern and exciting with captivating architecture and efficient mass transit. Culture is everywhere and the food, of course, is great. If only it weren't so unbearably hot all of the time. I can only drip with sweat for so long before I begin to miss the cooler seasons.
It was something all together different when I found myself in the Kuala Lumpur airport a few days ago clutching my left cargo pocket repeatedly feeling for something not there. There was a split second where the world around me went quiet and the coolness I had been experiencing up to that moment abruptly turned to nervous tension and swollen rivulets of perspiration running down my face in every direction. In the place were I always keep a pouch containing traveler's cheques, cash, credit cards and my passport, was nothing. Sounds awful, I know. But let's back track for a moment and talk about what all happened before I found myself in this precarious situation and why spending a few extra days in Malaysia turned out not to be an out and out loss.
I hopped over to Malaysia from Vietnam and headed straight for the beach resort town of Batu Ferrenghi on the island of Penang. Penang is the birthplace of Hawker Stalls - a staple of street-eating on the Malaysian peninsula - and is generally recognized as having the best food around. On top of that the eats are cheap in a way you might not be able to imagine, and I had secured a complimentary place to stay. I was invited by my friends Jack & Meghan Yoss to join them in their rented condo, and for the first time since I began traveling I did not much of anything for an entire week. Only after sleeping late and lounging by the pool for a while would we make an effort to get up and search out dinner. Let me try and sum up what eating in Malaysia is like for the adventurous: If there is one place on earth that can truly please everyone, then it must be Malaysia. A veritable crossroads of gustatory culture, Malaysia had my head spinning seven ways from Sunday. Normally indecisive when it comes to dinner choices, I effectively gave up and just tried everything I could fit into a sitting. I'm still trying to process it all, but here's an idea of what sorts of food were laid out before me. Malaysia boasts many different influences to it's cuisine, so naturally each will be represented individually here and there. Indian and Chinese foods are dominant, but the trade route history of the area weaves in many other ethnic variations such as Thai and Portuguese. Where they all meet is at the economy rice tables. At first I skipped over these buffets while I was basking in the glory of fresh fish grilled in banana leaves, kway teow noodles, and of course, fried chicken - a highlight of Penang - only on Saturdays. When choosing became too difficult though, I made a plate of rice with a few selections of uniquely Malay preparations a part of my daily routine. This continued in Kuala Lumpur where the missing passport incident extended my stay. There are always an endless array of curries to choose from with beef, chicken and lamb varieties. Lamb stomach curry was a high point for me. Always a number vegetable dishes to balance out the plate as well. Whole hard boiled eggs also feature prominently in a way I had not seen before. Whether it was chicken, quail or both - the eggs were served in a masala sauce and cooked perfectly throughout. It was like egg salas, without chopping up the eggs. Another feature of the economy stalls, especially in Kuala Lumpur, is roti. The dough is stretched incredibly thin in a reverse pizza toss of sorts. It's more like they are slapping it against the table. Then it's brushed with ghee, folded over on itself a few times and cooked on a blazing hot griddle. Served with a little bowl of sauce from one of the many curries, a roti became my morning meal in KL, along with a cup of sweet coffee. A heaping plate of local food at a local price, while immersed in local chatter epitomizes what travel is all about for me.
So that is how it's been each and every day for me here, trying to decide what to try next and seeing how many different salads and curries I can fit on top of a pile of rice. I was initially disappointed that I would have to stay a whole weekend before having a chance to get into the embassy and replace my passport, but in the end it provided me an opportunity to relax in a magnificent and impressive city. I settled into a little routine and it felt nice to have a moment of life not devoted to sight seeing or moving on to the next location. The State Department came through for me and hooked up a new passport. I secured a new plane ticket and tomorrow I'll press on. It's interesting to note however, that the last thee days in Malaysia that were imposed on my by a pickpocket while riding the mono-rail, were in some ways the best I spent here. I even found myself thinking that Kuala Lumpur would be a really nice city to live and work in. It's modern and exciting with captivating architecture and efficient mass transit. Culture is everywhere and the food, of course, is great. If only it weren't so unbearably hot all of the time. I can only drip with sweat for so long before I begin to miss the cooler seasons.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Where's the beef?!?
It will shock everyone reading this, I'm sure, to learn that that my initial motivation for visiting Vietnam was to eat soup. A close second priority was eating baguette sandwiches. Vietnam is a country rich with history and culture, some of which is poignantly entwined with that of the U.S. Over the years, hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese people have emigrated to various communities in the United States and brought a delicious culinary tradition along with them. In cities I have been happy to call home, most recently Portland, little Vietnamese noodle and/or sandwich shops are prolific. I spent a great deal of my free time over the past two years occupying corner tables of these spots with a book and a steaming bowl of noodle soup accented with various cuts of beef, or perhaps a pig knuckle or two. Naturally, I figured that if the native cuisine could be so enjoyable in America it would be more so on it's home turf. I also assumed it would be everywhere. Back home of course I had to trek over to the Vietnamese area of town to get my fix. In Vietnam I would have the geographical advantage of always being in the Vietnamese area of town. Score! Right...?
Not exactly. It was a persistent and annoying theme of my two weeks in Vietnam to be searching far and wide for something interesting to eat. I'm always willing to tough out hunger until I find the perfect meal, but it started to get ridiculous after a while. In Thailand food is everywhere! There is no end to the variety of new and interesting things to eat. Vietnam started out decidedly less exciting. I would set out to find a meal and instead of spending my time narrowing down the vast selection, I would have to walk further and further just to find a roadside stand serving up anything at all. By the time something came up I would generally give it a try, not wanting to risk walking even further down the maze of alley ways searching for food that might not be there. The crushing part of this picture is that the version of Pho Bo, the Vietnamese dish most widely represented in America, I would find never lived up to what I am accustomed to. Recreations of Pho Bo - beef noodle soup - in America are usually adorned with a variety of beef cuts including but not limited to flank, eye of round, fatty brisket and my personal favorite: tripe. All of this in a rich meaty broth, served with a side plate of bean sprouts and various herbs to garnish with. In the homeland, the best I received was often watery with stringy shavings of unidentifiable beef trimmings, no garnishes and nary a morsel of tripe. I had a few classic, "where's the beef?" moments. My expectations smashed, I would move on to the next, hoping it would be better. Perhaps I built things up too much in my head before arriving. My initial image of Vietnamese food in Vietnam may look depressing, but what kind of blog post would this be if I weren't able to put some sort of positive spin on the situation. Am I not the same person who can look back fondly on two years of capping twelve hour work days by washing dishes late into the night? There's got to be a silver lining, even if you have to work with the scouring pad a little to find it.
The longing left by a few disappointing food finds created unique opportunity for me to be dazzled by some unexpected discoveries. Thailand was monumental, but too easy. Vietnam proved to be more difficult but ultimately more rewarding at the same time. The first milestone was in Sapa, a mountain resort town way in the north. It was my first real stop in the country after four rugged days of bus travel (see previous post). Sapa had way too many "western themed" restaurants and even what was touted as local cuisine seemed over priced and underwhelming. That is until I found the food market. I love walking through Asian versions of what we would call a Farmer's Market in America. Endless rows of fresh fruits, vegetables, fish and meats. The meats especially are something to behold. Far from the pristine and packaged versions we are used to, Asian markets usually have entire carcasses on display and overflowing bins of offal. It's a truly unabashed and unashamed display of carnivorous glory and what I love about it most is that it's totally normal. There is no cultural stigma involved with enjoying meat and accepting what it is and where it comes from. No one is afraid or finicky about eating what nature has provided. Nothing gets wasted and the eating experience is richer and more fulfilling as a result. In the market's equivalent of a food court, there were numerous vendors preparing a version of chicken soup that seemed custom fit to me, specifically. Egg laying hens, which are also used for meat in Asia, always have a few eggs still in production when slaughtered. It amounts to nothing more than a yolk without white or shell, that is extracted along with all the other innards. The soup I had came garnished with a few of these yolks lightly boiled along with the noodles, deeply flavored broth, shredded meat and fresh herbs. Truly unforgettable!
In Hue, an ancient capital city that was horribly bombed during the Vietnam war I walked with a few other people for a while through staggering heat and humidity to track down a noodle stall that was marked on a tourist map we had been given. Not sure what to expect, we found a roadside stall that didn't look like much, but was the only thing there. We opted in, and while waiting for the soup to arrive I noticed the bowl of quail eggs on the table along with the usual suspects of chilis and fish sauce. There was also something wrapped in a banana leaf. Next, I realized what all the hype was over. Three old ladies were crouching around a pot of boiling broth cutting rice noodles by hand from a fresh made dough. This amounted to the best Vietnamese soup I've had to date, hands down. Fresh, toothsome rice noodles in a light fish broth, garnished with quail eggs I peeled myself at the table and a fine ground pork pate, which is the gift that was hiding inside the banana leaves. There are so many different attitudes and mentalities that go into preparing food for others, but as I've noted before there are elements of pride and passion that can't be acted out. They're either real or not there at all. Watching those ladies chip away noodles - which they do night after night for the masses of local folks who were lining up as I sipped steaming soup in 90 degree heat - I knew I was witnessing undeniable pride in action. It's a common ingredient in great food no matter what or where you are in the world.
There were others as well. Also in Hue, I stumbled upon a stand serving slow simmered beef and rice soup. I had some along with the water from an enormous coconut while losing half my weight in perspiration. How the locals eat hot soup in that heat regularly is beyond me. The gaggle of ladies sitting nearby mistook my sweating for inability to handle the spiciness, and ran over to fan me off, laughing incessantly the whole time. It's difficult to fathom how stupid I looked sweating out that soup quicker than I could eat it while hoisting a basketball sized coconut to my lips every so often. No matter how hard I try not to look like a tourist, there are moments like this one where I fail miserably. In Hoi An, I finally found the baguette sandwiches I covet so much. I went back daily and carried one to my favorite sugar cane juice vendor right along the river and would sit there for a while, escaping the heat and excessive commercialism. All of this was prelude to Ho Chi Minh City - aka Saigon - where I sadly stayed for only one day. As it turns out, Saigon is the answer to the title question. It's all there! The soup, the sandwiches and much more are lining the streets of HCMC, with endless variety and opportunity to eat. I indulged in as much as I could with limited time. I ate fresh steamed snails with black pepper and lime, and enjoyed embryonic duck eggs and Tiger Beer while talking to a man who moved from Saigon to Texas after the war, but was back visiting family. He left because the country wasn't safe for members of the South Vietnamese Army back then. Things are different now, though. America and Vietnam established diplomatic relations in 1995, and although there is still justified animosity concerning the atrocities commited, people I met embrace Americans with open arms. I was approached by numerous people both young and old over two weeks there who wanted to practice their English and learn about America. They all hope to travel there some day, and hope for more Americans to visit their country. I was surprised at first, because other travelers had given me mixed reviews of how they had ben received in Vietnam. Getting a visa to visit was considerably more difficult than entering other countries in the region. All the drama leading up to my actual arrival set the stage for an awkward stay, but it stands to reason that sometimes an arduous journey offers a more satisfying reward. The hidden culinary gems I found far exceeded my expectations even if the day to day dining did not. In the same respect, people I met and spoke with more than made up for the visa application frustrations and bumpy bus rides. I departed Vietnam already plotting the route for my next visit, whenever that may be.
Not exactly. It was a persistent and annoying theme of my two weeks in Vietnam to be searching far and wide for something interesting to eat. I'm always willing to tough out hunger until I find the perfect meal, but it started to get ridiculous after a while. In Thailand food is everywhere! There is no end to the variety of new and interesting things to eat. Vietnam started out decidedly less exciting. I would set out to find a meal and instead of spending my time narrowing down the vast selection, I would have to walk further and further just to find a roadside stand serving up anything at all. By the time something came up I would generally give it a try, not wanting to risk walking even further down the maze of alley ways searching for food that might not be there. The crushing part of this picture is that the version of Pho Bo, the Vietnamese dish most widely represented in America, I would find never lived up to what I am accustomed to. Recreations of Pho Bo - beef noodle soup - in America are usually adorned with a variety of beef cuts including but not limited to flank, eye of round, fatty brisket and my personal favorite: tripe. All of this in a rich meaty broth, served with a side plate of bean sprouts and various herbs to garnish with. In the homeland, the best I received was often watery with stringy shavings of unidentifiable beef trimmings, no garnishes and nary a morsel of tripe. I had a few classic, "where's the beef?" moments. My expectations smashed, I would move on to the next, hoping it would be better. Perhaps I built things up too much in my head before arriving. My initial image of Vietnamese food in Vietnam may look depressing, but what kind of blog post would this be if I weren't able to put some sort of positive spin on the situation. Am I not the same person who can look back fondly on two years of capping twelve hour work days by washing dishes late into the night? There's got to be a silver lining, even if you have to work with the scouring pad a little to find it.
The longing left by a few disappointing food finds created unique opportunity for me to be dazzled by some unexpected discoveries. Thailand was monumental, but too easy. Vietnam proved to be more difficult but ultimately more rewarding at the same time. The first milestone was in Sapa, a mountain resort town way in the north. It was my first real stop in the country after four rugged days of bus travel (see previous post). Sapa had way too many "western themed" restaurants and even what was touted as local cuisine seemed over priced and underwhelming. That is until I found the food market. I love walking through Asian versions of what we would call a Farmer's Market in America. Endless rows of fresh fruits, vegetables, fish and meats. The meats especially are something to behold. Far from the pristine and packaged versions we are used to, Asian markets usually have entire carcasses on display and overflowing bins of offal. It's a truly unabashed and unashamed display of carnivorous glory and what I love about it most is that it's totally normal. There is no cultural stigma involved with enjoying meat and accepting what it is and where it comes from. No one is afraid or finicky about eating what nature has provided. Nothing gets wasted and the eating experience is richer and more fulfilling as a result. In the market's equivalent of a food court, there were numerous vendors preparing a version of chicken soup that seemed custom fit to me, specifically. Egg laying hens, which are also used for meat in Asia, always have a few eggs still in production when slaughtered. It amounts to nothing more than a yolk without white or shell, that is extracted along with all the other innards. The soup I had came garnished with a few of these yolks lightly boiled along with the noodles, deeply flavored broth, shredded meat and fresh herbs. Truly unforgettable!
In Hue, an ancient capital city that was horribly bombed during the Vietnam war I walked with a few other people for a while through staggering heat and humidity to track down a noodle stall that was marked on a tourist map we had been given. Not sure what to expect, we found a roadside stall that didn't look like much, but was the only thing there. We opted in, and while waiting for the soup to arrive I noticed the bowl of quail eggs on the table along with the usual suspects of chilis and fish sauce. There was also something wrapped in a banana leaf. Next, I realized what all the hype was over. Three old ladies were crouching around a pot of boiling broth cutting rice noodles by hand from a fresh made dough. This amounted to the best Vietnamese soup I've had to date, hands down. Fresh, toothsome rice noodles in a light fish broth, garnished with quail eggs I peeled myself at the table and a fine ground pork pate, which is the gift that was hiding inside the banana leaves. There are so many different attitudes and mentalities that go into preparing food for others, but as I've noted before there are elements of pride and passion that can't be acted out. They're either real or not there at all. Watching those ladies chip away noodles - which they do night after night for the masses of local folks who were lining up as I sipped steaming soup in 90 degree heat - I knew I was witnessing undeniable pride in action. It's a common ingredient in great food no matter what or where you are in the world.
There were others as well. Also in Hue, I stumbled upon a stand serving slow simmered beef and rice soup. I had some along with the water from an enormous coconut while losing half my weight in perspiration. How the locals eat hot soup in that heat regularly is beyond me. The gaggle of ladies sitting nearby mistook my sweating for inability to handle the spiciness, and ran over to fan me off, laughing incessantly the whole time. It's difficult to fathom how stupid I looked sweating out that soup quicker than I could eat it while hoisting a basketball sized coconut to my lips every so often. No matter how hard I try not to look like a tourist, there are moments like this one where I fail miserably. In Hoi An, I finally found the baguette sandwiches I covet so much. I went back daily and carried one to my favorite sugar cane juice vendor right along the river and would sit there for a while, escaping the heat and excessive commercialism. All of this was prelude to Ho Chi Minh City - aka Saigon - where I sadly stayed for only one day. As it turns out, Saigon is the answer to the title question. It's all there! The soup, the sandwiches and much more are lining the streets of HCMC, with endless variety and opportunity to eat. I indulged in as much as I could with limited time. I ate fresh steamed snails with black pepper and lime, and enjoyed embryonic duck eggs and Tiger Beer while talking to a man who moved from Saigon to Texas after the war, but was back visiting family. He left because the country wasn't safe for members of the South Vietnamese Army back then. Things are different now, though. America and Vietnam established diplomatic relations in 1995, and although there is still justified animosity concerning the atrocities commited, people I met embrace Americans with open arms. I was approached by numerous people both young and old over two weeks there who wanted to practice their English and learn about America. They all hope to travel there some day, and hope for more Americans to visit their country. I was surprised at first, because other travelers had given me mixed reviews of how they had ben received in Vietnam. Getting a visa to visit was considerably more difficult than entering other countries in the region. All the drama leading up to my actual arrival set the stage for an awkward stay, but it stands to reason that sometimes an arduous journey offers a more satisfying reward. The hidden culinary gems I found far exceeded my expectations even if the day to day dining did not. In the same respect, people I met and spoke with more than made up for the visa application frustrations and bumpy bus rides. I departed Vietnam already plotting the route for my next visit, whenever that may be.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Bad Luck Buses
I was beginning to wonder if I would make it to a suitable computer for updating this here blog before I lost track of what to write about. I've finally made it to my hostel in Hanoi which thankfully has computers free to use. They are lined up against a wall about a half an inch thick, with a jack-hammer operating continuously on the other side. Delightful at 7:00 AM after an all night bus ride while I wait for my reserved bed to become available. No time like the present to bang out this post, the banging mere inches away from me acting as a constant inspiration to transcribe my fondest travel memories via keyboard.
It's been a long week of exploration and travel exclusively by bus, which is often the cheapest option. Aside from comforting the budget, traveling by bus offers spectacular views, the opportunity to meet new people, mingle with the locals and an overall experience that flying or even the train if it's available cannot always provide. As the saying goes though, you get what you pay for. This cliche can be interpreted in a few different manners, and all of them are now crystal clear to me.
It's hazy at this point what my exact line of reasoning was when I decided to forgo seeing Phonsavan and Vientiane in central Laos in exchange for moving north instead and crossing the border into Vietnam at Dien Bien Phu. It had something to do with efficiency I think. Look at a map and you'll see that starting Vietnam there would allow me to move southward exclusively, no retracing my steps. There was also something about getting off the normally traversed path in Laos and having an adventure. I did the research and knew full well that it would take four days to reach Sapa, but I don't think I really understood at the time what that meant. Live and learn...right? I hoped on a local bus in Luang Prabang headed for Oudomaxai and got my first taste of what was in store over the next few days.
Let me provide a little background information. Most of the buses I took on this voyage were actually "mini-buses" but we managed to cram in the same amount of people that would fit on a typical school bus. This means that little stools are put in the aisle for people to sit on and when you - a westerner - think the bus is a full as could possibly be, there is actually room for about four more people, give or take a baby or chicken. Also, Laos people like to spit. Not in the bus or on each other. No, nothing like that at all. Just on the ground all of the time. I'm not sure what the rationale is behind this, but just about everyone does it regardless of age or gender. It seems the further north I traveled the more frequent the spitting and more vehement the pre-spit throat clearing became. Don't ask...I just thought this was a phenomenon worth mentioning. The buses have scheduled start and end points but that is hardly the full picture. Leaving or arriving on time is not guaranteed or even usual. The bus will also make many impromptu stops to pick up people who flag it down, grab cargo and bags of raw meat from villages and deposit them in others, and take smoking/spitting breaks. There is always someone in addition to the driver who I like to call the facilitator. He/she checks tickets, directs people where to sit and generally takes care of business. Despite my inability to understand anything the facilitators were saying, they were always a big help.
The ride from Luang Prabang to Oudomaxai was long, hot and uneventful. It took about six hours and we were packed in kind of tight. I remember thinking to myself that this was not so bad. If the full four days was going to be like this, then no problem! Things got interesting, though. After a good night's sleep in the finest hotel Oudomaxai has to offer I boarded an early bus to Mung Khua. That's the town where you catch the "border-run" bus into Vietnam. It was comical how many people we crammed in this bus. I always wondered what the secret to clown cars is. How do they fit all those big shoes and red noses in one vehicle. Low and behold, there's no trick to it. You just suck it in and slam the door. This trip was only three hours. Fast! With a whole day to relax in Mung Khua, I explored a bit and met some other adventurous travelers who were making the border run. I was still thinking how easy it was all going down until the following morning.
The bus from Mung Khua to Dien Bien Phu in Vietnam leaves at 5:30 AM, and you need to catch a ferry across a small river first. I had discussed with some other people I met in town that it would be better safe than sorry to arrive at the river early so as to not miss the bus. I was stunned to find at around 4:30 AM that I was trapped inside my hotel. Getting out the front door was not so tough. I just had to unlock it, and chuckled to myself while doing so how funny it would have been to miss the bus on account of being locked in the hotel. The pad locked front gate laughed last, though. It took me about ten minutes of frantic pacing to accept that the only way out was scaling the wall. I found some boxes to climb on and made my getaway. My rush down to the water front was all for naught. I arrived along with about ten other people to find no ferry present. We waited, unsure if wading across the river was going to be necessary. There was a glimmer of hope around 5:15 AM when we heard the distant sounds of throat clearing and spitting on the opposite bank. Who was this person in the shadows? Was it the ferry operator? A few moments later a boat lit up and met us for the short trip across. The bus was waiting and the journey began. The two previous bus rides were merely a warm up for this one. The road from Mung Khua to Tay Trang at the Laos border is not paved at all. It's in a constant state of construction with little to no progress being made. It seems as though there are a bunch of steam shovels and trucks just pushing dirt around. We never traveled at more than 20 mph and often stopped and waited for up to an hour while dirt was moved from one pile to another. It took an hour or so to check our visas at the border and then on to Dien Bien Phu. A total of 100 km took about ten hours. Lovely! I shared a hotel room with some people I met on the bus and we all went out for some well deserved beers and dinner. We had made it to Vietnam, finally. There was one more leg to my journey, however. The fourth day was spent much like the third on a bus to Sapa, a beautiful mountain resort town in North Vietnam. The road there from Dien Bien Phu is also merely under construction and the ride that day took thirteen hours. We left at 6:00 AM and arrived in Sapa after dark.
In the end I got the adventure I was looking for at a cost of four days of uncomfortable travel. I met some interesting people and indeed mingled with the locals in some small towns that not too many tourists wander through. As I spoke with other travelers about where they had been and what they had been doing, I started to worry a little if I was using my time wisely. I met people doing interesting treks in the mountains, riding motorbikes from Hanoi to Saigon, and spending months at a time in single countries. Me...I'm simply exploring a bit and eating as much local food as I can. Seems to pale in comparison sometimes. My worries were put to rest, though thinking about this: When I was in Oudomaxai that night I was looking for dinner. The food in Laos had not really been blowing me away, especially after experiencing all that Chiang Mai had to offer. There's lots and lots of grilled meat in street stalls, most of it leathery and tough. That's just how they do it there, I guess. With all restaurants in town closed that night, I tucked in for some more chewy meat at the bus station which seemed to be the only spot near my hotel with some action that night. I pointed at the chicken, and the lovely lady nodded in approval. I sat down and watched as she put together a simple bowl of soup. I caught something that made me smile from ear to ear. She was dropping in a few herbs and seasoning the broth before delivering it to my table and she gave the soup a little taste, then adjusted it properly. You can't fake pride like that, especially if you're unaware that someone is watching. Young cooks may wonder why chefs demand every dish to be tasted before serving, even though they are repeated hundreds of times a night. If you really care about the product you are putting out, then you shouldn't have to ask why. It just means that you care. I had dinner that night made by someone who cares. It was a beyond simple bowl of chicken soup, no frills, made with a stringy stewing hen. The broth was clear, flavorful and perfect. Moments like that make me realize that simply being here is an experience, no matter how I choose to spend my time. No amount of bad luck bus rides can overshadow life enriching moments from experiencing diverse cultures and places or just having a perfect bowl of soup, made by someone who cares.
It's been a long week of exploration and travel exclusively by bus, which is often the cheapest option. Aside from comforting the budget, traveling by bus offers spectacular views, the opportunity to meet new people, mingle with the locals and an overall experience that flying or even the train if it's available cannot always provide. As the saying goes though, you get what you pay for. This cliche can be interpreted in a few different manners, and all of them are now crystal clear to me.
It's hazy at this point what my exact line of reasoning was when I decided to forgo seeing Phonsavan and Vientiane in central Laos in exchange for moving north instead and crossing the border into Vietnam at Dien Bien Phu. It had something to do with efficiency I think. Look at a map and you'll see that starting Vietnam there would allow me to move southward exclusively, no retracing my steps. There was also something about getting off the normally traversed path in Laos and having an adventure. I did the research and knew full well that it would take four days to reach Sapa, but I don't think I really understood at the time what that meant. Live and learn...right? I hoped on a local bus in Luang Prabang headed for Oudomaxai and got my first taste of what was in store over the next few days.
Let me provide a little background information. Most of the buses I took on this voyage were actually "mini-buses" but we managed to cram in the same amount of people that would fit on a typical school bus. This means that little stools are put in the aisle for people to sit on and when you - a westerner - think the bus is a full as could possibly be, there is actually room for about four more people, give or take a baby or chicken. Also, Laos people like to spit. Not in the bus or on each other. No, nothing like that at all. Just on the ground all of the time. I'm not sure what the rationale is behind this, but just about everyone does it regardless of age or gender. It seems the further north I traveled the more frequent the spitting and more vehement the pre-spit throat clearing became. Don't ask...I just thought this was a phenomenon worth mentioning. The buses have scheduled start and end points but that is hardly the full picture. Leaving or arriving on time is not guaranteed or even usual. The bus will also make many impromptu stops to pick up people who flag it down, grab cargo and bags of raw meat from villages and deposit them in others, and take smoking/spitting breaks. There is always someone in addition to the driver who I like to call the facilitator. He/she checks tickets, directs people where to sit and generally takes care of business. Despite my inability to understand anything the facilitators were saying, they were always a big help.
The ride from Luang Prabang to Oudomaxai was long, hot and uneventful. It took about six hours and we were packed in kind of tight. I remember thinking to myself that this was not so bad. If the full four days was going to be like this, then no problem! Things got interesting, though. After a good night's sleep in the finest hotel Oudomaxai has to offer I boarded an early bus to Mung Khua. That's the town where you catch the "border-run" bus into Vietnam. It was comical how many people we crammed in this bus. I always wondered what the secret to clown cars is. How do they fit all those big shoes and red noses in one vehicle. Low and behold, there's no trick to it. You just suck it in and slam the door. This trip was only three hours. Fast! With a whole day to relax in Mung Khua, I explored a bit and met some other adventurous travelers who were making the border run. I was still thinking how easy it was all going down until the following morning.
The bus from Mung Khua to Dien Bien Phu in Vietnam leaves at 5:30 AM, and you need to catch a ferry across a small river first. I had discussed with some other people I met in town that it would be better safe than sorry to arrive at the river early so as to not miss the bus. I was stunned to find at around 4:30 AM that I was trapped inside my hotel. Getting out the front door was not so tough. I just had to unlock it, and chuckled to myself while doing so how funny it would have been to miss the bus on account of being locked in the hotel. The pad locked front gate laughed last, though. It took me about ten minutes of frantic pacing to accept that the only way out was scaling the wall. I found some boxes to climb on and made my getaway. My rush down to the water front was all for naught. I arrived along with about ten other people to find no ferry present. We waited, unsure if wading across the river was going to be necessary. There was a glimmer of hope around 5:15 AM when we heard the distant sounds of throat clearing and spitting on the opposite bank. Who was this person in the shadows? Was it the ferry operator? A few moments later a boat lit up and met us for the short trip across. The bus was waiting and the journey began. The two previous bus rides were merely a warm up for this one. The road from Mung Khua to Tay Trang at the Laos border is not paved at all. It's in a constant state of construction with little to no progress being made. It seems as though there are a bunch of steam shovels and trucks just pushing dirt around. We never traveled at more than 20 mph and often stopped and waited for up to an hour while dirt was moved from one pile to another. It took an hour or so to check our visas at the border and then on to Dien Bien Phu. A total of 100 km took about ten hours. Lovely! I shared a hotel room with some people I met on the bus and we all went out for some well deserved beers and dinner. We had made it to Vietnam, finally. There was one more leg to my journey, however. The fourth day was spent much like the third on a bus to Sapa, a beautiful mountain resort town in North Vietnam. The road there from Dien Bien Phu is also merely under construction and the ride that day took thirteen hours. We left at 6:00 AM and arrived in Sapa after dark.
In the end I got the adventure I was looking for at a cost of four days of uncomfortable travel. I met some interesting people and indeed mingled with the locals in some small towns that not too many tourists wander through. As I spoke with other travelers about where they had been and what they had been doing, I started to worry a little if I was using my time wisely. I met people doing interesting treks in the mountains, riding motorbikes from Hanoi to Saigon, and spending months at a time in single countries. Me...I'm simply exploring a bit and eating as much local food as I can. Seems to pale in comparison sometimes. My worries were put to rest, though thinking about this: When I was in Oudomaxai that night I was looking for dinner. The food in Laos had not really been blowing me away, especially after experiencing all that Chiang Mai had to offer. There's lots and lots of grilled meat in street stalls, most of it leathery and tough. That's just how they do it there, I guess. With all restaurants in town closed that night, I tucked in for some more chewy meat at the bus station which seemed to be the only spot near my hotel with some action that night. I pointed at the chicken, and the lovely lady nodded in approval. I sat down and watched as she put together a simple bowl of soup. I caught something that made me smile from ear to ear. She was dropping in a few herbs and seasoning the broth before delivering it to my table and she gave the soup a little taste, then adjusted it properly. You can't fake pride like that, especially if you're unaware that someone is watching. Young cooks may wonder why chefs demand every dish to be tasted before serving, even though they are repeated hundreds of times a night. If you really care about the product you are putting out, then you shouldn't have to ask why. It just means that you care. I had dinner that night made by someone who cares. It was a beyond simple bowl of chicken soup, no frills, made with a stringy stewing hen. The broth was clear, flavorful and perfect. Moments like that make me realize that simply being here is an experience, no matter how I choose to spend my time. No amount of bad luck bus rides can overshadow life enriching moments from experiencing diverse cultures and places or just having a perfect bowl of soup, made by someone who cares.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Chiang Mai: Gluttony Redefined
I don't even know where to begin explaining how I have taken to Chiang Mai. It's a far cry from the chaos and soupy humidity of Bangkok. I was settling in nicely to lazy travel mode while on my way here, but arrival in this ancient Thai capital to the north hastened the transition. I've really had a chance to assume the role of wanderer, while mingling with the gaggle of European backpackers staying in the same hostel who I affectionately refer to as the "youngins'." It's all well and good for hiking through the outskirts of Chiang Mai looking for elusive temples and sampling the night life, but for experiencing the local cuisine I've had to strike out on my own a bit. No worries though. I came for many reasons but let's be serious here; eating is a top priority and I can't have anyone holding me back. I never set out to make this a blog specifically about food, but I need to take a moment to recount a few dining experiences of the past week that have left my jaw dropped. I've eaten myself to the edge of sickness (the good kind, right?) a few times over and need to get this down in the public record before the details drift off into my next food coma.
I cannot for the life of me think of a better introduction to eating in Chiang Mai than the one I was privileged to have. Portland Thai food impresario Andy Ricker just so happened to be in the area when I arrived and was nice enough to let me tag along on that evening's trip out to drink and snack a little. His knowledge and passion for Thailand, the food and the people are peerless. I knew full well when he uttered, "there's a place I went last night I want you guys to try..." that I would not be disappointed. After a few cold Beer Lao and some sour pork ribs in the Old City, we headed towards the evening's focus. A small, outdoor set up on the side of the road not far from the city was where we ended up and Andy ordered for us in Thai. The business is a family affair with everyone chipping in. A small footnote here: hospitality in Thailand is a degree higher than I am used to seeing in the west, and I practice hospitality for a living. There is a sincerity to each beer poured and dish served that makes the whole thing seem so much more genuine. The speciality of our chosen drinking spot for the night is a slow cooked beef almost jerky like beef, probably skirt or flank, that is beaten with a club before serving to shred and tenderize. It's served with sticky rice, fresh herbs and vegetables, chili sauce, and a dried chili/galangal/shallot/garlic mix. We also had a plate of fatty roasted pork and sour pork and egg that had been steamed in a banana leaf to snack on. This was my first time really experiencing and understanding how and why the sticky is supposed to be used and why utensils are not really necessary when you have it. It's difficult as a tourist to get off the beaten path and really live like people do locally. We all say we want to do it, but how often does it really pan out. This experience not only hit the nail on the head, but was great motivation to seek out more just like it. Score!
A couple of days later, still buzzing from the roadside beers and beef, the director of the hostel I'm staying in said that it was all you can eat Thai BBQ night. I was skeptical to say the least. All you can eat BBQ is not really a term that inspires me while back home, but I decided to opt in. A bunch of other people were going and the price seemed right. Good choice! This is a local spectacle not to be missed. Endless piles of meats, seafood, vegetables and noodles are available to grab and bring back to your table where you will cook it over a blazing hot charcoal fire on a little aluminum grill that has a moat of broth around the bottom to simmer things in. If you're thinking that this sounds a lot like Korean BBQ joints found in suburban strip malls you're not wrong. The difference is the choice of ingredients. I had to take multiple stabs at the buffet line just to sample all the different offal available. I barely scratched the surface of fish and meat cake varieties. By the end of my meal the throngs of neighborhood folks eating and live music was getting hazy. I stumbled out, the term gluttony redefined.
An impromptu lunch yet a few days later became yet another milestone on this visit to Chiang Mai, and definitely what will be one of the most memorable experiences of this entire journey. The hostel director/owner Noom, invited me to join him for lunch. I had already made my love of eating known to him and also my willingness to try new things. There was a whole spread that the hostel staff was digging into. It consisted of the following: Sour pork with onions and chilis, a soup of beef offal simmered overnight, Northern Thai sausage, roasted pork, tuna with chili paste, cooked ground beef with herbs and chili, and my favorite dish; a tartare of sorts. One of raw ground pork, and the other of raw ground beef with an intense bitterness derived from boiling the bile gland of a cow and straining off the liquid. Not for the faint of heart, but balling up sticky rice was all that could slow me down from devouring as much of this as possible.
Earlier today, I had the chance to wander one of Chiang Mai's local food markets, presumably where most of the afore mentioned meal came from. It's a cross between a farmer's market and a food court. Fresh produce, fish, meat and prepared foods are all available in endless varieties. Slightly different than an American version of these entities, most people at the market were buying food to bring home. I actually felt a little funny eating things I had purchased straight away, even if they were prepared right in front of me. I was certainly the only one doing so. I did have the chance to sit down in a little restaurant adjacent to the market and sample food that I am told usually sells out quick! In America we pine for things to be produced locally, fresh, sustainably, by artisans and the like. Yet, we still shop at supermarkets. What I've witnessed here in Chiang Mai is people actually living the ideals we espouse. It's part of every day life and it's not inconvenient to anyone at all. You buy what you need for that day, and the next day you go back for more. I watched someone who is probably cooking catfish for dinner right now buy a live fish, which was killed, cleaned and gutted right in front of me. That's a type of fresh that even the Slowest of Foodies in America rarely experiences. I'm not going to go so far as saying that I could see myself living here. Isn't that what we all think to ourselves when on vacation in a wonderful place? I could however, transition easily into buying and eating food like this. No problems....
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