Road Rage

Have you ever driven through Paris during rush hour? Ever been the passenger guiding your father through the winding, name-changes-every-other-block streets by simultaneously checking his Blackberry's GPS (which is taking 5 seconds too long to give your exact location thus allowing you just enough time to miss your turn) and squinting your eyes (I refuse to get my eyes checked) to decipher the white-on-blue lettered signs located on the second floor of the buildings--somehow not logically placed near the streets where you're actually driving--all the while resisting the urge to scream at your white-knuckled pops?  No? Never?

I highly recommend it.

Also topping my list: drive cross-country, with only a map of France (as long as you are actually IN France), cookies, and Diet Coke (and plenty of euros for those hefty tolls)--and bring your dad.  Or the way my dad likes to say, "Well, Holly, you were worth having on the trip."  That might sound really loving and sweet, but what he really means is that since he was paying for the rental car, gasoline, hotels, and food, I was worth having as his personal GPS, not necessarily as his fun-loving, energetic, second-born daughter.  It's okay.  He's not good at conveying his emotions, so I took it as a compliment.

One of my favorite things about my dad is his humor.  Especially because he usually doesn't know that the things he says are so hilarious. He's actually serious.

Once we settled into our hotel in Chamonix-Mont Blanc, we took an impromptu hop over to Switzerland, just to see if the mountains looked any different over there.  As we drove down the skinny roads, we passed numerous farms with cows, sheep, and goats.  Windows down, we could hear the bells of cows clank as they munched on grass or lazied about the pasture.  Out of nowhere, Dad says, "I love the cow bells. (pause)  I gotta get me one'a them."  We may be from Missouri, but we certainly never share in its vernacular, so that got me giggling right away.  And just what could my 56-year old, country club golfing, funeral home-owning father possibly use a cow bell for?  Maybe he'll add it to his new electronic drum set (Dad took his midlife crisis seriously).

Rewind a few days back to somewhere in the French countryside.  God knows how many times we got lost--took the wrong turn, missed an exit, misread a French road sign--but one moment directly following our success in getting back on track sticks in my mind.  Not only was I the human GPS, I also served as his waitress.  It's fine.  I can't drive a stick shift (his fault!), so I had to take care of the other duties (to earn my keep, of course).  Relieved that we were traveling in the correct direction, he amicably requested, "Now I need a cookie to make me happy."  We're emotional eaters.

We got used to the roundabouts after a while--the seemingly confusing way the exit signs are labeled, the way you have to Mario-Kart your way around it, tuck your tail between your legs and skedaddle so as not to get smashed in the rear.  I don't know if I can count on one hand the number of stop signs I saw in France.  My dad, as he ventured us out into yet another roundabout, put it best, "They just won't let you make a left turn in this country."

I have to give my dad a lot of credit for his driving in Europe.  Manual car, French signs, roundabouts, and me as a pitiful guide--that's a lot to put up with.  The best times we had, I think, were the "we're lost" ones.  As we endlessly searched for a vacant hotel in Geneva (which lies on the border of France and Switzerland), my dad said something that I think sums up our entire cross-country, father-daughter driving experience:

"I don't know if we're in France or Switzerland.  I don't know where we are."

xx

hh

L'incompetent!

I think my all-time favorite movie would have to be Home Alone.  If not for the simple reason that my family once watched it 6 times in a row (we're talking play, rewind, play, rewind, etc.) in the "big van" on our 1,500-mile summer vacation out west, then it's because, at any given moment, my siblings might work a line from the 90s film into conversation--and if you can't pick up on that and finish the scene's dialogue, well, then you just don't really belong in this family at all.
One of the best lines from this movie is when Kevin is complaining that he can't pack his own suitcase for their trip to France, and his sister tells him that he's, "what the French call, l'incompetent!"  Ouch.  I really wanted to slap his sister in that moment--mostly because of her ugly sweater-turtleneck combo (OK, it was the 90s, so it's forgiven), but also because packing is hard.  It's almost impossible not to overpack.  There's so much to consider.  And inevitably, you forget a key item or hate everything you packed and end up wearing the same dirty, wrinkled mess day in and day out.
I am determined to pack efficiently for my trip to France, which starts in just 2.5 days.  I've got it all laid out, and I'm counting each piece so that the number of outfits does not go over 20 (for 11 days, I think that's plenty modest), and no more than 5 pairs of shoes.  After I came back from Australia, I spoke to the next group of Mizzou students going abroad to study about, amongst other topics, what to pack.  I felt pretty special when I had a room of about 300 people laughing at my response, "Coming from the girl who packed 11 pairs of shoes, don't do that."  I am also the girl who, after arriving back in America from 14 months in Asia, had to wear a sweater, blazer, winter coat, infinity scarf, and 5 Vietnamese conical hats in order to make her carry-on bag clear security (after being rejected once, and of course, having an emotional meltdown).  I've been guilty of overpacking on numerous occasions, but I just can't help it.  Maybe I shouldn't be so worried about what I look like and focus more on how l'incompetent I'm going to sound trying to swoon French boys.  I kid.

xx
hh

730 days

It's been a while. A long while. An unintentional break from what was intended to be a detailed account of my travels in Asia. I've certainly told my stories to anyone who will listen. If I had a nickel for every time I started a story with, "When I was in Asia...," I'd surely cease my tiring, time-consuming career as a teacher and go back. Tonight, I set aside my papers to grade (that are already long overdue) to reflect upon the two years that have passed since I left for my Far East endeavor.

One year ago today, I strolled the beaches of Haad Yao on the exotic island of Koh Phangan in the Gulf of Thailand, counting the stars and avoiding the jellyfish bloom that washed ashore. I devoured fresh seafood, caught by the locals, while kicking back at a candlelit table in soft sand and chatting with fellow travelers.

Two years ago today, I missed a flight to Seoul, dry-heaved into a trashcan at gate A19 at Lambert International Airport, then proceeded to hyperventilate at the thought of staying in America any longer.

In these past 730 days, I've aged at hyperspeed. Throwing yourself into a land where you don't speak the language, you don't understand the culture, and you don't fit the mold, you have no choice but to grow within yourself. Issues I ran from in America, I carried with me overseas, and for the first 11 months, I kept with me, tightly holding on to my anger and resentment. Perhaps running from problems isn't what every doctor would order, but it did me a deal of good. Escaping America, I was able to view the world from a less narcissistic point. A little girl in Cambodia taught me that no matter how bad I think I have it, there are others that have nothing and still smile. While climbing a volcano (yes, a volcano) on the Korean island of Jeju, which totaled 12 miles and required 8 hours to complete roundtrip, I realized that I can tackle any challenge I put my mind and body to--even if I cry from the excruciating pain along the way. New friends taught me to trust again--that everyone has baggage and that I don't have to carry mine all on my own. I learned what it's like to be a minority and foreigner, sometimes admired for my big, blue eyes and other times scoffed at for my American roots. My Korean devils... I mean, students... showed me that American kids aren't as ill-fated as we worry them to be. Lastly and most importantly, I learned to love--despite flaws and hiccups--to love others and to love myself.

xx
hh

Air Dry

It's not unusual to walk into a friend's studio apartment in Korea to find damp undies and bras strewn across her bedroom, dripping pants from the kitchen table or socks and sweaters hanging from a multi-tiered drying rack. She will, however, excuse her mess with two simple words and a shrug: laundry day. And because you don't have a dryer either, no further explanation is needed to account for the plethora of skivvies dangling in front if your eyes while you toast to the good life with a Soju and sprite cocktail.

It's Laundry day: you have two options: morning wash or night wash. The morning--you wash your clothes before work and hang them around the room to dry, ideally, before nightfall. Nighttime--you wash them whilst at dinner (because you and cooking devices don't mix) and hang to dry overnight. Essentially you better have your clothes picked out and lined up a few days before you intend to wear them because there's no quick wash 'n dry process possible here. Do you really want to wait for those jeans to dry or can you wear them, dirty and wrinkled, one last Friday night before they start to really reek of Soju and BBQ pork?

My challenge to you then is to do a full load--I'm talking stuffed-to-the-brim--of laundry. Set up a line outside or, to avoid judgment by your neighbors, use your counters or kitchen chairs and let evaporation do the work. It's a chore that under normal circumstances (i.e. owning a dryer) is already tedious enough but will transport you across the globe, where others live day in and day out without this luxury.

See you in 12 hours when your clothes are, hopefully, air dry.

xx
hh

Do You Have Bread?

I'll never forget my proudest moment in Korea.

I asked for bread at a grocery store.

I was vacationing on Jeju Island, Korea, over Thanksgiving Break in September '10, and, in need of bread to make a peanut butter sandwich, I scoured the store for a loaf. With no success, I opted to try out what little Korean I picked up in the past 11 months on the cashier. "Bbang iseoyo?" Do you have bread, I asked hesitantly. She answered, in Korean, that they did not have bread.

And. I. Understood!

Living in Korea is sometimes like living in your own little autistic bubble--the buzzing of a foreign language in your ear creates a certain solitude that allows you to drown out the constant commotion surrounding you and simply focus on your own thoughts. While I appreciated that peace, it isn't exactly helpful for asking about the location of bread in a grocery store or explaining to your boss that the reason for your recent doctor's visit is none of her business. But that's a story for another day.

xx
hh

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

Nor are we in Korea.

First stop: Bangkok, Thailand

Imagine arriving in the country you've dreamed about since you were young, anticipating an exotic scene to unfold before you: lush trees, crystal blue waters, drums beating as you walk through temple doors, and spicy noodle dishes that make your eyes water and nose run.

Two words: Let. Down.

Perhaps the locals of Bangkok took the name of their hometown a bit too literally. Ladyboys, ping pong shows? I have now stepped onto another planet.

Let me explain. We arrived at the Bangkok airport at about 1AM on a Monday night/Tuesday morning. Only having found where to stay that night on the flight out of Seoul (this procrastination became a pattern and, eventually, a problem), we wandered the airport until we found the taxi stand, where the attendants were all too familiar with the area we wished to sleep: Khao San Road. The ride was short and cheap, and with wide-eyes, my excitement grew as we approached our destination. I hesitated as I stepped out the backseat. A raunchy mix of exhaust, booze-laced vomit, and dead fish heads crept up my nostrils. A teenage boy--dressed in a skin-tight black miniskirt, hot pink push-up bra barely covered by a see-through white tank top, and the reddest set of lips I've ever seen--smirked as he strutted by. And then, with an overstuffed backpack securely strapped to my little back, I trudged down Khao San.

Khao San Road. It's loud. It's wild. It's legendary. You can't miss it. Flashing lights. Techno beats. Special cigarettes. Buckets of liquor. Cheap Chang beer. Bars crawling, spilling over with hipsters, hippies, and hoes. A man throws a green lit ball into the air, and it slowly flutters to the ground. And then there's me. Dressed appropriately for the 38th parallel in jeans and a sweatshirt, jaw half open, watching intently as I closely clung onto my purse, I thought, "This is Thailand?"

After consulting with some friendly foreigners, we opted to stay on a side street nearby: Soi Rambutri. The cheap places were booked, so we stayed at a $25/night joint with a rooftop pool, which we never swam in.

I'm quite proud to say that my bravery over the years has far surpassed my natural inclination to nervousness. The last time I felt this afraid to leave my room was Day 1 in Korea when I suddenly realized that I didn't speak or read Korean. Having a travel companion is highly recommended, someone to force you out the door and face the chaos outside.

Tuk-tuk drivers waved us down for a cheap ride around town. Women pushing carts of roasted bugs offered samples of grasshoppers and beetles. The streets of Khao San and surrounding are lined with vendors selling cotton dresses, bracelets, headbands, T-shirts, watches, lighters, wooden carvings, pad thai, cold beer, coconut milk, iced coffee, scarves--any and everything you could ever want. They are all there just for us--the tourists, the backpackers, the avoiders of growing up.

Bangkok is madness but not to be missed. Are you a fan of body sweat, perpetual dirt under your fingernails, haggling for daily needs, eating your meals with rats, constant harrassment about a good deal? How about riding in a rainbow-colored tuk-tuk on the freeway driven by a wrinkly old man with no shoes or teeth? Surely you enjoy the scent of vomit and the excitement of nearly having your toes taken off by a passing truck? Yes? Perfect. Bangkok is the place for you. No? Fine, stick to Florida.

xx
hh

So You're Going to Southeast Asia...

And you wanna know what to bring, right? And where to go. And where to not go. Etc. Etc. Etc. I'm here to help.

Here is my list of must-have's for backpacking Southeast Asia:

1. Backpack! - This might seem like an obvious answer, but you wouldn't believe the number of suitcases I saw dragging through the dirt-laced lanes of Khao San Road. Don't be that loser. Get a backpack that measures from just above your hips to somewhere between your neck and the top of your head. I've seen backpacks that have rollers and a handle, which is actually convenient if you find yourself on a flat road. Side pockets are helpful for everyday items, like toiletries and sunscreen. However, NEVER put money, credit cards, or your passport in your big backpack. ALWAYS keep those items on you (or in a safe if you have to).

2. Your Passport - Like I said, keep this puppy on you as much as possible. In Vietnam, many guesthouses actually have policies where they keep your passport until you check out (so that you pay for your room & don't trash it). So when they ask for it, that's totally normal. Also, make a few copies and keep them in your backpack and purse/manbag. It's a good idea to bring a second form of I.D. too.

3. Cash/Credit Card/Debit Card - You're gonna need back-up! TRUST ME! I lost my ONLY debit card in Thailand but didn't realize it until I'd crossed the border and arrived 16 hours later in Laos. This disaterous situation was only resolved because my travel companion found a random debit card (which we overdrafted 7 million times) in his wallet. Don't be that loser. Bring an ass ton of cash. I brought US$800. Should've brought more. The problem with cash is that if you lose it, it's gone. The problem with a debit card is that you get charged every time you withdraw money. The problem with a credit card is that I don't even think they are accepted. At ZERO guesthouses and restaurants was anything other than CASH accepted. Unless you're planning to stay at some 4-star hotels, bring the green!

So here's my suggestion:
-CASH: Bring somewhere between US$500-$1,000. Not only will you need US cash for visa at the Laos and Cambodian borders, it's the most accepted currency in the world. In fact, I never even saw Cambodian currency--primarily US. Also, bring 50's and 100's to exchange because you get a better exchange rate. 20's are okay but I'd use those at the border. You'll probably end up with smaller bills if you pass through the markets in Cambodia, but never fear, you can use them in LAX on your way back home (or if you're Canadian, nevermind).
-DEBIT CARD: Bring two. If you don't have one, get one. And get overdraft protection on it.
-CREDIT CARD: I guess you can use one at an ATM, but I can't completely confirm that. There's no handing your card over to the waiter or bartender--only your hard-earned cash-o-lah!
***Note: Call your bank/credit card company and tell them the countries you'll be in. Keep that number on you in case it's stolen.

4. Meds - Get your vaccinations. You'll need Hepatitis A and B, Typhoid, and Japanese Emcephalitis. Also, grab some malaria pills. I got mine in Korea, and they only cost about US$10. It's also going to be important to get antibiotics and antidiarrheal meds. Just ask while you're getting your shots for a prescription. Also extremely important is ibuprofen/tylenol for those brain-pulsing, mind-numbing hangovers that you'll have in Bangkok. Sure, there's more 7-11's and mini-marts just about every time you turn around, but you won't want to journey into the heat. Of course, if you have any medical conditions, bring enough for the whole trip and then some.

5. A smaller Backpack - I can bet you'll be dropping that back-breaking backpack off in your guesthouse and hitting the town. Bring a smaller packpack with you for day trips, shopping, sight-seeing. A small purse is good too for going out to dinner or bars. The more zippers the better! If you dont mind belly sweat, then grab a money belt for essentials and toss it on under your britches.

6. All-weather clothing - It's gonna rain, it's gonna shine. Bring the following: tank tops, short-sleeved t-shirts, shorts (short and knee length), leggings (for entering temples and other religious buildings), cotton dresses, comfortable sandals that aren't flip-flops (for long, hot walks), flip flops (for the beach), pair of tennis shoes, thin plastic poncho, pair of jeans, swimsuit, small hand towel, syrong, and a hat (if you're into hats). Don't dress like a hobo unless you are really cool because it's hard to pull off. It's okay to look cute while you're traveling--you'll thank yourself later for putting in the extra effort.

7. Toiletries - Ummmm, ladies? Bring your lady products as they are very hard to find when you're in a jam. A fat bottle of hand sanitizer will be your life saver, so don't forget it like I did. Pack a few rolls of toilet paper--you WILL need it. Plus, when you finish using it, replace the space with souveniers or a new cotton dress from Khao San Rd. And if you're smart (read: cheap), snatch the toilet paper from your room before you check out. Everyone does it.

8. Southeast Asia Guidebook - I recommend "Lonely Planet - Southeast Asia on a Shoestring." Although it's pricey (about $35-40) compared to other brands and a 3 inches thick, they are the experts in travel, in my opinion. Unfortunately, this gigantic edition is not as thorough as the individual country editions, but it hits all the hot spots and gives the cheapest hotels, restaurants, and best deals in the areas, which, to someone like me who was on a tight budget, worked perfectly. I'm not proud of this next statement, but I'm going to say it anyway: if you can't afford this book (or any of their individual country editions), you can get a bootleg copy in Cambodia and/or Vietnam. In fact, you can get just about any bootlegged book. We "accidentally forever borrowed" a Vietnam edition from a guesthouse in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). Oops. That book was much more detailed and included some cool info that the Bible (Shoestring edition) did not. SO, if you start your trip in Cambodia (Siem Reap) or Vietnam (anywhere), you can get a copy of LP travel books for about $1 or two. But you didn't hear it from me.

Questions? Email me at hollyannehutchens@gmail.com

Safe Travels~

xx
hh