There was nothing I wanted more than being able to strip off all my clothes. The air conditioner didn’t work. The humidity was unbearable. Then there was this dang precious train that screeched every thirty seconds, accompanied by some excruciating trembling and bouncing. All of my bones dislocated. They rattled in helplessness and agony. A vicious knock on our cabin’s door woke me up from my frenzy – leaving me sweaty and uncoordinated. I stared at the ceiling like a lifeless zombie then lazily peeked out the curtains. Outside the window, luscious greens and the calm river gently sang. They were coaxing the sun out to play; but she ran and hid like a shy maiden behind the clouds. What a flirt! But how much I wished I could ride the wind and join them to their secret dance.

We reached Lao Cai at 5:30 in the morning. The hour-long bus ride to Sapa city felt familiar: the winding two-lane roads with mountains on one side and steep valleys on the other, the fresh smell of the creeping fog, the gentle hands holding, and the Vietnamese mom who tried to shush her son’s fussiness by telling him that he will be eaten by monsters. The boy curiously stared at me a few time but I frowned and squinted at him! Oops, that only made him fussier (but he kept coming back for more). Oh well, zombie Thien doesn’t like yappy children, especially this early in the day.

The bus driver dropped us off and told us in broken English to climb up some stairs then turn either left or right to find the tourist office. I could barely understand him, but I forgot that I could speak Vietnamese (fail!). Nevertheless, we found it – a crowded room with various groups preparing for different activities and waiting to depart to different villages. Our guide was not there yet; he had to walk all the way from his village. I was happy when the tour agent let us know we can take a shower and have some breakfast while waiting. Whew, I could no longer stand to smell myself. If there were an odor test, stinky Thien would lose to a monkey at this point; and that would make for a very unfortunate start of the day.

Prior to your trip:

• If you leave from India, book your flights 30-59 days in advance; this is when Indian airlines are most likely to offer the best deal.
• Fill out the online visa application. The interface used for this is very crappy, so doing it while having a buzz would be a good idea. The site times out a lot; and there are restrictions on the number of characters that can be entered for each field (of course it does not give you these warnings until after you submit). As for the Nepal hotel address field, enter some gibberish if you cannot find your ward number, district, or municipality. For the passport picture, take one with your phone on a light background, crop it, then upload (no need to be perfect with picture quality or size). Upon successfully submitting, print out the confirmation page.
• Make a copy of your passport and your latest visa page.
• Bring a pen to fill out disembarkation form (no pen will be provided at the airport).

At Tribhuvan International airport:

• After getting off the plane, fill out the disembarkation form (which can be found right before reaching immigration), get in line to pay for visa fee (exact change is best), then you will be given a receipt and directed to the officer that will stamp the visa in your passport.
• The foreign exchange rate at the airport is not bad. Note that the exchange rate changes by the hour, so when you see a good rate, exchange as much as you can. When we went, we got about 97 NPR for each 1 USD.
• There are places to buy sim cards at the airport.

Miscellaneous:

• There are power cuts 70% of the time. If your hotel does not have a generator, that means no Internet, no hot shower, no charging batteries.
• Cold showers are common.
• Nightly temperatures in February are low (about 37 – 42 degree Fahrenheit); and most hotels do not have heaters.
• Kathmandu is extremely dusty. Use a mask or risk getting bronchitis (which Adam got – he coughed like a nut for a whole month after).
• Lots of restaurants/hotels take credit card, but they will charge an additional 4%.
• Hotels are not noise proof, bring earplugs.
• “Namaste” is the key to all the smiles. I literally go around and say “Namaste” to everybody. When I got tired, Adam took over. Our system worked out quite well.
• Thamel (where most tourists stay in Kathmandu) is the heaven for souvenirs. Don’t wait to buy in less touristy spots because the amount and variety are also likely to decrease.
• No exciting food in Nepal. We tipped 10% at restaurants if there were no service charge.
• In the winter, sourvenir shops close down at about 8:00. The streets tend to get very eerie because there are very few streetlights.
• No need to visit all the Dubar Squares in Kathmandu Valley since they are very similar. Patan Dubar Square and Bhaktapur Dubar Square are not worth it at all (in my opinion).

So many times I want to write about our trip to Nepal last February but the words keep finding way to hide. I lost motivation mainly because it was not as a successful trip as I had hoped, especially since I spent so much time planning for it. So here I am, yanking out my hair writing this, hoping that if I can get all the frustrating parts out of the way, the rest would be easier.

To keep the trip inexpensive and allow for lots of time to relax, I opted to stay in the Kathmandu Valley area, which comprises of three ancient cities: Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktapur. Our itinerary for the week was simple:

• Day 1, 2, 3: Arrive in Thamel. Visit Kathmandu Dubar Square, Swayambhunath, Boudhanath and Patan Dubar Square.
• Day 4: Trek to Nagarkot
• Day 5: Trek to Dhulikhel
• Day 6, 7: Wind down in Bhaktapur.
• Day 8: Go home.

Entrance fees for most attractions are ridiculously higher for foreigners except for SAARC nationals; and the same goes for airplane tickets to any parts of Nepal. Pokhara, a destination 200km away, was very tempting but I couldn’t justify spending $120 each way on airfare for each person, especially when the flight is only 25-minute long. From what Adam gathered, Nepal was once an integral part of what was called the “Hippie Trail” – a journey travelled from Europe overland to southern Asia with the goal to spend as little money as possible. Since these “hippie visitors” do not contribute much to Nepal’s heavily tourism dependent economy, its government decides to levy high fees accross all foreigner related services.

The discrimination in price was already nipping at me but I held it in, until we arrived to Bhaktapur. In Kathmandu and Patan, you enter the cities and then only buy tickets if you want to see a particular sight. In Bhaktapur, tickets are required the second you step foot inside the city limit since the whole thing is considered a heritage site (which I didn’t know). Tickets are $15 per person; but you still have to pay extra if you want to visit the museums and such. I would not have been so angry if only the Dubar Square here could even compare to the one in Kathmandu. For twice the price, I expected a whole lot more. What a disappointment!!! Thankfully we found the perfect souvenir here: an exquisite singing bowl. I think it helped calming down my anger and sadness; but this city definitely made my black list.

So except for Bhaktapur and Boudhanath and Patan Dubar Square, everything else was great. We had the best pizza ever at Fire and Ice, and drank so many sweet lassi. We experienced our first hookah and loved it. We trekked until my thighs were chafed and my toenails turned purple (my hiking shoes does not like the fact that my index toes are a lot longer than my big toes - CREEPY!). All in all, we were glad we made the trip. Mistakes made and learned; and we are one country richer than before we left.

Today, I permanently take off the tiger tooth pendant that I have been wearing almost every day for the past eleven years.

A few hours ago, I was reading an article about the practice of bear bile farming and was enraged and revolted by the degree of cruelty that human are capable of. But then it hit me: I’m not any better.

All these years I repeatedly told myself that my tiger tooth probably came from a dead tiger from a zoo. Sadly, chances were that he suffered an abusive life and a painful death. Regardless, I should have never wanted the tooth in the first place.

What a selfish and ignorant monster I am! I paid $50 for a tooth but it might have cost a tiger his life. He did no harms to me, yet I killed him. My pendant was once my pride, but now it’s my shame. My cruelty is the reason animals are still being violated and murdered.

Please help by telling the likes of me to STOP, NOW!

I’m very sorry, Tiger!

A day venturing to the European side of Istanbul ended with 6 sore legs, a few blisters, many loots, and 3 spent humans.

From Suadiye Residence where we stay on the Asian side, Adam, Neha and I took a dolmus (a shared taxi) to Kadikoy ferry dock then boarded a ferry to Eminonu. Europe greeted us with a deliciously fishy smell since there were quite a few fish sandwich vendors around and along the Galata Bridge. I was drooling excessively but Neha and Adam were not too interested. Lucky for them we just had breakfast or I would have made them wait in agony while I slowly enjoy the treat with some pickle juice (Adam will shiver when he reads to this part, hah hah hah).

Our itinerary was basic: Hagia Sophia Museum, Blue Mosque, Grand Bazaar, and Spice Bazaar. Having to find our way without the GPS while walking in goopy melting snow was quite challenging, especially since Neha and I do not have snow boots. Pretty sure I did not fall on my face because I waddled like a penguin. We skipped Hagia Sophia due to the long line, but everything else was rewarding despite being sandwiched like sardines at the bazaars.

A lesson that we learned the hard way during our little excursion: Turkish salesmen are not afraid to take advantages of your courtesy to get you into their shops. One man casually made a conversation with Adam, and then politely asked if he could give Adam his business card. What he neglected to tell us was that he didn’t have the cards on hand. Upon saying yes, we were led to a shop tucked away in a small walkway. Then he brought out some tea at lightning speed and urged us to sit down, repeatedly telling us that if we didn’t, we would be insulting his culture. Needless to say we did not touch the tea and ran out of there as fast as we can. After a dozen time of being harassed in similar manners, we figure out that the general tactics are as followed - just as you walk by, about every shop owners will start with the classic: Where are you from? If you reply, they prolong your attentions with a story or a series of other questions. Eventually, the conversation will direct to how about you go inside and check out the merchandise in their shop. My advice: either keep grinning like a baboon or practice your puzzling face so you can convincingly pretend that you have no idea what they are talking about.

In midst of all the harassments, some of the conversations turned out rather funny and deserved to be quotes of the day. Multiples shop owners told Adam how lucky he was to have two beautiful ladies accompanying him. Of course their “hint hint wink wink” tones insinuated that Neha and I do more than just sight seeing with him. I made some suggestive jokes about making these men’s speculations come true but Neha blushed profusely and told me she didn’t want to hear anything more on the subject. Hee hee. It didn’t help that I was the only one who wants to let her off the hook. When Adam tried to tell them that Neha is just a friend, one of the men said that he would give ten camels for her. Of course we bursted into laughter and refused his offer but then I wondered: how many camels would I get for trading in Adam?

• My sister will turn 21 in 14 days.
• Going to Nepal tomorrow for a week. Momos, monkeys, and trekking - here we come!
• Made vegetable meals 3 times this week.
• Have been productive in programming.
• Had my first 5-star hotel experience in Bangalore. Thank you Marriott for the free nights and the executive suite.
• Crawfish will be plentiful and cheap this year - cannot wait for a crawfish boil.
• Less than one month until the Vietnamese New Year. This will be the 15th year I won’t be home celebrating with families. Nostalgic!
• Finally found out where my favorite Indian cookies are sold - right across the street from the apartment. I have been hunting for them for 3 months. Boom!
• Not everybody in the world use toilet papers. Many use water and left hands instead. Not sure what to think about that (I miss my Charmin Ultra Strong).
• Raspberry black current smoothie at Cafe Colombia is addictive.
• Learned a few Nepali words.
• Bunster got some creepy blisters playing soccer with his coworkers. Last game he scored a goal with his head. And sprained his hand a little too.
• Thien’s camera is a champion. The thing survives a 3 feet fall directly onto the rocks in Hampi.
• Favorite new band: KUAN
• Will be going to Turkey for a month in mid Feb.
• Heard some great news from my mom. So proud of her and so happy for her.
• Cannot sleep well without Misa… Murrr.
• The music didn’t play until 10 at night on Republic day.

Today marks India’s 66th Republic Day - a commemoration of when India’s Constitution came into effect on January 26th, 1950. Each year, the Indian government invites a different foreign head of state to be its special guest. This year, as the result of an unprecedented invitation from Prime Minister Narendra Modi, the honorary goes to President Obama. He is the first sitting U.S. President to be Chief Guest at the celebration parades in New Delhi.

Equally important, the theme for this year’s parade is “Nari Shakti”, or “Woman Power.” According to the Wall Street Journal, “while women have participated in the marching contingents before, this is the first time entire contingents from the cadres of the three armed forces (the Indian Army, Navy, and Air Force) will take the eight-kilometer long parade.” Hopefully, these brave and inspiring women will soon get larger roles in the forces and be allowed into combat fields.

At our apartment complex, the music has been playing very loudly through an amplifier since around 9:30 a.m. There is also an organized gettogether where all the kids participate in various games. From the 9th floor, I can hear every pitch of their happy screams - which are both refreshing and brain-scrambling. If past holiday experiences are any indication, this will go on until around 10 in the evening. For the people who are not accustomed to these prolonged noise exposures, you will feel quite abused.

Oh well, when in India, enjoy the music eh??? Happy Republic Day!

During our break back home in December, we had to regretfully tell our food-lover friend Alan that we had not been to any open markets yet. He didn’t give us bullet eyes, but we secretly felt shameful. How could we stay in India for 3 months and not take our lazy bones out to an open market? Thus when we planned for our trip to Bangalore, we knew we must visit Krishna Rajendra Market – the biggest market in the city.

This market is usually busiest in the early morning; but by the time we got there at noon, the crowdedness did not seem to subside much. We walked around aimlessly, almost suffocating with the vibrancy and aliveness. A myriad of tiny shops fill both sides of the many narrow streets leading to the market center. Countless people invade the street pavements to sell fruits, vegetables, flowers, clothes, snacks, and almost everything imaginable.

At the center is a large complex with a glorious flower market on the underground level. Since the people of India seem to favor garlands more than whole flower stems, heaps of flower heads are piled on the grounds, in baskets, and on low concrete stands. As I walked by, a gentleman charmingly offered me a rose head. I wore it in my hair the whole day.

Our excitement and curiosity were undoubtedly visible. I was really glad that no one seemed to be bothered when I took pictures of their merchandise. Actually, everybody was rather friendly. As we stopped to study the many unfamiliar items at various vendors, quite a few people asked where we were from. A fruit seller cut up a water apple for us to try even though we told him that we didn’t want to buy after inquiring about the price. A man who sells dry goods waved me over and put a mark of red turmeric powder (a kumkuma) on my forehead. He said gently: “for Indian women.”

The kindness of his words however comforting was making me uneasy. Sure, I was wearing a kurta… I might even pass as an Indian woman for a day, but I’m still just a stranger. I saw the hustle bustle, the colors, the chaos; and I was amused. I enjoyed the stroll knowing that I didn’t have to live it the next day or the day after.

This market is the only mean to make a living for many, but what a torment! Amidst the raw beauty lay the stench, the pollution, the lack of drainage systems, the overpopulation, and the lack of governmental support. People lead hard lives here. I came and I went. Where can they go? How long can these stemless flowers survive?

Dosa is a savory pancake made from a rice and black lentils batter and usually eaten with sambhar (lentil based vegetable stew) or chutney. There are many types of dosa, but the most famous of them all might be the masala dosa: a dosa with sautéed potato and onion filling.

Before coming to India, I had a dream: to eat enough dosa to last me a lifetime since where else can I find better dosa than at its birthplace. Thus naturally I ordered a cheese paper masala dosa for my first meal in Pune. What a sight it was when the waiter brought out the crêpe-like monster, so big it stretched across two dinner plates. I tore out a piece of dosa, scooped up some potato filling, dipped it in the sambhar, put it in my mouth, and expected heaven. Nom nom… waiting… Ehhhh, hmnn. Nothing? Let’s try again… Nom nom… Ehhh, hmnn… Something was not quite right here. Where were the starburst and the mind-numbing bliss? Why are people raving about this dish?

Well, shame on me for not doing a more thorough research for better dosa places and for giving up after just one try. I paid the price with three dosa-less months. Thankfully, Adam and I were saved by our weekend getaway to Bangalore.

While searching for a restaurant specialized in Southern Indian cuisine for dinner, Adam came across MTR - a beloved jewel of Bangalore eateries. The foods they serve are intended for light meals so we decided to go there for breakfast the next morning. The quest to find this place took so much patience because I insisted to walk from our hotel instead of taking a rickshaw. We found the street it’s supposed to be on but pinpointing the exact location was next to impossible. After 45 minutes of wandering around and asking 5 different people, we finally found it hiding in a tiny street.

Waaaaa! I have been missing out. The masala dosa here was shivering delicious - warm, crispy, spongy, and mouth-watering buttery. For its reputation and quality, the price was surprisingly inexpensive. Two coffees, a masala dosa, a portion of idli, and an onion dosa - all came out for under 250 rupees ($4.06). We were so impressed that we returned the next morning. This time each of us got our own masala dosa since this heavenly goodness is definitely not for sharing. I finished mine in a heartbeat and salivated profusely watching the evil Adam slowly appreciating his last few bites. I did conspire to steal a bite of his by batting my eyelashes to distract him, but at the last minute, my conscience won. Lucky Bunster! Eat faster next time so you won’t inadvertently torture poor poor Thien.

Now I can consider us redeemed. And we can totally boast that we have eaten one of the tastiest masala dosas in the world.

Next stop: Vaishali - Pune! Watch out, masala dosa monster is coming!!! Rarrrr Rarrrr Nom Nom.

The 4-hour taxi ride, 20-hour flight time, and 8-hour waiting in between was all worth it when I spotted my sister’s face at the international arrival waiting area. Her signature pick-Thien-up-and-twirl-Thien-around bear hug felt like being drifted in an endless stream of cascading flower petals - so nostalgic, cordial, and satisfying. I was so smug when Adam only got a normal bear hug - she loves him too but he was too heavy to be picked up, hah hah.

While we were gone, Papa and Mama helped us taking care of our house. As if everything they do was not already more than enough, we came home to a spotless house and a finished garage - a surprise gift from Papa. He had secretly re-taped and mudded all the drywall seams and gave the entire garage orange peel texture. Of course we believed our eyes since we know how he expresses his care; but WOW!!! Oh how we are so loved and so spoiled… Is it so wrong that I love every minute of it?

Only four days until Christmas and all I wanted to do was sleep. Between the jetlag and both of us having a cold, I was not sure how we managed to do all the grocery shopping (4 different stores), host a family dinner, have a sleep over, buy and wrap gifts, and keep up the tradition of making eggnog and phở for Christmas Eve. The readily available alcohol and the holiday fever certainly helped.

Christmas morning was no doubt my most anticipated time of the year. We were all together, and some with a +1 or +2 this year. No words could describe the blissful feeling when I was finally allowed to dive into my over-filled stocking and ferociously tear away the wrapper from Santa’s gift. Yes, as creepily grown up as we (the children) are, Santa still climbs down the chimney and brings presents in special Santa wrapper each year. After drinking the eggnog saved for him in the fridge, he tipsily pets the bears, says Ho Ho Ho, and flies away in his sled. Of course these information were volunteered in a jumble the next morning by the overly excited Misa, Bôn, Winter, and AirBob.

At the breakfast following the gifts opening, I stuffed my face with Mama’s strawberry bread, bacon, cinnamon rolls, and my very own fried eggs (Mama knows that I don’t like scrambled eggs so she always save 2 so I can fry them instead). The Christmas dinner was the bomb with ham, Adam’s special mac and cheese, roasted fennel with tomatoes, green bean amandine, baked corn, and sweet potato casserole. As tradition dictates, I then napped through half of the last Hobbit movie at the theater. The night ended after a few games of The Resistance in which Adam made me feel bad for being an exceptionally bad player in the role of a resistance. When I dragged my zombie body to bed that night, I could not help but feel the overwhelming sadness that Christmas was over. I would have to be away soon, leaving behind all the hugs, the laughter, and the crazy quirks of those whom I love most in this world. I was for once glad of the exhaustion that prevented me from crying.

The rest of the break was a blur - scenes moving too fast to discern. I met up with friends, had some more family time, cooked, drank, cleaned, and ate beef - lots lots lots of beef. On the way to the airport, reality finally came back when mama told me of how my sister had cried after we said our goodbyes last night. My heart shattered.

So after the 20-hour flight time, 4-hour taxi ride, and 8-hour waiting in between, here I am, back to India. Hands and feet and nose are all accounted for, but I know that I’m not whole - and probably won’t be, for quite a while more.