travel

I don’t think there was one aha! moment where I transformed from a picky eater to a more open one, but travel certainly expedited the transition. Over time, I found that new worlds opened up to me when I tried unfamiliar foods and that food was often an entryway into the history and psyche of a place.

Southeast Asia came at the right time in my food awakening and my newfound appreciation for Southeast Asian cuisine played a role in picking it as a destination. While I looped my way around the region, I didn’t strive to be Andrew Zimmern, but I made a concerted effort to be more adventurous with my meals. Of course, I could never get enough pad thai, but the foods that lingered on my taste buds long after my trip was over were the ones with new and unfamiliar flavors:

Durian and Assorted Fruit

I tried durian on my second night in Bangkok. After all the stories I’d heard about it, I didn’t think it was bad at all. It didn’t smell foul and it had a nutty and buttery flavor. It seems that Thai people prefer to eat their durian at a less ripe stage, so perhaps the one I tried was milder and less offensive. But I think durian is like cilantro— some people think it tastes repulsive like soap and others can’t imagine life without it. Beyond durian, any time I ordered a side of unspecified fruit, it was an adventure. Some of the new fruits I tried included longan, rambutan, sapodilla, and dragon fruit.

Amok in Siem Reap, Cambodia

Amok is fish mousse and that may not sound very appetizing, but it was one of the most delicious things I ate in Southeast Asia. For this dish, fish is mixed with coconut cream and spices and then steamed inside a banana leaf. The end result is a wonderful surprise; it’s delicate, full of flavor, and the coconut adds a wonderful creaminess that pairs well with the fish.

Cambodian BBQ in Siem Reap, Cambodia

The Cambodian BBQ has undertones of gimmickiness, but nevertheless, it’s a great place to sample meats you would not otherwise try. On a menu that also included snake and kangaroo, we chose crocodile and ostrich. As a backup, we also ordered chicken. Uncooked meat was brought to us in containers with a little picture of the animal so we would know what it was. We barbecued the meat ourselves on a dome-shaped contraption that had boiling broth at its base. We added noodles and veggies to the soup along with with the meat to complete our meal. In the end we loved the crocodile which tasted like a combination of chicken and fish and the ostrich which had a flavor akin to beef cooked in red wine. The chicken ended up being everyone’s least favorite because it tasted so boring compared to the other two.

Cao Lau in Hoi An

On my first day in Hoi An, I noticed that the menus had a few dishes I hadn’t seen in Southern Vietnam. I decided to try cao lau, a local specialty. It’s a noodle soup with a five spice flavored broth, pork, and greens and it’s topped off with bits of crispy fried dough. In Vietnam, I’d felt that flavors were muted and the eater was often expected to add his or her own spice, but this was flavorful and thoroughly enjoyable without having to dump a lot of chili sauce in it. Much of Hoi An’s unique vibe comes from its history as trading port, and the amalgamation of cultural influences in this soup make it a fitting dish for the city.

Lao Coffee in Luang Prabang, Laos

By the time I arrived in Laos, I had accepted the fact that I’d most likely find a pool of sweetened condensed milk at the bottom of my coffee as long as I was in Southeast Asia. But Laos was where I finally learned to enjoy it. In Laos, the coffee itself tasted different, it was thick and rustic. It made sense in the setting and Lao coffee kind of charms people in the same way that Laos does. Some of my fondest memories in Luang Prabang are of sitting on the sidewalk, drinking Lao coffee from a little glass cup, and chatting with locals and fellow travelers.

Khao Soi in Chang Mai, Thailand

When I arrived at a street food plaza in Chiang Mai, I was hungry and didn’t know what anything was, so I just pointed at a random dish on the menu. What I got turned out to be one of the top meals of my life. It took a lot of Googling when I got home to figure out what it was, but eventually I learned that it was called khao soi, a dish that is rarely on the menu at Thai restaurants in the States. It’s a noodle soup with a coconut curry broth and my bowl that night was served with shrimp and just the right amount of spice. Years later, I can still picture myself smiling widely as I slurped down that delicious soup at the night market.

Thai Wonton Soup in Chiang Mai and Bangkok, Thailand

I’ve had wonton soup countless times at Chinese restaurants, but I was blown away by the Thai version. I tried it at street food stalls in both Chiang Mai and Bangkok and couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was different about the broth, but it was very, very tasty.

Non-profit restaurants run by local youth

Throughout Southeast Asia, there are several inviting restaurants that are operated by non-profit organizations which train and employ underserved youth or benefit the local community in some way. I enjoyed fresh salads, curries, my very first bahn mi sandwich, and many more tasty meals at these spots:

- Romdeng in Phnom Pehn, Cambodia
- Friends in Phnom Pehn, Cambodia
- Sozo in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
- Baguette & Chocolat in Hanoi, Vietnam
- Organic Farm Cafe in Vang Vieng, Laos

 

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If you can peel yourself away from the tailor shops for long enough, Hoi An is a wonderful town to stroll through aimlessly. As a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is decidedly touristy, but you don’t have to wander too far away from the Old Town section to understand why Hoi An translates to “peaceful meeting place”.

The streets of Hoi An are lined with simple charms, and its vehicle limitations make it a really easy place to walk everywhere without fearing for your life (which is apt to happen on the chaotic streets of major Vietnamese cities). Here are some scenes from the charming streets of Hoi An, Vietnam:

Hoi An, Vietnam

Motorcyclists and bicyclists ride under a sign celebrating Lunar New Year.

Art in the river in Hoi An, Vietnam

A “floating dragon” in the middle of the Thu Bon River.

Hoi An, Vietnam

Hoi An, Vietnam

Hoi An, Vietnam

The Cantonese Assembly Hall gate.

Hoi An, Vietnam

Hoi An, Vietnam

Aside from its innumerable custom clothing shops, Hoi An is also know for colorful handmade silk lanterns.

Hoi An, Vietnam

This sign made my day and inspired the title of this post.

Hoi An, Vietnam

A view of the Japanese Bridge from across the Thu Bon river.

Hoi An, Vietnam

There were many public art sculptures both in and alongside the river.

Hoi An, Vietnam

The quiet shores of the Thu Bon.

Hoi An, Vietnam

Hoi An, Vietnam

I especially enjoyed walking through the even more slow-paced part of town across the river from the main tourist sections of Hoi An.

Woman in Hoi An, Vietnam

I asked this woman if I could take a picture of her. She nodded yes, and then immediately lit a cigarette…

Woman in Hoi An, Vietnam

…before turning to look at the camera.

Public art in Hoi An, Vietnam

Hoi An, Vietnam

Fishing boats.

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“What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”
– Jack Kerouac

There are some countries you leave with indifference. In others, you want to sprint to the border because you’re so ready to get out. And some—maybe most—you’ll leave reluctantly, feeling that you connected with the country, and wishing you had the time and funds to spend on that never ending dig to the core of a place.

Cambodia was solidly scenario number three. Wistful was the word of the day as we made our long and bumpy but beautiful drive to the border. Cambodia was rough around the edges for sure, but it felt like it had heaps of determination and a tremendous sense of humor to keep it moving forward. I hadn’t anticipated how magnetic it would be. Despite Cambodia’s pull, our van carried on to the border.

At the border town, Phnom Den, it was hot, hot, hot. Hot. It was a slow process getting stamped out because there was just one border agent at work who understandably moved slowly in his humid office with no air-conditioning and no computers. Once we were officially released from Cambodia, we had a long walk through no man’s land. As I trudged along, I was hunched over by the weight of my overstuffed backpack, dripping with sweat, and learning all sorts of hands-on lessons about not packing more than I could carry.

We felt relieved when we reached the Vietnam side, only to realize we were not at all done. Dubious border agents claimed the x-ray machine was broken and they wanted to search everyone’s bags by hand. They were exceedingly thorough in their search, even pawing through one of my fellow traveler’s underwear and waving in the air to observe it. They also confiscated a harmless wood carving that a honeymooning couple had purchased in another part of Asia. Noting their overzealousness, a few of us stealthily added our bags to the pile of luggage that had already been checked and continued on, sans violation by shady border officials.

As we left the border area, the excitement about being in a new country settled in. As with my first Southeast Asia border crossing, I was surprised to see how different it was immediately after entering a new country. In the heat of March in Cambodia, the country had been parched,  but Vietnam was various shades of green with its irrigated fields.

We barely had time to throw our bags down at our hotel in Chau Doc before five of us set out on a motorcycle tour of the town. I had never ridden a motorcycle and had no idea what there was to see in Chau Doc, I but I knew I wanted to experience Vietnam’s most popular form of motorized transportation. This trip had been all about saying yes and sampling things I never imagined I would try, and it had served me well so far. Yes to tasting crocodile, ostrich, and some unknown delicious dish I pointed to on the menu at the Thai border. Yes to getting on a little boat bound for some random island that turned out to be lovely. Now, yes to motorcycle tours.

We didn’t pick our drivers, they picked us. I was picked by a driver I’d eventually come to know as Mr. Speedy. As soon as I had my helmet on, we were off. We zipped through traffic and ahead of the others in the group. I gripped onto the driver, terrified at first and probably cutting off his circulation until I got past the initial shock and relaxed. I saw that when I let go a little, I felt safer as I moved in the natural way the motorcycle rocked me as the roads turned.

We zoomed up the side of a mountain and it was thrilling. It was all sharp curves and steep cliffs and I had a huge smile on my face the whole time, a combination of fear and exhilaration. It didn’t take long to understand the appeal of motorcycles. There’s a rush of adrenaline and freedom that courses through your body as you ride with no barriers to the world and you feel the speed in such a palpable way as the wind strokes your skin.

Another pair reached the top of Sam Mountain right after us, but the other three were far behind. As we waited for them, a group of moto taxi drivers tried to get my attention and kept eagerly pointing at something. Eventually I saw what they were trying to tell me: I had a 10,000 dong bill (worth less than $1 at the time) precariously hanging out of my pocket. I put it back in and they all smiled and gave me thumbs up. The simplest gestures speak volumes about a place, and this set the tone for southern Vietnam where I encountered many genuinely friendly people. Things would get harder in Vietnam, but I always look back fondly at the time I spent in the Mekong Delta area of the country.

When the rest of the group arrived, one of the drivers shared some facts about the mountain and explained that it was an important pilgrimage site. We walked around the top to the western side and we understood the drivers’ sense of urgency when we’d  arranged the tour. We had come to see the most epic sunset of our lives. We were going to watch the sun set over Cambodia, literally and metaphorically. It would be our last look at Cambodia before making our way north through Vietnam.

We looked westward at the sun and at a border that exists on maps that was just meters away. Unlike during the drive across, looking down from the mountain, there seemed to be no difference between Cambodia and Vietnam and the unfenced borderland was almost confusing in its normalcy. But our drivers assured us that the land below had a line through it. So we stood atop a Vietnamese mountain, looking over Cambodia as the clouds engulfed the sun, setting both countries and their shared skies aglow with a hazy, heavenly light.

Sunset in Chau Doc, Vietnam

Sunset in Chau Doc, Vietnam

Sunset in Chau Doc, Vietnam

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