Scott's Southeast Asian Adventures

If there’s one positive to jetlag it’s that you don’t have to fight getting an early start on the day. Even in the din of a well-draped hotel room, you’re up and at ‘em at an hour you normally don’t see. That’s always been my experience, at least. Today was no exception. Despite being comfortably cocooned in my villa at the Sofitel Centara Grand in Hua Hin, and despite being three days into this trip (i.e. far enough removed from the long journey from Salt Lake City to Southeast Asia) the eyes opened and stayed open. My internal clock still has me somewhere over the Pacific, I think. So I took to the beach, about 100 yards down the orchid-lined footpath between the resort and the Gulf of Thailand. I’m not a religious person, but this morning’s walk was nothing short of spiritual. First, the sunrise. It was dark when I embarked, but within what seemed like 15 or 20 minutes — hard to say exactly, because I didn’t have my watch or phone — I could sense night giving way. With each step, th

As I get set to return to Asia next Friday, to meet with clients and visit with friends, I'm reminded of August 2007, when I became a resident of Saigon, on a peninsula of District 2 called Thu Thiem. The reminder is in the form of a photo (see below) snapped recently and shared the other day by Carl Robinson, a former AP correspondent who loves nothing more these days than to share memories, stories and images with the 250-plus-member Google discussion group "Vietnam Old Hacks". The photo was taken from the observation deck of the new Bitexco Financial Tower , by far the tallest building in Vietnam now at 68 stories high. The frame transports me back in time because of what it shows. Or, rather, what it doesn't show. And that is so much of what surrounded me when living in Thu Thiem -- miles-long rows of modest houses, restaurants, shops and markets that line Luong Dinh Cua Street, and giant billboards along the Saigon River and next to the little ferry terminal th

Three years ago last week, when Claire and I were living in Saigon, we flew north to Hue , Vietnam's imperial capital, and spent about five days there with my colleague Jim and his family -- wife Thuy, son Cullen and daughter Vivian. I remember it being cold and rainy in the same way my native Seattle is around this time of year. I also remember how fun it was to be in Hue that week, mainly because it was Tet, the Vietnamese Lunar New Year. The streets and markets were crowded with shoppers of all ages on the prowl for things like flowers and cakes and decorations and gifts. Despite the gray skies, there was color -- reds and golds and yellows and greens, everywhere you looked. We roamed places like the Citadel and Thu Duc's Thomb. We drank cafe sua during the day, and in true locals style, warm beer at night. We munched on Hue specialties, in the homes of Thuy's relatives. We cruised around the wet city on a rented motorbike. We played pool in the lobby of La Residence Ho

Of the 250-odd golf courses in Thailand, one that no one seems to talk about is Royal Hua Hin. The few times I have heard someone mention it, the comment was roughly the same: "It's old and scruffy." Fine. But if that's the definition of a bad track, I don't think there'd be a waiting list to play the Old Course at St. Andrews. I had to see it for myself. So on Monday, I made my way from the oldest hotel in Hua Hin (Sofitel Centara Grand) to the oldest golf course in Thailand. It didn't take long. The two properties, built around the same time almost a century ago, are separated by about four blocks and a set of railroad tracks. At first glance, I wasn't impressed. It was most certainly old. But not in the timeless kind of way. More like the forgot-about-it-30-years-ago kind of way. The clubhouse, with its rust colored wooden beams and furniture, has a '60s feel to it. Looking up the 18th fairway, from behind the green, there was no discernible di

Last month I chaperoned a group of Aussie journalists on a trip from south to north Vietnam. When in Nha Trang, I managed to sneak off on motorbike for a couple hours and explore the coastline just north of the city. With my new Samsung Moment in hand, I rolled tape during a pit stop. Video quality isn't ideal, but you get the picture (sort of) ...

In Hue, along the banks of the Perfume River, where the French once commissioned the construction of a mansion for its Resident Superieure, I lie poolside, looking up at a silver-streaked September sky. A tropical breeze gently jostles the palms and frangipanis and orange trees that surround the perimeter. The sound of traditional Vietnamese music ( nha nhac ) is faint; it could be coming from the Citadel, just across the river. Birds chirp. The pool's salt water filters. A bus horn blares once, then twice. Five o'clock draws near. In a month, the rains will come, and that river will rise, maybe even over the banks. Eventually, unfortunately, I will rise, as well. But not just yet. Like one of Hue's most revered monks once said, 'If you want to live fully, you have to live slowly.' And I'm feeling that.