Scott's Southeast Asian Adventures

If I'd have thought to bring my camera, the picture I'd have taken would've been one for the ages. There, just around the corner from what's now my local supermarket, was my dad, sitting on the back of a moped, wearing not just a helmet, but a pink one. And several sizes too small, at that. "No way !" my brother exclaimed before doubling over. It took him about 20 seconds to stop laughing. "Did you steal that from a baby?" There was also the kid driving the bike, a Vietnamese dude of about American drinking age who seemed to have skipped puberty -- not only was he all of about 5 feet tall, but he was thinner than bamboo. My dad, on the other hand ... well, perhaps he said it best a couple days later, when, being led up the sand dunes of Mui Ne by a pack of 10-year-olds who had talked us both into trying their homemade sleds, his belly was poked. "Yeah, too much rice," he said. "I eat too much rice." The result was a bike that look

I had just finished wiping the dust off my feet in the Siem Reap Airport when all hell broke loose. There, at the Vietnam Airlines counter I was issued a boarding pass at five minutes earlier, stood Claire, my parents and four close relatives, all clustered around a ticket agent and speaking at once. Voices had anger in them. Faces concern. "They're not letting your family on the plane," Claire said when she heard me approach. My flip flops, which had gone over and around the temples of Angkor all day, were now squeaky clean. "We've got to get on the Internet and figure this out right away!" In December, Claire and I tried to go to Australia for Christmas. On our first attempt, we failed -- we hadn't obtained visas. We drowned our sorrows in Tiger Beer and tandoori chicken at Ashoka on Le Thanh Ton Street, went home, got online, discovered all we needed was "Electronic Travel Authority" clearance ($20/person, payable via the web, good for one y