tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64782954942715448602024-03-18T20:00:53.040-07:00Scott's Southeast Asian AdventuresScott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-79195585601011475722012-04-25T20:26:00.023-07:002012-04-26T05:00:50.264-07:00Why Life's a Beach in Bai TramSo I thought I knew Vietnam. I've been coming for six years. Lived there for two. And seen just about all there is to see.<br />
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Just about.<br />
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But then this week happened. Rather, <a href="http://baitramestate.com/">Bai Tram</a> happened.<br />
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Two days ago, I got in a car in Hoi An and was driven eight, mind-numbing hours down the Vietnamese coastline to a place straight out of a fiction novel. I shit you not. Certainly the lack of a great expectations contributed -- until recently, I had never even heard of Bai Tram, let alone known anything about it. <br />
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But I won't be forgetting what I experienced there anytime soon.<br />
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Technically, Bai Tram is seven thatched-roof villas fronting a private stretch of beach that extends for a full kilometer and is bookended by giant rock outcroppings. But truthfully it's much more than that. <br />
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It's near bustling Quy Nhon but far from it. Guests come here to remove themselves from the rest of the world -- to unplug and unwind. No one is forced to. The lack of any sound but that of nature has a way of sending the message loud and clear. Here's what the property looks like from a spot I was told is called Coconut Hill:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0x0NPQzo5EJi3S8dkzSlIv0s-Yix0xxvOLELKXM7SmRyTvh7wXa3dUqA1JRNXPJ0H5hmhZlea2RUUI-Y3eWMQiRHMs5HaKf8At9Riv1C5BcdYEaz23vG-OxkGq-ctjwrAnsZcMOTTf8/s1600/BaiTram-CoconutHill.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735546702542569906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0x0NPQzo5EJi3S8dkzSlIv0s-Yix0xxvOLELKXM7SmRyTvh7wXa3dUqA1JRNXPJ0H5hmhZlea2RUUI-Y3eWMQiRHMs5HaKf8At9Riv1C5BcdYEaz23vG-OxkGq-ctjwrAnsZcMOTTf8/s400/BaiTram-CoconutHill.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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One of my favorite moments was the motorcycle tour I got from the resort's resident manager, Ieks Poppema, a Dutch Dennis Quaid if there ever was one. We went well beyond the gates of Bai Tram, over a long and rickety wooden bridge, past traditional fish farms and along a narrow winding road shaded by palms and lined by beach huts. Here's a look at the bridge, from over Ieks's shoulder: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cY69jLEWXEB87w637wFRsTkdtK_aYz6SgEz63y1aUN6jw5-RcprvepDuYuHBb-m-ARJ15v1-srTdt4VAl6cPGt8v-UaA_g3EHXKgXvxHGOp-VzkebAiy9DoXx7tgL4RmkhvJOlGaAAw/s1600/BaiTram-Motorbike.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735547375113380594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cY69jLEWXEB87w637wFRsTkdtK_aYz6SgEz63y1aUN6jw5-RcprvepDuYuHBb-m-ARJ15v1-srTdt4VAl6cPGt8v-UaA_g3EHXKgXvxHGOp-VzkebAiy9DoXx7tgL4RmkhvJOlGaAAw/s400/BaiTram-Motorbike.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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Halfway across the bridge, we encountered kids on bicycles riding in the opposite direction. They were all wearing the same clothes and big smiles. Clearly, class was dismissed.<br />
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But the fun was only just beginning for me. Later the same afternoon, Ieks arranged for a local fisherman and his crew to take us out on this beauty:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlh989AbbSYNTwgddG31yfxPM-IDy9h7RJ534EwHhQH8HSxTmysN737Uf4ucO3JAeAPWN7J7g_mvUM1T6WRjownDPBcAw29U1jLYHbjDQi9Tpz_KCoUpxNxLSwvf3LjxwsyAompl1msI/s1600/BaiTram-Boating.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735547382616166722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlh989AbbSYNTwgddG31yfxPM-IDy9h7RJ534EwHhQH8HSxTmysN737Uf4ucO3JAeAPWN7J7g_mvUM1T6WRjownDPBcAw29U1jLYHbjDQi9Tpz_KCoUpxNxLSwvf3LjxwsyAompl1msI/s400/BaiTram-Boating.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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We first visited a lobster farmer, who at one point led me underwater so that I could get an up-close look at his livelihood -- colorful Flower Lobster, swimming around in submerged rectangular cages about eight feet below the surface. When reeled up, the cages are covered in barnacles:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrByc6-WuDdb2Zh4Urr1VqYsit2WeAVAsqZMXU1YzA7-TyIpR0exrR2Q5F0Xk8dGcdl5E8nfHY1l4rrJYMTCwBk3RBROUW8qak_MsLOd3Z5P4KyqozZn8G5juukGuSq_PVZ-fBMr3If_E/s1600/BaiTram-LobsterFarm.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735547958827876434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrByc6-WuDdb2Zh4Urr1VqYsit2WeAVAsqZMXU1YzA7-TyIpR0exrR2Q5F0Xk8dGcdl5E8nfHY1l4rrJYMTCwBk3RBROUW8qak_MsLOd3Z5P4KyqozZn8G5juukGuSq_PVZ-fBMr3If_E/s400/BaiTram-LobsterFarm.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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From there we cruised over to a coral reef, where we busted out the snorkel gear and surveyed that action. Eventually the skipper said goodbye to us about 50 meters from the shoreline. It was close enough. We could see clear to the bottom -- unusual for Vietnam, even at shallow depths -- and to Bai Tram Beach, as pictured here from under one of the palapas:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDWUOTsd0Fl9J5Gw157vDGCCh6s_1I9fTRNEZYq-rjApoimtop3Hnq2ZpfNVqzyzWs0LKoeNcHlQCbxSXYvHl2A0f9yDeb_oBq5Z7F1gQJMZRGYrnXyl_l9pVjG0BH08O2wUzzMx6Dpo/s1600/BaiTram-Beach.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5735547967087983506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDWUOTsd0Fl9J5Gw157vDGCCh6s_1I9fTRNEZYq-rjApoimtop3Hnq2ZpfNVqzyzWs0LKoeNcHlQCbxSXYvHl2A0f9yDeb_oBq5Z7F1gQJMZRGYrnXyl_l9pVjG0BH08O2wUzzMx6Dpo/s400/BaiTram-Beach.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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And so we swam, and then trudged up to the resort's bar and ordered an ice-cold bottle of Quy Nhon Beer. The perfect ending to a storybook day.<br />
<br />Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-56835697535051125632011-06-27T15:38:00.000-07:002011-06-27T15:40:35.048-07:00How Jetlag Spurred a Spiritual ExperienceIf 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.<br /><br />That’s always been my experience, at least.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />So I took to the beach, about 100 yards down the orchid-lined footpath between the resort and the Gulf of Thailand.<br /><br />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, the sky along the horizon changed — from a dull purple to, eventually, a fiery orange that gave definition and color to the wispy clouds hovering above.<br /><br />At its most intense level of orange, I sat on a wooden chaise lounge chair — one of hundreds that later today will undoubtedly be occupied by sunbathers — and took in the scene. I shoved my feet into the flour-like sand, inhaled the briny air, and stared at the waves gently rolling in.<br /><br />Not a couple minutes passed when two figures then converged — one from my right, another from my left — and met probably 20 paces in front of me. Two women. One a Buddhist monk, with shaved head and white robe. The other in hotel housekeeping threads. They spoke for a second, then the maid lay alms in a basket hanging from the monk’s neck. The maid got down on her haunches and into a prayer position. In turn, the monk sang a prayer. The two were silhouetted against that bright orange sky.<br /><br />“Jetlag,” I thought, “ain’t half bad.”<br /><br />(This entry was first posted on June 7 at www.itsinhuahin.com/blog)<br><br>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-6389987624677904592011-02-17T14:03:00.000-08:002011-02-17T14:28:53.140-08:00Snapped Back: Why a Recent Photo of Saigon's District 2 Sent Me Down Memory LaneAs 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.<br /><br />The reminder is in the form of a photo (see below) snapped recently and shared the other day by Carl Robinson, a former <span style="font-style:italic;">AP</span> 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".<br /><br />The photo was taken from the observation deck of the new <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bitexco_Financial_Tower">Bitexco Financial Tower</a>, by far the tallest building in Vietnam now at 68 stories high. The frame transports me back in time because of what it shows. <br /><br />Or, rather, what it <span style="font-style:italic;">doesn't</span> 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 that shuttles motorcyclists and pedestrians between the peninsula and city center.<br /><br />It's all been ripped up. Where those houses once stood, piles of rubble now do. Where the billboards once towered, a patch of dirt braces itself for what's to come soon -- a new and modern Thu Thiem, exemplified by office complexes and a multi-lane highway.<br /><br />I never expected Saigon to remain the way it was when I first set foot on its soil. But I must admit it saddens me some to see it develop as fast as it has. <br /><br />Especially Thu Thiem. My ride down to the ferry terminal most days came courtesy of a soft-spoken man named Sang (seen <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySuDTft7WD8ia4_CA_v8h2acYVZFNj-VsR0IzCvXpjVlQWV1wm1TftjscH7iy-66V2Ecim-y9ftwR0eNaezcDm4zY2031oPnBcQ9vQTGknmRnSZvTUf2z-HJppyGg-Ls77lnXYxMRltE/s1600-h/IMGP0569.JPG">here</a> with my bro). We had a hard time conversing, but I was able to discern he lived his entire life in that neighborhood, was married and had a baby. I imagine they've been pushed out, and the thought of that breaks my heart.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAXymJhH3dUwU0sd3mH8kHJKGioacHgq1a-h99EwrzX_JdkQZTE_d46uJoxCMx1HFl9yo_z_JEFlnAD61c-zRi64KWI9HgZwCxvtaZvZgZDQJbIt8Qfy4kJMpkoMgxraCo9Biq1fdLQA/s1600/AcrossD2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAXymJhH3dUwU0sd3mH8kHJKGioacHgq1a-h99EwrzX_JdkQZTE_d46uJoxCMx1HFl9yo_z_JEFlnAD61c-zRi64KWI9HgZwCxvtaZvZgZDQJbIt8Qfy4kJMpkoMgxraCo9Biq1fdLQA/s400/AcrossD2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574783137659206658" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-35777649832447632202011-02-07T14:53:00.000-08:002011-02-07T15:13:11.885-08:00Where Dragons Dance in Salt Lake CityThree years ago last week, when Claire and I were living in Saigon, <a href="http://scottresch.blogspot.com/2008/02/hue-southeast-asia-or-seattle.html">we flew north to Hue</a>, Vietnam's imperial capital, and spent about five days there with my colleague Jim and his family -- wife Thuy, son Cullen and daughter Vivian. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />We roamed places like the Citadel and Thu Duc's Thomb. We drank <span style="font-style:italic;">cafe sua</span> 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 Hotel. We woke every morning in the Sullivans' spare bedroom to the sound of a dog barking next door.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9dzj7HrZxeF9NMxkmgZxaTcBeq-KNIQ9louM0tKuBlL9FbdZCqV4pl8R4nXuGGQsR5vFmZPfNE28c5Y7gDUaVWsw7k5SjDbL3KI0MEi6l0JfH8ti4_slUfBElGpOLii39QuxwQFzbR8/s1600/Outside03.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 308px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9dzj7HrZxeF9NMxkmgZxaTcBeq-KNIQ9louM0tKuBlL9FbdZCqV4pl8R4nXuGGQsR5vFmZPfNE28c5Y7gDUaVWsw7k5SjDbL3KI0MEi6l0JfH8ti4_slUfBElGpOLii39QuxwQFzbR8/s400/Outside03.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571089598852642178" /></a><br />Yesterday, those memories came flooding back when at Northwest Middle School in Salt Lake City. As in Utah. As in half a world away from Hue. May sound strange, but not when you consider this: Northwest MS is where Utah's Vietnamese community decided to celebrate the Year of the Cat. We got there just past 11 a.m., right before teenagers of Vietnamese heritage slipped into costume and performed a ritualistic dragon dance to the sound of drums and firecrackers. <br /><br />Inside, we ordered <span style="font-style:italic;">goi cuon</span> (fresh spring rolls) and watched the same kids perform another number, on the auditorium stage this time, as toddlers in the audience took turns handing the dragons little red envelopes -- packets of "lucky money."<br /><br />As we were leaving, Claire said, "All that's missing is the smell of fish sauce." (Hue produces some pretty strong fish sauce.) And I thought, "And gray skies." Outside, the sky was blue and something in the air made it feel like spring.<br><br>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-87428748029565780182010-12-08T23:21:00.000-08:002010-12-09T03:06:27.352-08:00What's Cool About Thailand's Oldest Golf CourseOf the 250-odd golf courses in Thailand, one that no one seems to talk about is Royal Hua Hin. The few times I <span style="font-style:italic;">have</span> heard someone mention it, the comment was roughly the same: "It's old and scruffy."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 difference between the fairway and rough. And the rentals were straight out your grandfather's garage.<br /><br />"This'll be a challenge," I thought.<br /><br />And it was. But not just because the clubs belonged in a museum. But because there is a maze of trees out there. From most tee boxes, the margin for error is slight -- both the 2nd and 6th offer extremely narrow slots through which to shoot. So does the 9th, which also requires a carry of at least 200 yards in order to clear the topiary and reach the fairway. The 4th is backdropped by a massive outcropping and the 5th is gorgeously framed by trees. <br /><br />The 10th is a straightaway par-4 if there ever was one, but then the back nine gets good... especially at the par-3 14th, which plays slightly downhill to a false-front green guarded on both sides by bunkers and a majestic temple set in the lush hillside behind it. I didn't get a picture there because my camera died, but it's forever etched in my memory.<br /><br />The home stretch is what all finishes should be -- a test. The par-3 16th plays at least 210 yards, with traps flanking the front of the green like a pair of nightclub bouncers. And the final two holes aren't just long dogleg left par 4s; they're tricky around the jar, thanks to greens more contoured than a Chihuly sculpture.<br /><br />Sure, the old track is rough around the edges. But if you're in any way a purist, or find it even slightly compelling that a Scottish engineer was commissioned to design Thailand's first layout, I wouldn't miss it. Here's some footage I <i>did</i> manage to capture during my visit:<br><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzAYJ41jCCtNsFnGARu_McabFxVFFU1XrwEG0jEKeMWq85whb2PcHK_tP0RleVd85I0NcVnJ-M_wfmD_i-oYw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-19113745078135209512010-10-14T11:44:00.000-07:002010-10-14T12:00:14.562-07:00Motorcycle Diaries: Khanh Hoa's CoastLast 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) ...<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='305' height='251' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz89j27WIgWegBiK79g_glES9iqD73tTRMnRpOHmGXPRNAQ4O_Zg5DcIxpYCr8YIoyOKrtxpYn80TpbGA0J3Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div></div>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-46168994594043120302010-09-09T03:20:00.000-07:002010-09-09T09:48:12.946-07:00Sweet PerfumeIn 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.<br /><br />A tropical breeze gently jostles the palms and frangipanis and orange trees that surround the perimeter.<br /><br />The sound of traditional Vietnamese music (<span style="font-style: italic;">nha nhac</span>) is faint; it could be coming from the Citadel, just across the river.<br /><br />Birds chirp.<br /><br />The pool's salt water filters.<br /><br />A bus horn blares once, then twice. Five o'clock draws near.<br /><br />In a month, the rains will come, and that river will rise, maybe even over the banks. Eventually, unfortunately, I will rise, as well.<br /><br />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.<br><br>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-3307554090066896452010-06-22T07:02:00.000-07:002010-06-22T07:27:50.702-07:00What You Can Bank on in SingaporeThe other day I'm sitting at my desk, talking to someone on the phone who is nowhere near the Little Red Dot.<br /><br />"So, how's Singapore," the caller asks.<br /><br />"Hot," I say.<br /><br />I've had that question a lot the past year, and "hot" is my knee-jerk response every time. How could it not be? It's one thing you can absolutely bank on here. Any day of the year. Any time of the day. Even when the sun goes down, "it's tropical," as my mate Howie likes to say, especially when he's got sweat pouring off his face.<br /><br />But Singapore is nothing if not fairly predictable across the board. Which is why you can also be certain that:<br /><br />* Your car will stick out like a sore thumb if you drive forward into a parking spot. Singaporeans back in, folks (see photo, below). No law saying you have to. They just do it. All of them do.<br /><br />* A security guard won't do much to thwart a throwdown. I watched a bust-up break out the other night at the beer festival. Some Aussies, really getting into it. One security guard eventually came over, sorta got in the way, then just sorta... disappeared. About as useful as Verne Troyer at power forward. Nice.<br /><br />* When you go to Newton Circus (the island's most popular hawker center), the 'hawkers' will badger you. And badger you. And badger you. Until you order something. Or just tell them to beat it. Sounds mean, but unless you've got a bottomless pit for a stomach, it's the only solution.<br /><br />* You'll never find better chili crab. You'll (probably) never pay more for a beer after 10 p.m. in your life. Even after a year of living here, you'll see a Lamborghini every day. The sheer size and beauty of the trees will never cease to amaze you. You won't find an easier place to pay your bills (7-Elevens, post offices... they'll take care of it for you in a snap). And the list goes on...<br><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXyQBctwFUo9FTQnA1rJo53TstKyxlOqXN0jRj_yigaTOvMQQJddBLXGOgNoBfGb3AlRegX557j2TsEixr4HryyHfzKj1aw5jvbE1yqiVjJAAu-W_bvdNOOgAmLvfGEX4LH6MWL4YgJk/s1600/Cars.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXyQBctwFUo9FTQnA1rJo53TstKyxlOqXN0jRj_yigaTOvMQQJddBLXGOgNoBfGb3AlRegX557j2TsEixr4HryyHfzKj1aw5jvbE1yqiVjJAAu-W_bvdNOOgAmLvfGEX4LH6MWL4YgJk/s400/Cars.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485603953671314866" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-15250334870943025952010-04-15T05:26:00.000-07:002010-04-15T06:08:07.037-07:00Top 5 Courses I've Played (in Asia)Now that I've lived in Asia for the better part of three years, and therefore managed to tee it up at a fair share of the region's finest golf courses, I figure it's high time to name my faves.<br /><br />Naturally, most of the layouts I've experienced are in Vietnam and Singapore. But I've also been lucky enough to test tracks in Thailand, Indonesia and Hong Kong. I've seen what Cambodia's got, too. And they look fun. Of them all, though, these are the top 5:<br /><br />5) Banyan (Hua Hin, Thailand) -- When it comes to course conditions, few hold a candle to this newbie. The views aren't too shabbie, either -- especially from the clubhouse veranda, which looks out over a quiet valley backdropped by the Burmese Mountains, or the 15th tee, with the Gulf of Thailand in the distance. Spectacular.<br /><br />4) Nirwana (Bali, Indonesia) -- The thing I love about Nirwana isn't its proximity to the Indian Ocean, or how the iconic Tanah Lot temple is just so cool to look at -- it's how I can remember every hole and I've only played it once. Maybe it's the way its terraced rice paddies act as a guide from the very first hole. I don't know. I just know it's unforgettable and that I want to play it again (and again).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXr26dP77FBMcJdp6vSGkI2KJUZzXlQAlUXbT_P0d9qGE1PBayBnkokJoLhjKrwHwAUkU-YtJx-ti4mtQXDTMV1OAij4BUz2y5v_JENFqx6q-Psr0qe3PPiCXxBFySKO3nYXyVtVtzhc/s1600/Hole10-b.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXr26dP77FBMcJdp6vSGkI2KJUZzXlQAlUXbT_P0d9qGE1PBayBnkokJoLhjKrwHwAUkU-YtJx-ti4mtQXDTMV1OAij4BUz2y5v_JENFqx6q-Psr0qe3PPiCXxBFySKO3nYXyVtVtzhc/s320/Hole10-b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460349601984006018" border="0" /></a><br />3) Dalat Palace (Dalat, Vietnam) -- It's old, it's got some design flaws, and it's a bit scruffy around the edges. And when it rains, better off wearing Wellingtons than Eccos -- drainage is a problem. But to all of it I say, "So what!" Give me cool mountain air, tall pine trees and the best greens you'll find anywhere and I'm yours forever.<br /><br />2) Ria Bintan (Bintan, Indonesia) -- The first Gary Player course I ever played was The Links at Fancourt in South Africa. And I loved it. Ria Bintan, 45 minutes by ferry from Singapore and another Player creation, is in the same class, even though it's totally different. It ain't linksy. It's jungle golf at its finest, with ocean views galore.<br /><br />1) Danang GC (Danang, Vietnam) -- It's not even officially open yet -- two weeks still to go -- but I've been lucky enough to play it twice already. What makes it the winner? Simply put: The simplicity. There's nothing tricked up about it. It's a golf course in the dunes (see pic) that looks as if it's been there for centuries. And that, as all my friends know, is my favorite kind.<br><br>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-32265401922224621552010-03-21T06:09:00.000-07:002010-03-22T00:11:53.455-07:00Holding on to Hoi AnSitting here in Singapore on a Sunday night and an <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQaoDe7Gt5I">old episode of <i>No Reservations</i></a> has got me thinking.<br /><br />It's the one where the show's host, Anthony Bourdain, is in central Vietnam experiencing Hoi An for the first time. He's eating <i>banh mi</i> at the local markets. He's walking the little pedestrian-only streets that weave between centuries-old shop houses. And he's discovering he likes it so much he wants to know if it's a place he could actually live for a while.<br /><br />Enter Ly Tran, wife of Duc Tran, owner of two of the best restaurants you'll find not just in Hoi An, but anywhere (if you ask me). She leads Anthony around the area on scooters, showing him housing options that run the gamut from bare-bones traditional to too-good-to-be-true.<br /><br />I start to reminisce because everything about the episode is so familiar, right down to Bourdain's lovely tour guide. Claire and I got to know Ly (and, of course, Duc) during our two years living in Vietnam. So much so that they invited us to their wedding. And every time we visit Hoi An (which is often, even since we moved to Singapore), we get to spend time with at least one of them.<br /><br />That means a lot to us, a couple of expats who wondered at the outset of this adventure if we were going to meet anyone we would click with.<br /><br />And Hoi An means a lot to us, too. As <i>No Reservations</i> showed, there are so many aspects to it that get under your skin... in a good way.<br /><br />Which is why we're excited to go back, for about the dozenth time, in a few weeks. Technically, it's a business trip for us. But we'll find a way to walk the town's wondrous side streets, sit riverside one night and soak up the reflection of illuminated silk lanterns, and get some of that <i>banh mi</i>. Can't go without the <i>banh mi</i>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6nknC0NoJtdq9Er8Fgyd0nwm7w5XsdYRK1WA7m14L_ccUkrE5cdyYWuDEqmHosOMY7p4YWkAmkumL25WChRXxjS3_yGN4CpSif13zZBNPl9VJYF1iK9bbA-wWNBWjA3iru-pDIMsjXhA/s1600-h/HoiAn-Motorbike.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6nknC0NoJtdq9Er8Fgyd0nwm7w5XsdYRK1WA7m14L_ccUkrE5cdyYWuDEqmHosOMY7p4YWkAmkumL25WChRXxjS3_yGN4CpSif13zZBNPl9VJYF1iK9bbA-wWNBWjA3iru-pDIMsjXhA/s320/HoiAn-Motorbike.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451352059118538690" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-10002218791407970942010-01-19T23:35:00.000-08:002010-01-20T04:15:34.703-08:00Random thoughts from SingaporeWednesday night. Work brain shut off. Ten laps in the pool under my belt. Dinner a cookin' on the stove. I'm thinking... well, random thoughts. I'm thinking stuff like:<br /><br />"Do you like websites?" An interview question by Zach Galifianakis. I was going to watch just one episode of <span style="font-style: italic;">Between Two Ferns</span> this morning -- <a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/6ae880a42b/between-two-ferns-with-zach-galifianakis">the one with "someone named Bradley Cooper"</a> (pictured below in a slapping contest with Zach). I ended up watching them all. The one with Jimmy Kimmel is especially good. Zach: "Have you ever farted on a cocker spaniel?" Jimmy: "No. No, I can't say that I have." Cheers to my boy Ryan Tanner for drawing my attention to this noise. Unreal, is right.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJaThR4QF_cWyMgBYZV7rVfRav8beyPlVZjD3S-VRCbYE9ey-fHUZMqCeYX0SJx18gH2Kd3Yv44MFSnmrppp6pocfd-Efb2G743gtZGjJAGuC61f89O61NTh162cyBi0Vn4yRz5V85upY/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJaThR4QF_cWyMgBYZV7rVfRav8beyPlVZjD3S-VRCbYE9ey-fHUZMqCeYX0SJx18gH2Kd3Yv44MFSnmrppp6pocfd-Efb2G743gtZGjJAGuC61f89O61NTh162cyBi0Vn4yRz5V85upY/s320/Picture+2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428775285428808770" border="0" /></a><br />I'm also thinking: Why does StarHub TV's sports add-on cost so damn much? It's like two times times the price of the basic cable package, which offers a gazillion channels. Is it because they know the people in this town will pay anything in order to watch English soccer and Euro golf? Must be. But I ain't one of those people.<br /><br />Also... the mussels at <a href="http://www.brusselssprouts.com.sg/">Brussels Sprouts</a> are excellent. But the free-flow fries might be even better. If you're ever in the Robertson Walk area, fire up.<br /><br />I'm thinking about <a href="http://www.bandsintown.com/AndrewBird">the Andrew Bird concert</a> next Tuesday night at the Esplanade, as well. Finally, some decent live music in Asia. Only had to wait two and a half years. Believe your britches I'm going. Citizen Cope is free to swing through next.<br /><br />And, lastly (at least until I think of something else), I'm wondering, "Where the hell did my early 30s go?" The big 3-5 tomorrow. <span style="font-style: italic;">My god</span>. Or, as they say in Vietnam, <span style="font-style: italic;">troi oi!</span><br><br>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-69754563085854425992010-01-01T04:44:00.000-08:002010-01-02T18:36:00.561-08:00What I've Learned... in AsiaIt's officially 2010. We rang in the new year last night from Singapore's Boat Quay, where there was no shortage of fireworks -- both in the sky, and at the pub after a few of its patrons had one too many Jaeger bombs.<br /><br />But that's another story.<br /><br />I've decided, as I embark on a decade that will take me through my 44th birthday (god willing!), to write an entry in the spirit of <span style="font-style: italic;">Esquire</span>'s "What I've Learned" column, with an emphasis on my time in Asia. My early 30s has been a time of tremendous growth and... realizations. Just a few of the things I've learned during the past 30 months:<br /><br />You can get the game (thanks, www.justin.tv), but the time difference is a killer.<br /><br />Tiger beer rules.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4J9smESTLv_mHqFEbngdlC9sHtwyoi3wJTjWZK9-xzCgm7L3PyZAjfHq58ty3oV8QYUtTSrpZty9wrWnq0va6XL65ZHpV63sNI52j4ryV_gb2phngk7JQeCU6386U_wJ9rVrOqFLvlIQ/s1600-h/Bali.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4J9smESTLv_mHqFEbngdlC9sHtwyoi3wJTjWZK9-xzCgm7L3PyZAjfHq58ty3oV8QYUtTSrpZty9wrWnq0va6XL65ZHpV63sNI52j4ryV_gb2phngk7JQeCU6386U_wJ9rVrOqFLvlIQ/s320/Bali.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421757972961638578" border="0" /></a><br />The food rules too, but there are days I would die for a proper, American barbecue.<br /><br />Vietnam has color and chaos. Singapore has quality and... malls.<br /><br />Only the Western world (and Singapore) believe in queueing.<br /><br />You haven't seen anything until you've been on a cyclo ride through Saigon with Mr. Binh.<br /><br />Singapore is as organized a place as you will find, but service can be shocking.<br /><br />Durian is the foulest smelling fruit you can imagine. The aroma of a fish sauce factory is no picnic, either.<br /><br />Hong Kong is plain cool.<br /><br />The lower the caddie number here, the better the caddie.<br /><br />Siem Reap is temples, pre-school peddlers, tuk tuks, Pub Street and stray plastic bags.<br /><br />Former PGA Tour commish Deane Beman, whom I had the privilege of playing a round with two years ago in Dalat, was right: "If you care where the world is going to be, you come to Asia."<br /><br />Bali (pictured) ain't just sand and surf. It's also sick mountains and spiritual in a way that is hard to describe.<br /><br />Community is taken seriously. By and large, this part of the world is extremely safe. People look out for each other. Respect their elders.<br /><br />Thailand gets hospitality.<br /><br />I can be tricked into eating <span style="font-style: italic;">ngau pin</span> (look it up)... but it will <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> happen again.<br><br>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-60005418600077979292009-12-23T19:27:00.000-08:002009-12-23T19:53:26.378-08:00What to do on Christmas Eve in Singapore?It's 11:23 a.m., we've just wolfed down our scrambled eggs and toast, and now find ourselves asking each other, Now what? It's Christmas Eve. We've gotta do something. A few options that immediately come to mind ...<br /><br />We could pretend we're in Seattle. And by that I mean grab our umbrellas and take a walk in the rain. <br>Looks like an all-day affair<br> out there.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmWp1Gxnw8EtZ1oL3GKKgnyO-rUHGi1YnWgE3fRstq8nSe6POiAJSpya17XLmLQKzlo8O-Szi9gOkWv3bc8c3FtAXxb-QSG1tKSIrJKhtLI6pELMCq7KmSAu4W3TVz7SzPThCVh77JKg/s1600-h/tree.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmWp1Gxnw8EtZ1oL3GKKgnyO-rUHGi1YnWgE3fRstq8nSe6POiAJSpya17XLmLQKzlo8O-Szi9gOkWv3bc8c3FtAXxb-QSG1tKSIrJKhtLI6pELMCq7KmSAu4W3TVz7SzPThCVh77JKg/s320/tree.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418641512952865970" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We could buy some booze. Our friends Adam and Millie are throwing a Christmas Day bash tomorrow and it ain't gonna be dry.<br /><br />We could count the many Christmas presents under our giant Christmas 'tree' -- a tropical plant we bought at IKEA and have decorated with some gold stars. Gorgeous.<br /><br />We could Skype with family back home. It can be especially entertaining when my bro decides to shove two-week-old Liam into the Skype cam and he ain't havin' it.<br /><br />We could try to score tickets to<br>Jim Carrey's <span style="font-style: italic;">A Christmas Carol</span>. But tough task: Singaporeans love their movies, lah!<br /><br />We could drill holes in the wall and mount a shelf we've been meaning to mount for, oh, five months. Boooooooring.<br /><br />Or we could make Snickerdoodles and watch <span style="font-style: italic;">The Santa Clause</span>. Oh wait, we did that yesterday. Sonnuva ...<br><br>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-20087294449139683022009-11-30T01:21:00.000-08:002009-11-30T01:31:13.295-08:00How to Get Stuffed in Singapore on ThanksgivingIt was looking bleak. A few days before Turkey Day, Claire and I were still asking each other, "What are we gonna do for Thanksgiving?" Neither of us <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> had an answer.<br /><br />"Dinner for two, I guess," she'd say.<br /><br />"Sounds good to me," I'd say.<br /><br />Pathetic.<br /><br />But then... an email. One with an invitation from our friends Andrew and Ali, who were planning an epic bash at their pad.<br /><br />Decision made.<br /><br />We showed up at 7, stuffed oysters and champagne already going around a crowd of other thirtysomething Americans -- a couple from Tulsa, a guy from Ashville, a girl from Atlanta, at least half a dozen more we'd never met but were quick to make friends with. Ah, the ease of fitting in as an expat. At least for guys. Hear a familiar voice in a foreign country, conversation is cake.<br /><br />We mingled for what seemed an eternity before finally taking seats at a long, elaborately decorated table. Dinner was served. It started with pumpkin-and-ginger soup and ended with pecan, apple and pumpkin pies. In between, there were yam-stuffed oranges, the fluffiest potatoes I've ever tasted, homemade cranberry sauce and even a Southern staple -- corn pudding, courtesy of that girl from Atlanta.<br /><br />There was also more wine than you could shake an autumn-scented candlestick at. And port and cigars, to boot. As Billy Bob Thornton's character in <span style="font-style: italic;">Sling Blade</span> would mumble, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Uh-huh</span>."<br /><br />The night wound down after the "movie quotes" game Andrew instigated in the living room petered out at about 2 a.m.<br /><br />We won't forget Thanksgiving '09. But, we took a pic anyway. Here's me and Red, a couple glasses down, 'bout ready to dig in:<br><br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRO4wvSCmIc8i3QjGimXMUQjMqhLbH6_vbewl5_aWC4KOMmLacTMqKrOWzvhO7Pzex-S_AfGE7Y5i-JSqcwfr4v9EJ3-u1VyKizLfRxLpHBzEFoM94yVKNvMfL1_n2WMGfWBPZR0gVsZA/s1600/Thxgiving09.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRO4wvSCmIc8i3QjGimXMUQjMqhLbH6_vbewl5_aWC4KOMmLacTMqKrOWzvhO7Pzex-S_AfGE7Y5i-JSqcwfr4v9EJ3-u1VyKizLfRxLpHBzEFoM94yVKNvMfL1_n2WMGfWBPZR0gVsZA/s320/Thxgiving09.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409824862040038146" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-27823679130896481822009-10-02T21:47:00.000-07:002009-10-03T03:23:33.488-07:00For Immediate ReleaseSINGAPORE -- Scott Resch, CEO of Scott Resch Living, Inc. (SRLI), has announced consideration of Laguna National Golf Club as his new local.<br /><br />The move came less than two hours after touring the facility and drinking persuasive amounts of The McCallan with three of its employees: course design assistants Anderson and Frashure; and principal earth-mover Dan.<br /><br />Resch arrived at the decision after being told not to worry about the bill but before the crippling hangover set in.<br /><br />"What an <span style="font-style:italic;">awesome</span> night," Resch thought to himself as he rode away in a taxi. Then, later: "Ohhhhh, fuuuuuuuudge."<br /><br />Despite a massive loss of brain cells, and a brutally poor night's sleep, Resch stands by his edict.<br /><br />"I'd go back (to Laguna)," he said from the fetal position in his bedroom. "I mean, I <span style="font-style:italic;">will</span> go back. Just ... yeah, not right----<br /><br />"Where'd I put that Gatorade?"<br /><br />SRLI becomes one of millions of enterprises whose chairman has said he was going to do something but probably never will because he was satisfyingly inebriated at the time.<br /><br />For their check-paying talents and overall role in the festivities, Anderson, Frashure and Dan have been elevated to Guys I Dig Shooting the Shit and Slamming Scotch With status.<br /><br />"It's what this organization needs right now," said Resch, who just recently relocated to Singapore from Saigon and is therefore faced with a severe shortage of associates. "Having friends is a core part of my business."<br /><br />In addition to Laguna, Resch has visited Tanglin Park, Marina Bay and Sentosa golf clubs since moving to Singapore. But only at Laguna was scotch a core part of the experience.<br /><br />"Golf and single malt go together like Greg Norman and Chrissy Evert," said Resch, whose lingering headache has prevented him from staying on top of the news in recent days. "This company cannot and will not make concessions on that front ... although beer works too, I guess."<br /><br />In an unrelated move, Resch recently purchased a pair of swimming goggles, a tool he hopes will prevent eye irritation caused by chlorine. <br /><br />Resch -- and The Better Half of SRLI, Claire Wiley -- have access to a very large pool. And since Wiley, who also heads up the company's fitness department, firmly believes exercise is key to SRLI's long-term success, Resch does his laps daily. At least that's what he tells her.<br /><br />-END-<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(Note: This entry was inspired by Paul Simms' Aug. 31 column for The New Yorker <a href="http://bit.ly/aWAlA">http://bit.ly/aWAlA</a>)</span><br /><br>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-84919488588941573452009-09-05T04:49:00.000-07:002009-09-06T18:50:00.246-07:00Savoring Singapore, Newton Circus styleWithin a week of announcing I had moved to Singapore, I received a couple emails that made me say <span style="font-style:italic;">hmmmmm</span>. <br /><br />The first was from <span style="font-style:italic;">Top Chef</span> judge and <span style="font-style:italic;">Food & Wine</span> editor Gail Simmons. "Wow - Singapore, what a great opp," she wrote. "And I hear the food there is outstanding!"<br /><br />The second was from acclaimed Bay Area golf, travel and food writer Josh Sens. "Singapore. Nice. I hear the food there is amazing," he said, before adding: "And if you steal a dumpling, they cut your arm off."<br /><br />Today, I truly discovered what Gail and Josh were talking about. (Not the bit about your arm -- I see no reason to test that running joke -- but the nosh.)<br /><br />After a three-hour trek up, down, around and through Bukit Timah Reserve, an outdoor enthusiast's tropical paradise (Singa-bore? <span style="font-style:italic;">Pleeeease</span>), I 'alighted', as the bus drivers like to say here, at Newton Circus, a collection of food stalls that enclose a courtyard of fixed dining tables and benches. <br /><br />I'd been here before, with Claire, on one of our first nights in Singapore. But as it was late, and we were tired and starving, we didn't spend much time soaking it up. We ordered quickly. We ate. We got out of there.<br /><br />This afternoon -- with weary legs and nowhere to be anytime soon -- I did what you do on Saturdays: linger. I carefully examined what each booth had to offer -- <span style="font-style:italic;">Tripe satay? Fishhead with noodles? Ummm, maybe next time, boss</span> -- before settling on a plate of <span style="font-style:italic;">Hokkien Popiah</span>, which, roughly translated, is the Chinese version of a thin, crepe-like wafer. <br /><br />What I got was something that looked like a burrito, cut up like a sushi roll (see below). I watched as the little old man behind the food cart -- who's hands moved faster than a Teppanyaki chef's -- stuffed the thing with all sorts of ingredients: a dab of hoisin sauce, a dollop of shrimp (or chili?) paste, a handful of bean sprouts, a mound of steamed turnip, a pinch of dried shrimp, some chopped peanuts and a sprinkling of hard-boiled egg bits. <br /><br />How good was it? Let's just say that after parting ways with $4 for it, I thought I <span style="font-style:italic;">was</span> stealing. But my arm is still intact. How do ya like them apples, Josh?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwOxi5GxHtNxRr12mLN45mtTbZumjxP-SK5Dttw0dFe1kYy5FeUnFqBVnRPrpxAS4tOHQ652RaI4xFlD2-7GejyfQfWY5ii9D7lQqQKh25YwM9KNNvwzGgkSMAzmSXwEBHffHaR0XSHDk/s1600-h/Hokkien.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwOxi5GxHtNxRr12mLN45mtTbZumjxP-SK5Dttw0dFe1kYy5FeUnFqBVnRPrpxAS4tOHQ652RaI4xFlD2-7GejyfQfWY5ii9D7lQqQKh25YwM9KNNvwzGgkSMAzmSXwEBHffHaR0XSHDk/s320/Hokkien.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377949762260971314" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-89857088265370423852009-07-07T02:14:00.000-07:002009-07-13T22:33:37.093-07:0010 Things I'll Miss About VietnamHere I sit, in a mostly empty apartment in Singapore, waiting for the next batch of furniture to show up. It's glorious outside -- a bit overcast, but massive, ivy-covered trees block most of my view of the sky from the living room window. It's quiet, there's green all around, the air filtering in through the screen door feels just right and if I choose to take a shower (which I will, at some point, today), I can do so without feeling like I'm in a vertical MRI scanner; unlike our house in Saigon, these bathrooms have big rain showers, with plenty of room to maneuver.<br /><br />Despite all of that, I must admit: There are things I will miss about Vietnam. I spent 23 months in the darn place, and so it's natural -- natural that I would feel an attachment, natural that it would get under my skin a little. It's a filthy, crazy place. But maybe that's what's so great about it. It's different from what we Westerners have all grown up with. And that makes for a colorful experience, every day, full stop. I won't miss the lack of sidewalk space, or the pushing, or the construction at every turn, but I will miss:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. Having a maid.</span> First it was Tuan, then it was Yen (aka 'The Bull). Neither was particularly impressive at their job. We never asked them to cook or do washing, so their list of chores was short. But that didn't prevent them from slacking. If anything, our lack of requests probably made them more complacent. We obviously came off as 'easy.' But for $50/month ... who are we to complain? Tuan, always smiling. Yen, always crashing into things (hence, 'The Bull'). Neither capable of speaking a lick of English. Their presence was always interesting.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. The grilled squid.</span> I don't know what it is about the squid in Vietnam. Squid, one would think, is squid. But in Vietnam, it just tastes different. When it's grilled, there's a texture to it, and a smokiness to it, that can't be beat or even described. Add a little chili salt and lime juice and you're away.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Cheap beer. </span>Not many places in the world you can sit for a couple hours drinking and walk out with practically the same amount of money you went in with. Happened to me again last week. Had about five beers at a slick new bar called Phatty's. Bill came and showed I owed 60VND -- or, about 4 bones. Highway robbery.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. Cheap massages. </span>Unfortunately, I wasn't able to partake much the past year. With a herniated disc, the idea of laying flat -- on your back or stomach -- is about as appealing as a knife down the leg. But a good head massage / shampoo is doable. You're sitting. At Quynh Salon, in District 2, that means 30 minutes of pure bliss. It ain't free, of course. But at 5 bills, it ain't far from it, either.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5. 'The gym.' </span>NTFQ2. The best health club in Vietnam. Claire's second home. My watering hole. (Well, one of them, at least). If it wasn't for this hangout, just a stone's throw from our house, I don't know what we would've done. We never tired of wandering over to 'the gym,' to have a cup of coffee, work out, or just kick it with Jim and Nicole, the club's owners. Salmon fishcakes and won ton soup, we will miss you, too.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6. The food, in general. </span>I've said it before and I'll say it again: I could eat Vietnamese food every day. Not just grilled squid, either. Fresh spring rolls with peanut sauce. Beef in lot leaves. Pho ga. Che (sweet dessert soup). Anything with coconut juice or milk. Bring it. All of it. Then bring some more.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7. The color. </span>One thing you can't deny about Vietnam: There's no shortage of this. Any district, any time of day, there's always something to feast your eyes on. Motorbikes piled high with chickens. Women in ao dais and facemasks. Open markets. Kids playing badminton. Buses blaring. Clothes hanging from balconies. What ever. It's a photo opp every second.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8. Coastal motorbike rides. </span>Take Highway 1 to Phan Thiet, but stop just short of town. Take a side road that crests a ridge peppered with Eucalyptus trees and drops down to the beach. Bank right. Head straight for about 30 kilometers, toward Ke Ga's lighthouse. The South China Sea all along your left. Little hamlets of blue and green and orange huts every few miles. Hardly anyone else on the road. Ocean breeze in your hair. As the man in those Old Milwaukee commercials used to say, It doesn't get any better than this.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">9. Proximity to Dalat. </span>Okay, maybe it does get better than that road to Ke Ga. But only just barely. And only in my opinion. In Dalat, just a 40-minute flight from Ho Chi Minh, you have the country's best temps, best golf course, best hotels and best town, all at your finger tips. And if you like kayaking, mountain biking or hiking, this is the place to do that, as well. We spent about a week here at Christmas. If we never do that again, it'll be a shame.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">10. Expat friends.</span> This is the big one. The aspect of our Vietnam adventure that, for some reason, I never saw coming. The amount of people we met in Vietnam from all over the world. From now until the days we die, we'll have friends in every corner of the earth. Friends we can go and see and hang out with, have dinner with. Germany, France, Denmark, Hong Kong and, of course, Vietnam. Here's Claire and gals, at our 'Going-Away Party':<br /><br><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZf_5gvduSfbapVP3x2mqO-LER-PttdfsRWMy-QTw69yUizLLopZl7llJNSRUX5_IBc-5SE3q24IymEE-tavYSs3GpG7UAwVL8VXfKkXwOYElF2NWr7QoqfsFv5JOWhN5K29PdaNyyaU/s1600-h/Chicks.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZf_5gvduSfbapVP3x2mqO-LER-PttdfsRWMy-QTw69yUizLLopZl7llJNSRUX5_IBc-5SE3q24IymEE-tavYSs3GpG7UAwVL8VXfKkXwOYElF2NWr7QoqfsFv5JOWhN5K29PdaNyyaU/s320/Chicks.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358183721240257714" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-25395225448061168362009-04-30T01:21:00.000-07:002009-05-07T20:47:58.486-07:00From Phu Quoc to Hoi An: 'Relax Times' with K&VClaire always says there's nothing like having a friend out to Vietnam to help you fall in love with the country again. Seeing this place through a tourist's eyes gives it a romance you thought long gone.<br /><br />Such was the case last week, when my long-time friend Kyle Myers swept through with his girlfriend, Vanessa. They had just nine days, but that didn't stop us from getting in our fair share of motorbike rides, spring rolls and "relax times," as a billboard at the Phu Quoc Island airport promised guests of the Blue Moon Resort.<br /><br />We opted instead for the promise of Chen La, a charming, Columbian/French-managed resort up the west coast, about as far from the hustle and bustle of Saigon as one can get.<br /><br />From the airport, it's a couple miles through a quaint fishing village then a few more along a bumpy, dirt road that eventually leads to a property that slopes down to the sea. The saltwater pool was tremendous in that it was large and void of bratty children. The buffet was impressive -- even Kyle 'Kateru Kobayashi' couldn't take down the pastry selection. And the crab summer rolls were as good as finger food gets.<br /><br />What I enjoyed the most, though: Those roads, which pounded the crap out of our $15/day motorbikes, but revealed landscapes you only dream about.<br /><br />The best piece of terrain, we discovered, was up north in the national park, where canopies of monstrous trees kept the dust down and the air cool. We tempted time in the Ganh Dau slammer by (unknowingly) swimming in a private bay, but were saved by a pair of old bats in a beach hut who frantically waved in a way that suggested we scram, pronto.<br /><br />A couple days later, we ventured north to Hoi An, Claire's favorite spot in Vietnam. There, we stayed at a client property, the five-star Nam Hai, and let the relax times roll.<br /><br />We got a special sneak peek at the resort's soon-to-be-unveiled summer menu, played some golf at Montgomerie Links (another client property) and got the VIP treatment at Mango Rooms, where owner, chef and friend Duc mixed us up some mean mango mojitos, then invited us out onto his new boat the next day for a cruise down the Thu Buon River. We drank wine, ate a grilled duck bruschetta concoction and let the day lazily pass by. Here's a picture of an old man on that river. Call him Old Man River:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYKLeS_iExChpa0gPHCDSp2VgQEKusl8kNkokpWojKC9to_F2247QeeWd_klb6xx2ayx_LvqZ6x8QNuZ90I8vSnVn2xXYaM_9pnGVEtwGZqbRTznb2MciNDTOt1TGtnG1KiThWyXhY34/s1600-h/OldManRiver.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYKLeS_iExChpa0gPHCDSp2VgQEKusl8kNkokpWojKC9to_F2247QeeWd_klb6xx2ayx_LvqZ6x8QNuZ90I8vSnVn2xXYaM_9pnGVEtwGZqbRTznb2MciNDTOt1TGtnG1KiThWyXhY34/s320/OldManRiver.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333258822469052530" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QPM0CUygYh-oPVoHKfAXjT_e3Q4vWbYprzB66izyPtVsc_cqbhCcNC0uLke_UagoY44Q6k0LpVeSs5c3SeQGjuIYkImEuMhdRbqLGHe48QWulpc8vdGheupOtvexMVqe5sriOwV5zWI/s1600-h/HoAin_189.JPG"><br /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-76574431689223576492009-02-10T08:12:00.000-08:002009-02-14T19:03:24.373-08:00How to Freeze Your Bali's OffIt was not until we were halfway up the mountain that I realized just how much trouble we were in. The rain started to come down harder. The air turned from cool to chilly. And with each step, my cotton T-shirt became wetter, heavier, colder.<br /><br />We'd been in Bali for three days. We'd come with two bags, both filled with what you pack for a week in the tropics -- flip-flops, shorts, hats, that sort of thing. After all, Indonesia is about as close to the equator as a place can get. Temps hover around 90 F. There's no need for any kind of dress other than what we brought.<br /><br />Unless you do Bali the weird way. Unless you decide to eschew the beach for a day, head well inland and hike up Mt. Batur to a volcano crater. Well before sunrise. During rainy season. Then, you're in for it.<br /><br />We didn't prepare for this kind of Bali. But this was unequivocal. Because despite the fact we were shivering and sleep-deprived (the wake-up call came at the ungodly hour of 2 a.m. ... seriously), the fog made it impossible to see a damn thing from the top, and we were joined up on that ridge by about 30 other trekkers (all wearing beanies and North Face fleeces, I might add), the climb was exhilarating.<br /><br />Especially the journey down, when the fog burned off and was replaced by panoramic views of an island cloaked in palm trees and terraced rice paddies. And our 68-year-old, picolo-playing guide, Pak Gedde, brought up the trail with stories of his homeland and its deeply spiritual people.<br /><br />Back at the bottom, where we'd put on headlamps just a few hours before, our driver, Dewa, stood next to his car with aviator sunglasses on. The sky was bright now, if not blue. As we approached, he asked if we'd had fun. My shorts had dried. My shirt was no longer soaked.<br /><br />"It was great," I said. "Beautiful," echoed Claire. Then I dozed off in the back seat and snored for about an hour. "Real pleasant," she said. Here's a shot of when we were both enjoying things:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboCDtHp1pCT-l4Bm4pAtLjGRKsaaudEyMdMvnQ6JAB_A1pfZj_kEqYQZr2_plZ3vI6ZAHzSfRMQs55RbBGHESU8FU4gV49gSEqoCifFVrmv_JsGyqvhQhwhYq_5SYqrtD_l6gwBZBw0Q/s1600-h/DSC04236.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboCDtHp1pCT-l4Bm4pAtLjGRKsaaudEyMdMvnQ6JAB_A1pfZj_kEqYQZr2_plZ3vI6ZAHzSfRMQs55RbBGHESU8FU4gV49gSEqoCifFVrmv_JsGyqvhQhwhYq_5SYqrtD_l6gwBZBw0Q/s320/DSC04236.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301203048421527138" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-5314181694035190002009-01-12T01:40:00.000-08:002009-01-12T16:15:47.268-08:00Shop Signs in Ho Chi Minh & Hookah in Hong KongOne great thing about living in Saigon is that if you ever get bored there's a simple remedy: An early-morning taxi ride from District 2 to the airport. The 45-minute journey is about as dull as a Robin Williams interview.<br /><br />Today, it was some language that got me. First, a shop sign that read, "Specializing in creativity and copying." Classic. Not five minutes later, I saw a woman wearing a shirt that said, "Necessary if mailed in the Koogi." Not even kidding. You can't make this stuff up.<br /><br />Of late, I haven't been witness to Saigon's goofiness. In the past five weeks, I've either been in Phan Thiet, Hanoi, Hong Kong or Dalat. Stops in the coming three weeks include Hanoi (again), Hue, Halong Bay, Hoi An and Bali.<br /><br />When my "winter" travels are complete, I expect to look back and say, "I enjoyed Bali most" -- I've yet to hear a negative comment about the surfer's paradise.<br /><br />Until then, Hong Kong holds the top spot. Claire and I spent three days there in early December. One of the most enduring images of that weekend, for me, was watching her smoke hookah at a restaurant called Beirut, in Lan Kwai Fong Street. It was like watching a wrestler trying to play basketball.<br /><br />The day after she was in her element, hiking through the forest that blankets Victoria Peak. The air was crisp. The views spectacular.<br /><br />After we took a tram back down into the city -- a city as First World as they come -- we hailed a cab. "Airport!" I said as we got in. The driver looked at us with a blank stare, then started ranting and raving in Chinese.<br /><br />In other words, I might as well have just asked him what the square root of 7,240 was. No comprehension. Alas, we were still in Asia. What a place.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCr9QnAMi_hXFXQLNMcS0su6J5wlw6V0JsQYGpQOIDIjMm9ANVA0xNbJOgVDVH93S0SNTgLTjdbUDm0ZmBN70G434Q-mCIb761XU_v7xKH9DW-YbGz-o9sZPypT_jfJL13ohg1d2fxotw/s1600-h/S&C_HK.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCr9QnAMi_hXFXQLNMcS0su6J5wlw6V0JsQYGpQOIDIjMm9ANVA0xNbJOgVDVH93S0SNTgLTjdbUDm0ZmBN70G434Q-mCIb761XU_v7xKH9DW-YbGz-o9sZPypT_jfJL13ohg1d2fxotw/s320/S&C_HK.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290439154064744818" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-63879534474117318722008-08-04T03:38:00.000-07:002008-12-12T20:12:29.764-08:00Vietnam: The Good, the Bad and the BizarreOne year has now passed since I moved to Vietnam, and if there's one thing I know when I wake up every day, it's that I'll see this at least once: A woman in a conical hat, a kid on a motorbike and a guy peeing on the side of the road.<br /><br />Seriously.<br /><br />But not all of my time spent in this part of the world has been predictable. In fact, just as frequently, it's been unpredictable. And I've enjoyed that. As I've enjoyed the fact it is: home to Dalat Palace Golf Club, one of the greatest courses -- and best-kept secrets -- in all the world; and close to family in Australia, which Claire and I have managed to visit twice -- first over Christmas and New Year's, then last month when we went camping in the Outback so that she could take 17,542 photos of crocodiles. (And anything else that moved.)<br /><br />What hasn't been so great? Well, there's what you would expect of a SE Asian nation: traffic, pollution, and the language barrier. But more unpleasant are the things not everyone talks about when they leave this colorful place and go home to tell their dreamy stories. Such as those moments when you are walking down the street, and a little old woman decides to hack up a lung and spit half of yesterday's pork ball at your feet. Or when it is 8:45 in the morning, and Claire has to be at the gym in 15 minutes to teach spinning or yoga, and the taxi hasn't shown up yet despite the fact she's called four times. No fun, either. Because let me tell ya: She <span style="font-style: italic;">hates</span> being late.<br /><br />Then there's the flat-out bizarre characteristics you are constantly trying to get your head around. Like traffic cops. As in, what's the point of 'em? You see these dudes everywhere, especially in Ho Chi Minh, and they stand there, in the middle of an intersection, waving their wands or batons, maybe blowing their whistle. Meanwhile, a car has just passed a motorbike on the sidewalk, or a truck has gone barreling through at Mach 1. All good.<br /><br />Even more puzzling, though, is the sense of style that exists here. Could be furniture, could be clothes, could be a building's structural or design elements. We are about to move into a new house. It had a patchwork of fake stones plastered on the wall, in one corner of the dining room. Our current house has about seven different kinds of cabinets in the kitchen, as if the store they came from was down to just one of each.<br /><br />But it's cool. Because one day I'll probably have to stop on the side of the road to pee, and I'll think about my days here, and I'll laugh. Speaking of laughing, here's a picture of Claire cackling with her barramundi in Kakadu:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsCvm0XDLesUBy8Zb4nnWpx_nw7fxypEm2HwAOpHQMUOXEe8fJCrCIZxuG92UMNY8Qnvz7P_6aviNYOgvgGtalSX1pPNOHhr4xAGWWJWT1g7xQYub4NLBlVBEkegZRAD0k6YJe_vQc32k/s1600-h/Claire_Fishing.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsCvm0XDLesUBy8Zb4nnWpx_nw7fxypEm2HwAOpHQMUOXEe8fJCrCIZxuG92UMNY8Qnvz7P_6aviNYOgvgGtalSX1pPNOHhr4xAGWWJWT1g7xQYub4NLBlVBEkegZRAD0k6YJe_vQc32k/s320/Claire_Fishing.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230622267010394898" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-47380601858980527472008-04-03T19:19:00.000-07:002008-12-12T20:12:30.284-08:00Rain, a Train, and a Chubby Vietnamese Kid<div></div>The other morning I got up at 4:30 and learned how lazy I'd been all my life.<br /><br />On my way to the train station, I crossed the new bridge closest to my house and witnessed hundreds of Vietnamese already in action, either walking at a brisk pace over the kilometer-long span or stopped along it doing calisthenics. Orange street lamps illuminated the scene, but my blood-shot eyes weren't ready to make out more than silhouettes.<br /><br />"So early," I said to my cab driver, who'd already polished off a <span style="font-style: italic;">ca phe sua da</span> (iced coffee). I could tell from the beads of precipitation still clinging to the empty cup in the holder next to his seat.<br /><br />"Ba Ria?" he shot back, slowing the vehicle to a virtual halt. He thought I'd asked him to take me to a town two-and-a-half hours away.<br /><br />"No, no, no, no," I said. "Just ... train station. <span style="font-style: italic;">Di doi, Phan Thiet</span>."<br /><br />I've been here eight months, You would think a lot of the cultural gaps would've been filled by now. And perhaps some have. I do, after all, have a portfolio of key phrases embedded in my memory bank.<br /><br />But even as I chugged along those rails to Phan Thiet, and rain began to fall slowly and steadily -- just as it does this time of year in Seattle -- it didn't feel the same. It felt ... well, "same same but different," as the Vietnamese say.<br /><br />I contemplated this until a pudgy Vietnamese boy, all of about 3 and wearing an all-red outfit, came charging down the aisle and latched on to my arm rest, looking up at me with a smile that made his eyes disappear. Here's what he kind of looked like:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy63pCcJNug6BN5bpHjs_xZRj9xG_ZIJPJIL8WlVEa3tS3185DKQutyxGY6Cj94jdIaPj6jKX5wjxrUOCPUFNBPZKpVdKgaH47QzbSa-p-QN8oFsH64mBNdxbAezls8K-CQYMAXnGoQGY/s1600-h/DSC00911.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy63pCcJNug6BN5bpHjs_xZRj9xG_ZIJPJIL8WlVEa3tS3185DKQutyxGY6Cj94jdIaPj6jKX5wjxrUOCPUFNBPZKpVdKgaH47QzbSa-p-QN8oFsH64mBNdxbAezls8K-CQYMAXnGoQGY/s320/DSC00911.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185227963146136178" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-86680552735874545242008-03-15T04:29:00.000-07:002008-12-12T20:12:30.522-08:00Why My Dad's Getting Pink for Christmas<div></div>If I'd have thought to bring my camera, the picture I'd have taken would've been one for the ages.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"No <span style="font-style: italic;">way</span>!" my brother exclaimed before doubling over. It took him about 20 seconds to stop laughing. "Did you steal that from a baby?"<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Yeah, too much rice," he said. "I eat too much rice."<br /><br />The result was a bike that looked as if it could've done a wheely in first gear. And when my dad put his feet on the back pegs, placed his hands on top of the kid's shoulders and began moving forward, I think it did.<br /><br />Ahhh, the memories. I've got many from the two weeks my family just spent here. That image of my dad on the bike is especially vivid.<br /><br />But I still wish I'd have had that camera. My aunt Jackie had hers when my brother got a lift into the city one afternoon. Here's what he looks like in a pink helmet:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySuDTft7WD8ia4_CA_v8h2acYVZFNj-VsR0IzCvXpjVlQWV1wm1TftjscH7iy-66V2Ecim-y9ftwR0eNaezcDm4zY2031oPnBcQ9vQTGknmRnSZvTUf2z-HJppyGg-Ls77lnXYxMRltE/s1600-h/IMGP0569.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySuDTft7WD8ia4_CA_v8h2acYVZFNj-VsR0IzCvXpjVlQWV1wm1TftjscH7iy-66V2Ecim-y9ftwR0eNaezcDm4zY2031oPnBcQ9vQTGknmRnSZvTUf2z-HJppyGg-Ls77lnXYxMRltE/s320/IMGP0569.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177931964232095138" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-11658224231880546732008-03-02T01:31:00.000-08:002008-12-12T20:12:30.807-08:00How My Family Got Stuck in Siem Reap<div></div>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.<br /><br />"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!"<br /><br />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 year, active immediately) and problem solved. We were on a Thai Airways flight to Sydney, only 24 hours later than originally scheduled. Fair dinkum.<br /><br />Cambodia is different. Especially when you're trying to go to Vietnam ... and you're not from Vietnam ... and you've got the wrong visa for Vietnam. No website in the world can help with that.<br /><br />But travel agents can. If one of their employees has a good motorbike.<br /><br />Let me explain. First thing the next morning, I called my buddy George, general manager of one of the biggest tour operating companies in this part of the world. Within an hour, he had someone at a Vietnamese official's office in Saigon, waiting for a signature from the only person authorized to approve the re-entry of six foreigners with single-entry visas. By 2 o'clock, the paperwork was good to go. It just needed to be faxed over to the ticket counter at Siem Reap Airport, and it was.<br /><br />Only one problem: That ticket counter's fax machine had run out of paper. Seriously.<br /><br />My uncle Christopher calls me from the ticket counter. I call George in Saigon. George calls dude in Siem Reap. Dude prints out the documents, then hops on his motorbike, weaves his way through rush-hour traffic on congested National Road, and 15 minutes later my family is passing through security, destination Ho Chi Minh City.<br /><br />Just another day in third-world Asia. Claire's gotten used to it. Here she is kickin' it with a bunch of cyclo riders:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FxP0AqRcFBTYsnAnAyDGVFQD-r4jhMwsLgha-LQXjXF6WBm3zaUf4t0ju7hBzu27h2hT_Z13Rp7GyXQItToCw8_m6r7GyHkJBdsNEFI0T2cyOlKxzHI-bEH4JjPmelYY5W_uyFhenPc/s1600-h/MotHaiBaYo.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FxP0AqRcFBTYsnAnAyDGVFQD-r4jhMwsLgha-LQXjXF6WBm3zaUf4t0ju7hBzu27h2hT_Z13Rp7GyXQItToCw8_m6r7GyHkJBdsNEFI0T2cyOlKxzHI-bEH4JjPmelYY5W_uyFhenPc/s320/MotHaiBaYo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173075775712465442" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6478295494271544860.post-64063596288876655092008-02-15T07:49:00.000-08:002008-12-12T20:12:30.981-08:005 Ways to Become an Alchee in Saigon<div></div>One. Heat. It's February folks. It's the coolest time of the year. It's <span style="font-style: italic;">still</span> 90 degrees. Today I walked out of my house, hopped a <span style="font-style: italic;">xe om</span> (motorbike taxi) to the ferry dock, crossed the river, walked about five blocks to a French bakery for the best roast beef sandwich in Saigon, and proceeded to pound a beer faster than the cashier could ring it up. I challenge anyone to do that 20-minute journey in a temperature that's hotter than four hells and not quaff <span style="font-style: italic;">at least</span> one. No chance.<br /><br />Two. The stuff is cheap. I mean really cheap. Like, a dollar. In a restaurant. Go to the store and it's more like 50 cents. And I'm not talking about Keystone Light quality. I'm talking Heineken, Tiger, Bud. The <span style="font-style: italic;">Czech</span> kind. If I was in Salt Lake City, the only place I'd be able to find that would be at the Bayou, where they'd probably charge me 5 bucks for something lukewarm because a minute ago it was in storage. Oh, then they'd expect me to tip. Here's a tip: Come to Vietnam, and skip that insanity.<br /><br />Three. Sometimes, it comes in really big bottles. Just look at the picture here of Claire. Those are bottles of Halida. All over the place in Hanoi. In Saigon, it's Tiger. We took some down last night at our favorite sushi joint, Zen. Went fast, too. They do these bowls of fresh carrots and cabbage and cucumber that you dip into a thick soy sauce, then dab in a saucer of salt. Had to have been the salt. Before the salmon handrolls showed up, the beer was gone. And I don't think Claire even managed a sip. (She likes Sake better anyway!)<br /><br />Four. There's really not much else to do. In Utah, you can play in the snow, go for a hike, and tee it up ... all in the same day sometimes. In Seattle, you can go for a run down the Burke-Gillman, throw a Frisbee around at Gasworks, and watch the sun set at Golden Gardens ... all in the same day <span style="font-style: italic;">easily</span>. Here, there's little green space, the occasional patch of blue sky, and a river browner than my dress shoes. Our saving grace is the swimming pool. And beer. It's a popular combination in our neighborhood on Sunday afternoons, too.<br /><br />Five. Taxis are a joke. Tonight, we were supposed to meet friends for dinner at 7:30. We called a cab at 7. Then we called again. And again. And again. And ... well, you get the picture. Finally, at 8:30, the cab came. We don't know if this place is just suffering from some kind of Tet hangover right now or what, but taxis seem to be getting harder and harder to come by. It can either by frustrating or fun. We made the most of it -- we cracked a beer and watched <span style="font-style: italic;">American Idol</span>. We even caught the first few minutes of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Office</span>. I think Michael was going to break up with Jan.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF1lECUwSWwbLn-zKFxmUonBZ-u8mSOqH2BwW6Q__9HlxswGfwP9hKxtlFN4iMhmtXEJDeJ5UXkJE5z1Vo8blwG7V_E1vckw4rZ_Esb2_gssad0ym8j6HE8bUV7sMbh4zlQt8EMHynams/s1600-h/Hanoi_Halida.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF1lECUwSWwbLn-zKFxmUonBZ-u8mSOqH2BwW6Q__9HlxswGfwP9hKxtlFN4iMhmtXEJDeJ5UXkJE5z1Vo8blwG7V_E1vckw4rZ_Esb2_gssad0ym8j6HE8bUV7sMbh4zlQt8EMHynams/s320/Hanoi_Halida.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167236051387233474" border="0" /></a>Scott Reschhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14162313728392224455noreply@blogger.com2