QATAR WAS WONDERFUL, BUT MY HEART IS STILL IN NEPAL

            Qatar is such a contradiction. The affluence is astounding. But traditions as simple as buying spices from giant vats in an open market are also common. The nation behaves like someone who just won the lottery and has no idea what to do with all that money. Qatar was originally one of the poorest countries in the Middle East. Now, it's the richest nation in the world. Huge jumps in per capita income occurred just over the past few years. Skyscraper and high rise construction is occurring throughout Doha, the nation's capital and largest city, where we stayed. They can't spend their money fast enough (though they are building some rather incredible structures). The average income of the population exceeds $100,000 a year!

            We stayed at the Four Seasons which sits on the Arabian Gulf. Four Seasons are forever fabulous but this one was the grandest I've seen. So, as those of you who know Casey and me can imagine, the two of us spent much of our limited time in Doha (which was just over a day) at the hotel, enjoying the luxury and beauty. However, I did get together with Zoe and her family and friends (really, for the first time this trip) and take a half-day desert safari Saturday. That was a lot of fun. We went sand dune bashing. Sand dune bashing feels like a long amusement park ride. Dune bashing occurs when much of the air in the tires of a vehicle is removed, enabling the vehicle to ride the top of the dunes more freely. You whip across the sand and up and down the dunes with great speed and ease. We also rode camels (yes, I actually rode atop a camel, though I understand the animal spent the following day with a camel chiropractor). We drove to the Inland Sea where we could actually see Saudi Arabia. While seeing the nation from across a sea was impressive, it was also unfortunately reminiscent of the moronic Sarah Palin comment (talk about a hopelessly broad phrase) that she had extensive foreign policy experience because she can see Russia from her house.

            Despite the wealth, Qatar didn't move me as Nepal did. On our last day in Nepal, we visited numerous temples that were hundreds of years old with the most intricate design and latticework. Despite its poverty, the place has such personality, such history and such beauty. I especially loved the temple that displayed all the possible positions of sexual intercourse -- it was in essence the Kama Sutra temple. (Obviously, gay rights weren't in vogue at the time of temple construction or the structure would have been much larger.)

            We're in Frankfurt today. Last night, Bill took us to a fabulous restaurant about a mile from the Intercontinental Hotel where we stayed. We had a real German meal. I had the sausage plate (I LOVE smoked sausage and where can you get better sausage than in Germany?) While the five different types of sausage were wonderful, the sauerkraut was the best I've had (and the fried potatoes were great). Talk about comfort food.

            The European leg of the tour is historically the one where we're on our own. Bill drops us off in a city (here, Frankfurt) and tells us where to be in four days. We have to be in Oslo on Friday morning. The scavenges are to occur in Germany, Denmark, Sweden and Norway. But Casey has always wanted to go to Amsterdam, I love the city and frankly, I'm tired of traveling. So, rather than traveling through four countries, scavenging for a few hours in each, we're taking a train to Amsterdam and will be there until Thursday night when we'll leave for Oslo. (OK, we're lazy.) The group flies from Oslo to Toronto for the final reception. Please send out good vibes that we (principally, Casey) don't get into too much trouble in Amsterdam.

           

            

CULTURE SHOCK!

            Abject poverty. Destitution. The struggle to survive. Deplorable conditions. As morbid as these phrases may sound, they are precisely what I was hoping to see at least once on this trip. And now I have -- in Kathmandu, Nepal. One of the reasons I applied for this wonderful experience (globalscavengerhunt.com) for both Casey and me (and was graciously accepted) was to see how the other half lives -- really. Looking at the cheap quarters where the help at your five-star villa resides is not knowing poverty. Driving quickly by a shantytown on the way to the theater is not knowing poverty. Rolling up the window as you drive by a homeless person trying to wash your windshield for a buck is not knowing poverty. Strolling down a street and encountering children begging for money and noticing they are missing a limb or an eye -- and declining to give them money precisely because of their infirmities -- so you don't encourage the practice of maiming a child to make her a better force for begging -- that is witnessing poverty. So why did I want to come here? Call me a voyeur, if you must. But I do not believe any of us can live in the undeniable opulence that characterizes the life of anyone in America -- even those among the lowest socioeconomic tier -- and complain about our circumstances until we see what true suffering really is.

            But guess what happened on the way to the forum? I fell in love with this place. This is my favorite stop to date. I adore Nepal. So does Casey (who has rented a motorcyle (ugh!) and already met half of Kathmandu--he has two new tattoos to prove it!). This place is an absolute contradiction in terms. It's gorgeous. Despite the poverty, the city and surrounding area are beautiful and the countryside is idyllic. The Himalayas are here, with the tallest mountains in the world just a hop, skip and a jump away. Yesterday morning, Casey and I flew on a propeller plane over the mountains and saw Mount Everest up close. Flying into town when we first arrived, the scenery was spectacular. And the temples and buildings are magnificent. So very old and thus so scenic, classy, elegant. We went to a shopping/dining area of town yesterday that looks like the French Quarter 50 years ago. They just don't make architecture like that any more -- and haven't in decades. It is beautiful.

            Granted, as in Vietnam and Cambodia, I have been approached by seemingly hundreds of "Mr. Haneys," trying to sell me paper machete and grade school trinkets for a hundred dollars -- and ultimately settling for one greenback (that is, on that rare occasion when I actually engage them). I hate that whole scene, as those of you who know me know. One of my law firm partners negotiated my last two car purchases. My offer for the house I recently bought was the list price. I am never the one involved in lawsuit settlement negotiations. My partners know that I litigate the cases and, depending on how well I've done, they determine how much we'll recommend for our clients. I'm just not good at anything money-related.  I hate it. I wish we could just put whatever money we earn into an account and every time we buy something, eat a meal or drink a glass of wine, a computer would just take care of everything and we'd never have to see anything up close. Sort of like a credit card without the card, the credit or the monthly invoice. (Of course, the fact that I rarely have any money -- present moment excluded -- may partially explain my aversion. It's easy to be against that which you don't have.)

            But, as usual, I digress. I'll try to give more specifics tomorrow because this place deserves at least two blog entries. We arrived Tuesday afternoon and are here until at least Thursday (today) at 10 p.m. That is when we meet as a group, turn in our "scorecards" and find out the next location for which we will be departing in four hours or more. We have no idea where it is or whether we'll leave tomorrow night or the next day. We never know anything more than where we are at the moment and when and where we next meet as a group. Can you imagine how wonderful that is? No schedule. No expectation. It's like receiving a grand, unexpected gift every few days.

            The people here are fantastic. Make no mistake: that wasn't the universal group expectation. As we took the bus ride from the airport to the utterly charming Hotel Shanker (which is my favorite to date--like the rest of the city, it is old, classic and loaded with personality), there were quite a few shocked looks as we drove by the rundown buildings, garbage in the streets and unpaved roads. Several of our members inquired as to why this trip would detour to a place involving such misery. I haven't spoken with many of them since we were released to swarm the area, but I really hope their attitudes have changed. Admittedly, I was circumspect as well at first, and made sure my wallet was deep in my front pocket when we initially ventured out. But we have been treated with nothing but respect and kindness and I feel as at home here as anywhere outside my residential base.

            We have enjoyed wonderful meals, beautiful tours through amazing temple areas and scenic delights since we arrived, as I'll discuss more tomorrow. Does that make us hypocrites given the almost indescribable poverty so many here face? To be honest, I think it does. But that is true every day of our lives when we do something extravagant in our country all the while knowing of the suffering elsewhere. Whether the poverty is several thousand miles away or staring you in the face, attending to it only when it is in close proximity is perhaps the most hypocritical of acts. But I digress, this is a downer and this is not going to be resolved by a one-day blog entry.

            The cab driver we used for a couple of scavenges yesterday speaks excellent English and makes his living seeking out foreigners. He moved from the countryside to a small, one-room apartment (efficiency) in town where he and his wife raise their two children. He spends virtually all his money sending one of his children to private school with the hope that he can send the other to the same when he reaches admission age. He said he and his wife know that the only hope for their children is to become educated and learn English. He would love to leave Napal for a vacation but a visa would cost upwards of $20,000 U.S. dollars! (The nation does everything it can to avoid mass emigration.) Only the extraordinarily rich residents ever have the opportunity to go elsewhere, even for a visit. His story is reminiscent of so many others we've heard.

            Well, we're off to see more of the city. Casey has already had a full morning. I spent some time getting caught up on e-mail and what not. But I look forward to interacting with more wonderful people from the nation of Nepal. "Kathmandu, I'll soon be seeing you, And your strange bewilderin' time, Will hold me down." (Cat Stevens '70).

WE DO AT LEAST ONE THING BETTER THAN ASIA! HINT: IT'S A SIN!

[Breaking news: We just arrived at Kathmandu, Nepal. Quite a difference from the rest of the areas. More on that in next entry.]

(Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)

            We first reported that Shanghai puts Manhattan to shame in terms of skylines. We then noted that the service and friendliness of the Asian people we have encountered surpass that of many Americans we have encountered (note the sleight of hand with the insertion of "we have encountered" so we can't be accused of stereotyping). We can now report that the United States one ups Asia on at least one thing -- gambling. (What a claim to fame, huh? Well, if you're addicts like us, actually it's a big deal.) Don't get me wrong: I know the scorecard is not so one-sided in Asia's favor. We're speaking of a several-day evaluation of tourist attractions during a vacation. But it's good to know that the good ole U.S. of A. remains supreme in at least one area of forbidden decadence.

            The update: we spent the last two nights in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia where we had one day of scavenges. We are en route to Kathmandu, Nepal where we will have landed by the time this has been posted. The next day, we're off to Meridian, Mississippi then Cullman, Alabama. (Ignore the last sentence. I'm reserving judgment as to whether it's a double entrendre.) I know nothing about Kathmandu except that it's the subject of a song I now can't get out of my mind, despite my best efforts. Or is that "Cat Scratch Fever" in my head? Oh well, toe-mae-toe, toe-mah-toe. As my friend, Lee Polk is wont to remark, I am the ultimate Philistine. I know culture only if it comes in a glass and art if it tastes good. And you know Casey ain't any more artistic. Perhaps that explains why we're not so prolific with the scavenges.

            Kuala Lumpur is another massive, seemingly well-off Asian city that has become extraordinarily Westernized. Perhaps there is a bit of ethnocentrism in suggesting that big buildings, Starbucks, KFCs and McDonalds reflect Westernization, but so be it. I cringe to think that there are people all over the world who truly believe the Colonel and the Golden Arches are the essence of American cuisine. Sadly, those in other lands not only associate American cooking with fast food but with the worst fast food we have to offer. Would that one could at least find a Popeye's or In-and-Out Burger in the Far East. But I digress.

            Kuala Lumpur is purportedly a Muslim city, but I would never have known that had someone not told me in advance. I saw but a smattering of women in Muslim attire (and none sporting beekeeper uniforms). By contrast, many women don shorts, make-up and uncomfortable footwear. Lady Clairol is obviously sold in myriad tints. Women hold virtually every service position as do men and congregate with men in all public places (except perhaps certain of the "happy ending massage" parlors, but I digress yet again).

              

            We eschewed the temples and went straight for the casino -- save for a brief stop at the Jade Museum where they have more jade than Doan's has pills. I contemplated the million dollar giant jade Buddha for our front lawn but (a) I doubt I could secure financing of the $999,000 I'd need to pull off the deal, and (b) I suspect my neighbors, who have heretofore been opposed to a homeowners association, might suddenly see the merits in establishing one. It's all just as well, for there is room for only one obese, puffy-faced, ancient man on Pony Chase road. I did buy a lovely jade necklace for my mother.

            Back to the Genting Casino -- the largest in Asia. The hour-long-plus drive there was stunning. Beautiful mountains, hills and valleys. So reminiscent of Bali (the only place in Asia that Casey or I had previously visited). The natural scenery was worth the lengthy drive. And thank goodness, because the casino was not. Being the only legal casino in the area, it has a lot to learn from Vegas (or even much tackier Atlantic City). It is certainly the size of a Vegas resort -- and actually quite bigger -- but the similarity ends there. The facility is old, worn down, dirty (with standing "water" in the bathrooms, some of which featured the infamous "porcelain-lined hole in the ground" commodes) and overcrowded with tourists. There was nothing elegant or unique about the place. (For goodness sake, they could at least have installed a bit of neon. Pastel colors are big out here. Why not reduce them to bright lights?) Frankly, it was a giant mall of rude shoppers.

            And get these two facts: First, you can't drink anywhere in the casino area, including the restaurants! Not the best of business planning for a company that presumably wants to maximize the irrational bets that generally flow from booze. Whoever runs Genting needs to have an aperitif with Steve Wynn. Granted, given the sheer number of K-Mart blue light shoppers removed from their element and sitting at casino tables until their Liz Claiborne stretch slacks reach their breaking point, the casino is undoubtedly making a lot of money. But it could make so much more and have a clientele that isn't the riff-raff you willingly pay outlandish discotheque cover charges to avoid encountering. Second, several of our group were turned away because they were wearing shorts. Their attire wasn't deemed proper. Yet, the outfits of those permitted entry resembled what remained at the bottom of the blue light bin after all the serious shoppers had left. The only person the casino needs to admit in uniform is Josephine the Plumber.

            Casey and I wanted to play blackjack which was one of the games in the IR (International Room). But we had to be VIP members to enter that room and the casino required passports before it would even allow us to apply for membership. Of course, we didn't have our passports with us, so we were relegated to playing pontoon, the Asian version of blackjack. Foolishly, we failed to inquire as to the differences in rules. At one point, on a hand on which he'd bet a lot, Casey double-downed on an ace and a seven with the dealer showing a six. Quite a smart move in blackjack. Casey then drew a three, and we thought he had the hand won -- only to find out that, in pontoon, an ace counts only as one and not 11 on a double down. What a stupid rule that makes the game far less interesting.

            I got bored with the whole affair in short order. Gambling at a table in a giant mall-like structure with people who look like they just spent the last three hours of their lives in the clearance section of JC Penney is not my idea of a grand time. I hadn't eaten since breakfast and night was rapidly approaching, so I ate at an Indian restaurant outside the casino but still within the never-ending bourgeoisie complex. The meal was actually rather good. I'm developing a newfound taste for Indian food. Granted, it will likely come in handy only when I'm traveling within the U.S. and need take-out after 10, but it beats Domino's pizza.

            Make no mistake: overall, Kuala Lumpur was magnificent. I'm just thrilled to find a flaw in our Asian trip that I can exploit for my American friends.

            I'm finishing this while sitting at the pool bar at the Hotel Shanker in Kathmandu, Nepal. (While the crazed lunatic competitors with whom we're traveling -- who are charming, fascinating and utterly lovable despite their insanity -- are out and about performing every scavenge they can complete before it becomes pitch black and their feet blister -- whichever comes last), I chickened out of a jaunt through town with the exception of a cab ride to a nice restaurant this evening, because it's been raining off and on and thunderstorms are in the forecast -- circumstances the others relish because they know the conditions may slow down their rivals -- needless to say, I'm ribbing my new friends). I already know I'll have lots to share about this place, where we'll be for the next two days, but this entry is already too long. Suffice it to say (cryptically) for now, Casey and I won't have to worry about failing to meet any superficial VIP standards in this undoubtedly charming land.

THE HOTELS!

            Might Lisa have said to hubbie, Oliver Wendell Douglas in contrasting Manhattan with Hooter[s]ville. We have stayed at marvelous hotels this trip whether visiting the fancy surroundings of Shanghai and Kuala Lumpur or the countryside of Vietnam and Cambodia, the latter being where one might actually see Arnold Ziffel roaming the land. Of course, Ho Chi Minh City, Phenom Penh and Siam Reap feature a great deal more than a single General Store and an inn called the Shady Rest. The smallest of them has nearly a million people, hence one would expect them to have decent digs for weary travelers. What has been impressive is not just the luxury of the lodgings but their diversity. Each creates a different atmosphere for a particular traveler. And that is by the design of Bill and Pamela Chalmers, the event directors.

            The Grand Hyatt Shanghai is pure opulence in the most modern of settings. The lowest floor of the hotel is the 54th. Every room has a marvelous view of the city since the gorgeous skyscrapers extend in any direction beyond the human eye. The food is fabulous. The Caravelle Hotel in Ho Chi Minh City is luxury to the tee, with high end restaurants and bars and a spectacular view from the ninth floor club where people dance until 2 a.m. every night. The Plantation in Phnom Penh is like a ski resort of wooden buildings, only in the jungle land of Cambodia rather than the snowy banks of Colorado. The entrances to the hotel are on sidewalks above bodies of water. There is a lovely pool and wonderful food yet again. And the Heritage Suites in Siem Reap are like individual cabins in the woods (though here, jungle), each with its own sauna, walk-in shower indoors, walk-in shower outdoors and giant, deep bathtub, all in different places of the room. The cabins are joined by a common area for swimming, eating and socializing. And now we're enjoying the Shangri-La in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Much like the Grand Hyatt, it is a luxury hotel catering to every modern need.

            I can't tell you (well, really Bill and Pamela) how much we appreciate the thought and effort that has gone into the planning of every minute detail of this trip. The scavenges appeal to every interest imaginable. Today, Casey and I (if I can ever wake Casey up after his jaunt through the nightlife of Kuala Lumpur last night--he's snoring up a storm as I type this--as you can tell, we ain't gonna be the grand prize winners) will alternatively gamble at a casino, ride and bathe with an elephant and visit the world's biggest piece of carved jade. There are always scavenges involving rounds of golf, karaoke, temple visits and other activities I know some of you like. There are generally amusement park scavenges as well. In this town, the scavenge involves visiting the world's largest indoor amusement park.

            I haven't said much about Cambodia. We thought it was interesting. It has some fascinating elements. I won't go back, though. And the main reason frankly is the heat. I felt as though I was melting (until the shorts I put on later that day turned out to be just as tight as the week before the trip began). I realize Malaysia isn't about to go arctic on me either, but it's modern enough here that there will always be an air conditioned cocktail lounge I can slither into. I didn't visit The Killing Fields while in Cambodia and thus did not see the collection of skulls of victims of the veritable genocide of the Pol Pot regime. Frankly, it took years to get the movie, "The Killing Fields" out of my mind and I didn't want to spend the rest of this trip thinking of skulls and matching them to hypothetical faces of men, women and children. Last year, a Pulitzer Prize winning photo made the Facebook rounds and featured a starting African toddler trying desperately to crawl to a food bank a kilometer away, as a vulture walked behind her, waiting for her to show enough evidence of weakness and collapse that it could pounce for the kill and devour her. That photo still lingers with me. Some of my female friends compliment me for being such a sensitive person. Some of my male friends suggest I'm a bit short of testosterone. Oh well, neither condition is likely to have a dramatic effect on my lifestyle.

            So, the cities are great, the countries are great, the hotels are mesmerizing. What do I have to criticize about the trip? Nothing really. But if I had to offer a drawback it would be the event's greatest strength. We're visiting 11 countries in 23 days. I want to visit 11 countries. And I don't have more than 23 days for vacation. So, the trip is in one sense ideal. But the time we get to spend in each place is too short. Perhaps that's the point. The trip is designed to let us evaluate multiple locales so we can decide where to return for a more extensive and leisurely visit, much as an introductory language survey course gives you a few weeks of several different foreign tongues so you can decide in which to try to become fluent. The goal is undoubtedly laudable. Nevertheless, I found myself this morning, kinda wishing I was Uncle Joe...just a-movin' kinda slow...at the junction.

LOVING THE VISIT, BUT I COULD NEVER LIVE HERE

            I have little to report today. (But every one of my friends knows that won't result in the blog entry being any shorter.) As I mentioned yesterday, we are no longer fighting for position among the teams. We're just enjoying the places, performing enough of the scavenges to be awed by the land and want to come back. There is no "voting off" of people here or we probably would have been eliminated at LAX. Everyone gets to finish the competition, visiting all 11 countries in 23 days. The rules ensure that you don't turn the adventure into tourist stops, and they are therefore difficult. For instance, you cannot locate anything with high tech -- no use of iphones, ipads, internet, etc. You can't use hotel concierges, professional drivers or tour guides. In fact, you can use a single cab driver for only two scavenges per nation. The goal is to force you to interact with the people of the countries and not be divorced from them via third party intermediaries. The policy is laudable while simultaneously being irritating.

            Most of the time, we have plane tickets that the event directors, Bill and Pamela (not Pam) purchased months in advance to take us from one spot to another. Several times during the event, though, we are asked to get ourselves somewhere -- on our own. We are the midst of one of those. Those of you who know Casey and me can already see this as a recipe for potential (if not assured) disaster. I can't even get socks on my feet without my support staff's assistance and Casey is too easily distracted by...well, everything. About the only place to which we're qualified to get ourselves is a county jail. And I don't relish the notion of lingering in an Asian holding tank where I doubt AC is a particularly high priority. Several days ago, we were told to get from the Caravelle Hotel in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam to The Plantation (hotel) in Phnom Penh, Cambodia for a single day of scavenges, then from Phnom Penh to the Heritage Suites (hotel) in Siem Reap, Cambodia for a "defriefing" at 10 a.m. the next day. We had less than 48 hours notice of the need to make these travel plans. Um, excuse me, but if I called my travel agent and told her to make reservations in a foreign nation on less than two days notice, she would respond, "Now, Erik, we've talked about such nonsense ad nauseum and, I thought, resolved it years ago." (Well, she might have substituted certain unmentionable street lingo for the Latin phrase I used.) And there's a kick: we can't hire a driver, take a plane or take a cab. Casey, of course, wanted to buy a moped and have me hold on while he whipped through the streets and countryside. As you can imagine, I squelched that suggestion rather quickly.

            Bill created this "get there on your own" thingy right smack in the middle of the Khmer New Year celebrations, when people are traveling to Cambodia to party. (I never thought I'd be typing those words, but this would be a great place for a grand party.) I have no doubt that this decision was intentional. (Bill is a marvelous person, and I have no doubt would be the first to arrive on the scene to perform CPR, but he does seem to have a tiny bit of a sadistic streak.) Of course, the other teams, whom you've already seen before -- they were machines in The Matrix movies -- got their reservations within minutes of Bill's announcement. Without Ann Erickson, Amanda or April here, I, of course, put off the planning until I saw Bill in the hotel late in our Vietnam jaunt and he implied, in a very subtle way, that I might have waited a bit too long. I then rushed to the phone and the 10th bus line I called finally had tickets -- for 2 p.m. (it's a six-hour-plus trip). So, we performed additional scavenges in Vietnam on Friday morning and got here late in the evening. We leave tonight at 10:30 p.m. on another bus line for yet another six-hour trip to Siem Reap. We'll arrive at the hotel around 5:30 a.m. Sunday and then meet with the event director (Bill) at 10 a.m. to report all the scavenges we did in Siem Reap. I haven't checked the list the scavenges for that locale thoroughly, but unless any of them involve dream weaving, I believe our meeting will be very short. Of course, our competitors (except that we're really no longer competing) somehow managed to get bus tickets for both trips at 7 a.m. so they had plenty of time for scavenges in their destinations -- but bear in mind that they all did so using no advanced technology whatsoever because that would break the rules (umh, hmm -- and I own a thousand acres of swampland in Cambodia I'd like to....).

            I LOVED the bus ride. And I never thought I'd type those words either. Having been poor most of my life (only recently being catapulted into a position where I could even consider a trip like this), I have traveled on many a Trailways bus. (You may not know this but I have a claim to fame. I hold the record for identifying the most suspects on "America's Most Wanted" just from my travels on Trailways.) My relationship with Trailways is so strong that whenever we passed a Motel 6, the driver slows down and the motel proprietor always waves back to me. (I think my photo actually adorns several Motel 6 and Regal 8 lobby walls in the Deep South -- it's right above the box where the keys to the television sets for which you pay extra are located).

            The people on the Ho Chi Minh city to Phnom Penh bus were awesome. Kind, friendly. No animosity toward us, even as Casey demonstrated just how "American" he can be. I foolishly thought it would be nice to shop in the Duty-Free Shop before the trip. I bought a large tin of Almond Roca, one of my favorite candies. I thought this was a treat many of the Asians may not have experienced. Casey bought a large bottle of Maker's Mark and a 12-pack of Heineken which I think are treats that everyone not from a Mormon compound has enjoyed. I passed out the candy when we exited from and returned to the bus after leaving Vietnam, and one minute later when we exited from and returned to the bus after entering Cambodia. (The formalities of country exit and entry will apparently always be absurd.) The bus riders loved my generosity (which really involved no sacrifice on my part -- the tin was all of $15 (which, of course, is a small amount given that it is just 300,000 Vietnamese dongs -- no pun intended). And the people in the back of the bus were thrilled by Casey's more adult contribution to their ride. In any event, by the time we got to the hotel, Casey was in another world and several of our co-travelers of the scavenger hunt noticed that. My sincere apologies to our compatriots. He usually only gets that way once a trip and should be fine for the duration.

            OK, we're about to go on some scavenges in Phnom Penh. I want to see the skulls. I want to see the prison. I know I'll be depressed afterward ("The Killing Fields" affected me for years), but I must see them. Additionally, we'll do the mandatory food challenges (they involve a pate sandwich and foie gras -- YUM! -- sorry, Sherry and company). Then, we'll do the "adult beverage" challenge (of which Bill always has several -- a man after my own heart). Then, the boat ride and, tomorrow morning, the sheepish look as I explain why we (probably) did nothing in Siem Reap. (We may be the first duo voted off the continent ever in this competition.)

            So, back to the title of this blog. Why could I never live here? First, the heat and humidity. They're miserable. I weigh 2,000 pounds. I sweat just thinking about opening a door to the outside. The heat has me after "Hello." I'm ready to shower then. Second, the driving all over Asia would not allow me to perpetuate my life beyond a few days. Y'all know I can't drive. I have $500,000 in auto insurance precisely because I know that, fully sober, I could kill an entire clan of people driving multiple vehicles (some in different cities) at any time. (Haven't done so yet -- knock on wood!) The people here -- China, Vietnam, Cambodia -- drive as though every day could be their last. There are very few stop lights. And where they are stop lights, the lights are ignored. The mopeds (which outnumber cars 30 to one) drive wherever and whenever they want. The car drivers, who seem to think running a moped off the road is a sporting event, likewise ignore driving rules. I'm surprised there is anyone left alive in this land. We should call it "The Killing Roads."

DISASTER AS USUAL FOR THE CASEY AND ERIK DUO but VIETNAM DOESN'T DISAPPOINT

            I've never worried about countries, other people or wild animals getting Casey and me. I just worry about us getting us. And, as usual, it happened. We're in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon). Just typing those words is, frankly, thrilling. The city is beautiful (far beyond what I expected). The hotel (Caravelle) is fabulous as I now suspect every hotel where we stay will be. The people have been absolutely wonderful once again. Philosophically, I know that stereotypes are wrong, period. They don't become right simply because they're positive. So, I won't say Asians are generally wonderful people, but....

            First, let me explain a bit more what this event is. I'm trying to do that piece by piece so I don't bore you with all the details in a single day's notes. Thirteen two-person teams from around the globe are competing for charity by conducting a number of magnificent scavenges in 11 countries over 23 days. The scavenges range from eating unique foods to visiting temples and museums to securing information from local people. Casey and I started this event looking to be in contention. Well, we learned from Leg 1 in Shanghai that such was not in the cards. The folks we're traveling with are serious about this stuff. Don't get me wrong. They're wonderful people who are not obnoxiously competitive. But they're out to win no matter what effort is required. One of the members of the team now in first place finished the first two days with feet so blistered, they were covered in bandages and slippers during our Wednesday morning meeting. Yet she was a raring to go again. Literally, this is like a season of "The Amazing Race." Casey and I were occasionally at each others' throats in Shanghai, pushing to get in as many scavenges as we could. Yet, we still wound up in the bottom half of the competitors. Bill and Pamela, the event directors, have said that each team has to decide for themselves whether to seek to win the whole thing or take a more relaxed approach to the event. I see advantages to both. The scavenges involve fun activities that teach you about the area. So, the more you do, the more eventful your trip will be. But Casey and I are on edge enough without the need for added stress. And frankly, Bill has planned such spectacular activities that a handful of "scavenges" provides reason enough to plan a return visit to each locale in the future.

            Plus, Casey and I got plenty of added stress last night (on the first day of our Vietnam leg) when we discovered that the plastic bag containing all of our medication (of which I have six prescriptions) and our camera charger had been pilfered and the important stuff removed. The culprits did leave us with the nasal spray and baby powder (thank god for small victories), but they took everything else. And when you weigh 800 pounds, you need your meds. I have no idea where the romp through our stuff occurred, but I now know the hard way not to leave anything valuable laying about your room or in checked luggage (which we had locked but was still accessible to airport security). Fortunately, what a friend we have in April who has helped me secure needed drugs elsewhere. And we have managed to have a great time in Ho Chi Minh City despite being unmedicated.

                                                                                   

The Vietnam "Conflict"

            For those of you old enough to remember, Congress never declared it a war. Make no mistake. It was a war, as horrific in its effects as war can be. Naturally, the Vietnamese don't call it "The Vietnam War" because they've been involved in multiple wars on their territory. Many of them call it The American War because this time the Americans were the aggressors whereas in the past, the aggressors were the French or the Chinese.

            America now has strong relations with Vietnam and businesses in the two nations are involved in many an enterprise. And everyone has treated us with nothing but respect during our brief jaunt here. But make no mistake: the Vietnamese have not forgotten The American War and they don't look kindly on our nation's involvement. A trip to the War Remnants Museum made that abundantly clear. Hundreds of photographs of battle atrocities adorn every wall of the structure -- children with missing limbs, women with the skin burned off their backs by Agent Orange or garden variety napalm and dead bodies littering the streets. Two photographs were especially disturbing to me. One was a photograph of a family -- husband, wife and children -- with looks of terror on their faces. The photographer's notes say the family was about to be killed by our troops. The photographer asked the soldiers to hold off on the assassination for a single picture. As the photographer was walking away, he heard rapid gunfire and never looked back. The other was of a child laughing and playing with his mother, enjoying life, despite his grossly contorted face, clearly the victim of chemical warfare with enormous caverns for eyes and an appearance that will forever receive stares of pity. There were also photos of American troops torturing locals and seeming to enjoy the experience -- an eerie reminder of Abu Ghraib.

            "War is hell," the saying goes, and the ground participants are merely pawns in a struggle manufactured by politicians and businessmen. I truly believe that, and more so, after visiting the Cu Chi tunnels. What could cause soldiers from our nation -- which for so long was the purportedly perennial liberator rather than aggressor -- to engage in such atrocities (pre-GW Bush, that is, before preemptive strike apparently became acceptable)? Granted, the museum we visited painted a partially perverted picture of propaganda as there were undoubtedly plenty of misdeeds by both sides. But horrific acts by American troops were not a rarity, and the visit to the jungles of Vietnam today provided some insight as to why. We took off early this morning by speed boat along the Saigon River for the Cu Chi district where much of The American War took place. The river and its banks resemble the setting of a '70s or '80s motion picture. (Sorry.) We arrived in the jungles by mid-morning when it was already so hot and humid that one has to wonder how anyone lived in this region, much less dodged bullets and booby traps for months on end. Not a Four Seasons in sight. (Sorry again.) The tour was awe-inspiring. Needless to say, it was biased. A preliminary 20-minute videotape described Americans in the worst possible light, praising the Viet Cong soldiers who received awards of valor based on the number of American soldiers they slaughtered. But while the video, tour guide and tunnels sought desperately to cast our troops in the most unfavorable light, and the Viet Cong as so valiant, they only confirmed for me that American troops were faced with unimaginable horrors that would cause anyone to lose his friggin' mind!

            During The French War, the Vietnamese built tunnels to hide and escape. During The American War, those tunnels became the key to battle -- and ultimately victory. North Vietnam and the Viet Cong were outgunned and outspent. They faced a technological force that couldn't be beaten on its own terms. So they played street ball. They expanded the tunnels to create an entire underground where the people literally lived -- cooked, ate, slept and fought. Children were conceived and born there. And our side never really knew what hit them. The tunnels were too small for most American soldiers to traverse. And they were booby trapped. Bamboo spears greeted those leaping into them. Our soldiers called this experience the "one-way ticket" because when one of their companions landed on the spears, he faced a slow, painful and certain death. The Viet Cong created numerous faux tunnels as well, with countless booby traps. Casey and I toured a seemingly unending stream of such devices. And we watched mannequins re-enact the Viet Cong's conversion of American bombs that never exploded into land mines that littered the jungle. It became clear that every step an American soldier took could not only be his last, but one that lingered with him during many hours of unenviable demise. This terror confronted our soldiers every day. And every Vietnamese person they confronted, including women and children, could be their assassin, wielding wooden spears or homemade bombs. Nothing was sacred, nothing was safe. The rules of warfare (what a joke -- as though acts of mass destruction can be governed by social mores) were nonexistent to the Viet Cong, who faced an enemy with technological superiority that was insurmountable unless they supposedly "fought dirty." And so every step, every hole, every piece of sod, every child, every mother -- everything our soldiers encountered on an hourly basis -- was fraught with potentially pernicious peril. They could trust no one -- not even Mother Nature. Is it any wonder they often reacted with gruesome retaliation? The question of "who started it" was meaningless to the pawns as the sniper fire and hidden land mine explosions rang through the air.

            What a shame it appears our politicians have forgotten this extraordinary misadventure and compelled us to revisit such unwinnable (and unjust) guerilla warfare in recent years. Where have all the flowers gone, indeed? Well, we're off to Cambodia tomorrow for two days. We won't know until Sunday where we travel after that. We're as blind as U.S. policymakers continue to be.

AMERICA, EAT YOUR BIG APPLE OUT!

            Shanghai was mesmerizing! We had two fun-filled days there. The city is stunning. And in more ways than one. Let's talk opulence first. The Shanghai skyline puts the Manhattan skyline to shame. Shanghai has bigger, taller buildings, and far more of them. The architecture is so unique, it is often breathtaking. As one of our scavenges Monday, we went to the observatory on the 100th floor of the Shanghai World Financial Center and gazed (rather gaped) at the beauty of it all. The skyscrapers reach toward the heavens with many different gestures. Their numbers extend beyond the human eye, even from that altitude. Of course, part of the reason they can't all be seen is pollution. But what emerges from the smog puts everyone else's digs to shame. New York buildings seem rather mundane by comparison. We took a boat ride through downtown Monday night and the rows of enormous buildings seemed endless. But Shanghai is a city with lots of personality beyond its skyline. It has beautiful parks and neighborhoods as well.

            Now, don't get me wrong. I'm a Broadway boy at heart. While I've unfortunately lived in the Deep South (and Texas) most of my life, I'm never truly as content as when I'm booked into a hotel on Times Square with tickets to "Wicked," "Book of Mormon" or the latest off-Broadway emergence. I suspect the city that never sleeps will always surpass the rest of the world in terms of raw entertainment, but this Eastern berg has them beat on one of their past bragging rights and, given the direction in which the up-and-comer is going, I wouldn't be surprised if we hear that Tommy Tune and Joe Mantello have relocated and are in search of some fetching Asian men for their next production.

SERVICE -- SHANGHAI IS WAY BEHIND THE TIMES, THANK GOODNESS

            Shanghai doesn't seem to understand the evolution of customer service. Customer care and attentiveness are part of a bygone era in the United States. Just watch a "Back to the Future" movie depicting the '50s where, when a vehicle pulled into a gas station, seven people jumped out the woodwork to perform every task imaginable. The guffaws of the audience are priceless to those of us who remember a similar time. I remember gas station attendants cleaning windshields and windows after checking fluid levels and tire pressure, men delivering milk, butter and Charles' chips in metal cans to your front door, sackers taking the groceries out of your basket and putting them into bags when they were checked.

            All of those activities and more continue to flourish in Shanghai. The service is so good that it is sometimes maddening. I've always said that people are trying too hard to please you when you worry that you're being watched holding your external appendage. I experienced that worry during this trip. At one time, after departing the hotel and reaching the street, I realized I had left my sunglasses in my room. On my way to retrieve them, I was greeted with pleasantries at the building door by a hotel employee. I experienced the same at the row of elevators, where the woman not only pushed the "up" button for me but moved toward and waved her arm in front of the opening elevator like an Asian Carol Merrill. The maid was in my room as I retrieved my glasses, so I went to the hotel's public restroom. A smiling attendant greeted me at the bathroom door and walked me over to a stall which he opened in my honor. I half felt as though I was back in the '70s at a highway rest stop. When I exited my cubicle, he actually turned on the sink water, pressed down the soap button and handed me my paper towels for drying. Frankly, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd offered to hold my ying-yang during the evacuation. The service is that good.

            And the people are so friendly. Almost everyone we approached to assist us with our scavenges tried to be helpful, from the businessmen we accosted downtown to the older gentlemen we approached in the French Connection to the service personnel we met along the Bund. Everyone was supportive. When we announced our citizenship (and even our state of residence), no one batted an eyelash. No political discourse erupted; no obscene reference to George W. Bush was made. Everyone who could, seemed pleased to meet us in spite of our citizenship while proceeding to tell us, in the most delicate terms, why our plan for achieving a particular scavenge was doomed to failure.

            Note that I said "everyone who could." One fact I have not mentioned is that very few of the people we encountered actually speak English. You hear stories that the Chinese are taught English from elementary school on. Well, either that policy started only recently or the majority of people we met were dropouts or had weak teachers because most of them spoke either no English at all or very little. We frequently walked for several miles after failing to communicate with a half dozen or so cab drivers. The people walking weren't much more fluent in English. Of course, I must ask each of you this: if a person from China visiting America were to walk up to you on the street (or to one of your acquaintances who is a cab driver), would you (or your acquaintance) have any ability to communicate with the individual if she didn't speak English? My guess is that the answer is "no." Isn't it extraordinarily arrogant -- not to mention ethnocentric -- for me to expect that my words would be received and understood by those in the very country with a language I have at least subconsciously chosen to ignore? Certainly, many more of the Chinese speak English than Americans speak Chinese. I have great difficulty listening to comments tht America is too liberal on immigration and has no business authorizing Spanish language signs, open captioning and billboards. Every product, street sign, direction sign or advertisement in Shanghai has its message outlined in both Chinese and English. If it's good enough for them....

            We just arrived at the Caravelle Hotel in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. The hotel is lovely. I'll let you know about the city in a few hours.