Hoi An. The mere mention of the name sends goosebumps to my sun drenched dry skin. My favorite place in Vietnam. Nestled in the center of this 'S' shaped beauty that I've called home for the last 5 years, Hoi An is my refuge from the manic metropolis of Saigon.

Maybe it was the season, or maybe it was because I had a warm hand to hold navigating its small winding corners, taking me deeper into its soul, more than its ancient wells could. But this time, I saw the streets as less crowded with tourists... the sunset, just a bit more magnificent... the air more fresh and cool... the white sands of Cua Dai softer and more playful.

This trip was... simply put the best holiday I've had. 'Till India that is.

After two months and a volcano's wrath has subsided I finally find the time to write about Borobudur. Beautiful Borobudur. A celebratory trip for me and my good friend Vince as he ventures into his fourth decade. A corner I will meet soon enough as well. And I'm sure, when I need him, he will come to take me away to marvel at yet another temple in our on-going adventures of raiding ancient monuments in search of comfort to our plain existence.

The trip was quite fitting as personally, I feel as if my time in this plane merits a kismet with the past in order to venture fearless into the future. My life thus far is like a story set in stone. Carefully carved out from years of many happy moments, creating a solid, defined image in my mind of who I think I am. Yet at times, hardened by the elements that make it mossy and discolored, of walls getting higher and higher to shield my self from destruction.

Singapore is definitely a "fine" city. A funny caption on one of those tourist t-shirts. But the benefits of having a disciplined and iron clad governance can be quite exhilarating! There is burgeoning creativity at every corner trying to break free from the laws of the land. You see it everywhere... in schools, libraries, galleries, guerrilla advertising and even in the humorous pictogram that are meant as instructions to everyday plebeian living.


The juxtaposition of old and new abound in the Lion City. There are not even any indigenous lions here except the roar of construction machines racing to develop every single available space left in the horizon. But the price of modernity is being checked, with precision and care to include what is left of a distant past. Old conservation mansions, shop houses, photographs and colonial food favorites mix seamlessly on this neon clad terrain.


I lost a shopping bag full of magazines and a very dear postcard of the Singapore Majestic Theater circa 1950s on bus 106 which I bought at the National Library. My friend Lori and I reported it lost through the kind concierge at the Esplanade mall. It was worth a shot... three days later it was found and was returned safely!


If all trips were as clean, culturally rich, convenient and stress free as this, I would pack a bag every weekend and just swing away. I love Singapore.

june 12, 2010 pranburi

men are like beach dogs. they instantly know if you are alone and will be needing company. you walk in the gate and they sniff out your crotch, lick your leg and follow you to your room.



they show up at all hours, whenever you feel like the empty beach is too peaceful to govern yourself. you throw them a piece of your neatly buttered toast with jam, but they refuse the sweet offering. meat lover you assume. you cajole them to submission, to stay for a while longer but he is preoccupied, scratching and biting the ticks off his tail. you laugh, you are amused at this trick.



then, he swaggers off into the thick bushes, chasing a phantom critter. and you wonder... when will you see him again?

6:15 p.m. june 7, 2010 bkk



i spot a traveler across from me... he looks like moss as i look like yam. outfits that scream in monochrome, a backpacker's many delights. but his grey scarf draws my eyes further to his fiery red hair. he is on the other side, do i dare wave? climb down and start a conversation? it is time... goodbye, my train chugs ahead and you disappear as the sun does below the thicket of buildings surrounding this near-empty dimension, the interim, a limbo train station where souls get a glimpse of their mates, yet remain star crossed, waiting aimlessly in opposite platforms.