The Road To Saigon

I had originally planned to only stay in Vietnam for a week or so, travelling only in northern Vietnam before taking the infamous 24-hour ‘Bus From Hell’ from Hanoi to Luang Prabang in Laos to meet my friend Ankie.  I didn’t mind not seeing Ho Chi Minh city as I’d had a bad first impression while transiting through a few years earlier, though it was unfortunate I wouldn’t be seeing my childhood friend Shawn Scott and Mike’s brother Chris. 

However, Mike and Tinh both waxed lyrical about how fun Saigon was, and how different it was to Hanoi and the rest of Vietnam.  My intrigue gave way to excitement as they told me they would be in Saigon two weekends hence, and that I should meet them there so we could all party it up.  Mike added a cherry on top by graciously inviting me to stay at his condo at the Hyatt Regency in Danang for a few days, and it became an offer I couldn’t refuse. 

This meant that I was in no rush to leave Hanoi, and so I stayed a few extra days to spend more quality time with the nephews Didi and Chritchy.  After ten solid days of family life with the Piros in Hanoi, I embarked on the first solo leg of my journey.  Weeks later it now seems silly to me, but at the time I was slightly nervous at finally travelling on my own.  I’d certainly done it before; I suppose my time with the Piros was too comfortable.

Halong Bay

The first stop along the way was the famed Halong Bay.  I had booked a package tour out of Hanoi, so it was only a matter of following the programme.  After a 4-hour bus ride, we were transferred to a small ferry taxi that took us to our boat, Elizabeth Sails.  We had lunch as the boat moved from Halong City out into the bay, and I made friendly with the people on my table: an Irishman, a group of three girls from the UK, and a Bavarian German by the name of Amadeus Jager (as in Mozart Meister).

Our first stop was at a ‘secret cave’, which is a ridiculous name since every tourist taken to Halong goes to see it.  I’d seen some pretty incredible stalactite / stalagmite caves before, so I wasn’t overly awed, but our tour guide Ha kept it interesting by pointing out formations that looked like Romeo and Juliet, breasts and phalluses.

Next we went kayaking around one of the limestone rock outcroppings for a closer look.  There were small huts that formed water villages close to the island, reminiscent of the floating fishing villages in Hong Kong.  I was paired with Amadeus, neither of us having ever kayaked before.  However it soon proved an easy enough adjustment, and the surrounding water and scenery were so peaceful that we would sometimes stop paddling just to seep in the moment and take it all in.  On one such occasion, we veered too close to the rock and despite our frantic efforts, actually hit the island.  At least our other companions got a good laugh out of it. 

The evening’s activities consisted of karaoke and cuttlefishing.  The local Vietnamese tourists naturally flocked to the karaoke machine, and so I went out back to try some fishing.  We ended up catching two small cuttlefish, but most of the time was spent guzzling beers and bantering.  An old lady in a small motorboat served as a mobile 7-Eleven, and approached us selling her wares of beer and snacks.  I found it rather amusing that the only English word she spoke was ‘vodka’.

After cuttlefishing got old, we went up to the upper deck of the boat for better seats to chat.  It quickly became apparent that ours was the most civil (read: boring) boat in the vicinity.  On one side was a party boat with club music blaring and echoing off the rocks; on the other side there were drunken Caucasians jumping off their boat naked.  However, none of us particularly minded our comparative idleness, and after some more conversation we turned in. 

I’m normally not a big fan of boats, as I get seasick rather easily.  Numerous junk trips in Hong Kong and being out with Jose on his new boat have conditioned me somewhat, but my sea legs are still mediocre at best. That night in Halong Bay however was one of the most peaceful sleeps I’ve ever had, as there were absolutely no current or waves at all.  I might as well have been sleeping on dry land, except for the water and massive rock islands outside my window. 

The next day we stopped at the largest island in Halong Bay, Cat Ba, as some of the passengers disembarked to spend another day and night there.  In return, some new travelers came onto the boat from the island to return to the mainland.  I got to chatting with some of the newcomers, a pair of American girls from Arizona.  They had been traveling for some time, and shared a traveling tips and horror stories, including the ‘Bus From Hell’ that they took from Luang Prabang to Hanoi.  The 24-hour bus ended up being 31 hours, and they had finished all their snacks within the first 12.  On top of that, the already full bus stopped to allow more local Lao passengers aboard, who sat / slept in the aisles of the bus with feet in people’s faces.  It was a good thing that my altered itinerary allowed me to avoid that debacle entirely.   

On the way back from Halong Bay to Hanoi (mandatory since the latter is a hub), I almost took the wrong backpack when I switched buses.  The backpack looked exactly like mine, and if the owner hadn’t chased after me I’d be carrying some random bag around Asia!  Too close a call for comfort, really. 

Danang

I opted to take the train to Danang instead of the plane as most people would, for cost efficiency.  Instead of a one-hour flight it would be a 15-hour sleeper train, and given my prior experiences on sleeper trains in China I was not particularly enthused. 

As I looked for my place on the train, I found myself in a four-bed cabin, with my lower bunk bed across from that of an enormous and balding middle-aged French man.  The other two occupants were French-speaking Vietnamese—the tour guides for a group of 36 French people (incidentally all middle-aged and overweight) who occupied the entire carriage. 

It was immediately obvious that I could communicate much more in my broken French than I could in English.  As more and more French people passed our cabin and took a curiosity in me, I was able to respond to the same generic questions with slightly more polish. 

As soon as the train set off, the carriage turned into a party as everyone broke out the Hanoi vodka and proceeded to get loudly drunk.  Since they were all unfailingly hospitable, I ended up partaking in the merriment, though I couldn’t sing any of the French refrains that they broke into.  It was a jolly good time, though unfortunately I didn’t drink enough vodka to sleep well amidst the snoring orchestra conducted by the other three passengers in my cabin. 

The next day was a beautiful one, and at the ancient city of Hue the entire French contingent made their exodus.  I was left alone for three hours from Hue to Danang to witness the most amazing landscape I’ve ever seen from a train: lush mountains on one side, virgin beaches and the East Vietnam Sea on the other.

I arrived in Danang shortly after noon, and made my way to the Hyatt Regency.  November is low season in Danang as the weather is usually cloudy and miserable, but I was extremely fortunate to experience the opposite.  I had escaped Hanoi just as it started to get cold and rainy only to arrive in a bright and sunny Danang.  However, given that it was low season, the Hyatt was a ghost town.  Walking around the massive grounds, I had the peculiar feeling that I was the only guest in the entire complex, the hotel staff being the only other signs of life.

The Piro condo was a gorgeous, fully furnished and equipped two-bedroom, with a breathtaking view of the hotel premises, the beach and the waters beyond.  With my dirty backpack and disheveled clothes, I almost felt like I didn’t belong in such opulence.  But that humility soon passed, as I resolved to live it up and try (in vain) to use as much of the condo as possible.   

On Shawn’s advice, I went to dinner at The Waterfront restaurant, where he had been general manager before he moved to Saigon.  I had a pleasant dinner before joining the owners Erik and Andrew for a few drinks.  Mike had arranged for one of his ‘underlings’—the notorious German-Ethiopian Timo Schmidt—to sort me out and take me around in Danang, so I chatted with the Waterfront folks until he showed up, along with a Russian-born Vietnamese female companion named Victoria and a Swiss buddy named Alex.

After some debate, we went to a Texas-style saloon called 17, where a Filipino band was playing live music.  It wasn’t an altogether bad vibe, though Victoria was clearly losing consciousness.  So Timo shouldered her purse and took her home.  Coincidentally, Alex also owned a condo at the Hyatt, so we headed back and called it a night.

Sunrise, sunset, moonrise

I had set my alarm for 6:00am to catch the sunrise and make the most of the eastward-facing room.  I woke up, snapped a picture and then passed out again. 

When I actually got out of bed, I took the hotel shuttle bus to Hoi An, a huge tourist attraction.  Without sounding like a Wikitravel post, this gorgeous little town 20 minutes from Danang was a scenic place that seems built for photography.  A river runs through it, and the buildings there invoke an earlier time period, having survived the war.  I spent the day walking and riding around the scenic area, eating the famous noodles there and chilling by the riverside, taking in the warm rays and watching the boats go by.  The setting is reminiscent of a lazy Latin American small town, and reminded me a lot of Varadero, Cuba.  I could’ve easily spent another few days lounging around doing nothing, but one day was all I was afforded.  I did however catch the sunset by the Hoi An river and it was probably the first time in my life I saw both sunrise and sunset on the same day.

Timo came by the condo to hang out a bit that evening, just in time to see the moon come up over the waters of the East Vietnam Sea. Though there was some temptation to visit the new Phuong Dong club (allegedly the most famous club in all of Vietnam) I decided to save my energy for Saigon.  A very prudent decision, it turned out. 

I instead spent the rest of the evening chilling in the condo and exploring the hotel, feeling a bit like a tropical Jack Nicholson in The Shining (sans the crazy).  I also abused the hell out of room service, since I figure I wouldn’t have much opportunity to do so in a 5-star hotel in the foreseeable future. 

The next day I took another 15-hour train to Saigon (no one really calls it Ho Chi Minh city in Vietnam, even the train ticket says ‘Saigon).  Luckily for me I was able to sleep 13 out of the 15 hours on the train, and was fully rested when I arrived in Saigon at dawn. 

Hoi An pictures

Walking The Streets of Hanoi

The week that followed passed by more or less routinely.  I'd wake up later than everyone in the house, well after Mike had gone to work and the kids to school.  I'd then either hang out with Tinh for lunch or go into town to explore Hanoi on my own, before heading home to play with the kids, have dinner then chill with Mike.

Maybe it's a result of my underdeveloped sense of direction, but one of my favorite ways of exploring a new city is to get lost.  In the Old Quarter of Hanoi this was particularly easy to do, surrounded on all sides by the ubiquitous vespas and motorcycles, the principal method of transport in Vietnam.  The collective and ever-present buzz from their motors is reminiscent of a giant beehive, and it's taken me some time and effort to be able to cross any street in Vietnam amidst the sea of two-wheels.  Helmets are mandated by law, though I question the structural integrity of many of those helmets.  Especially those with holes in the back of the helmet where girls can conveniently pull their ponytail through.    As in other developing Asian cities, honking is a way of communicating and not an act of anger; this at least was not new to me.

The advice I was given was, "If it's a motorbike, keep walking.  If it's a car, proceed with caution.  If it's a bus, get the hell out of the way."  But even with this in mind, it's counter-intuitive to plunge into an intersection with forty bikes crisscrossing at every angle and honking to boot.  But the alternative is to never cross any busy street,  because it's a concrete jungle with pedestrians the lowest on the food chain--nobody is going to stop for you.  

The prospect of cowing to traffic offended my pride as a Hong Kong street-walker, so after watching a local or two stride confidently into the street undeterred, I proceeded to do the same.  I walked slowly but steadily in a straight line, trying to avoid stutter steps and abrupt stops and trusting the motorcyclists to calculate my trajectory weave around me. 

Traffic lights were another culture shock, because I had no way of knowing when they would be obeyed.  At one intersection I'd see an army of vespas lining up on a red light as if at the start of a race; the next red light would be ignored completely by everyone.

Evidently my swagger belied my nervousness and confusion, because on one especially busy crossing an old Vietnamese man casually took my arm, expecting me to lead him through the chaos.  Like everyone else here he mistook me for a local, so overcoming my initial shock I happily obliged and guided him through.  When we reached the other side, he gave me a smile and we parted ways.  Since then, I've grown more accustomed to moulding into the traffic, but somewhere in the back of my mind is still a nagging doubt that every crossing is a gamble.  

Baby Jesus Rio

Entrance to Old Quarter

Second Verse, Similar to the First

Though we had a late and eventful night, there was no sleep-in the next day.  The kids simply wouldn't allow it.  We got up and the whole family went to an incredible authentic northern Vietnamese lunch at a concept food market, where the owner had leased a large space and invited all the legendary street food vendors to come in and set up shop.  Until that point I didn't know that the Vietnamese food I'm used to is mostly of the southern variety.  Though similar, the northern cuisine has its own distinct tastes, and instead of the meal consisting solely of a XXL bowl of pho, the portions are smaller allowing the tasting of more dishes.  Though I'm a tea man, one can't be in Vietnam and not have their coffee with sweet milk every single day.

Afterwards Kang drove the family and I past the monument within which rests the body of Ho Chi Minh (or 'Uncle Ho' as he's affectionately known in these parts) and other bright orange colonial-looking state buildings to Hoan Kiem Lake, where we took a relaxing stroll under the sunny blue sky.


Mike has been having a spate of bad luck recently, beginning with a vespa accident that damaged his knee and left him crippled for 6 weeks.  Things worsened with a rare attack from a poisonous ant that had crawled into his room, onto his bed and stung his left eye, leaving his face looking like he'd been brutalized in a fistfight.  He'd mostly healed from these unfortunate afflictions by the time I arrived, but still in need some more good karma. Thus when we visited Ngoc Son temple near the lake's northern shore, Mike bought some incense to pay respects to the deities there in hopes of changing his luck.

I'm used to the Chinese way of only holding three incenses, so when Mike made his offering with a pack of about fifty it was rather comical.  Hopefully more incense works more in his favor, though somehow I think my being in Vietnam helps both our karma.

After heading home so the kids could nap, Mike and I took the vespa out to the nearby park to catch some sun and chill.  As luck would not have it, he left the key in and the battery had fully drained by the time he realized his mistake.  So I stayed and watched the bike while Mike went to go get help, coming back a half hour later and bringing the whole family.

While a local mechanic recharged the battery, Mike and I took the time to play with Didi and Krichy, climbing trees with them and throwing an Angry Bird toy around.  To say we played catch would be a stretch, because they were to young to.  It was half fetch, except the boys would fight to grab up the loose toy then run back to throwing or kicking distance and then return it with gusto.  The genius of this game was soon clear: it took minimal effort on our part and the kids had an outlet to expend their frenzy.  I soon realized that if you didn't tire them out, they would tire you out.  

Mike later said that this was the most fun he's had with his kids in a while, so it seems like an initially bad situation turned into a great one.

Leaving the kids at home with Tinh's sister Thom, we went for a tapas dinner with some friends of Mike's, followed by a second trip to Rooftop.  We got a table, and were halfway into our bottle of vodka when a fight broke out right next to us, this time involving the fairer gender.  A psychotically drunk Vietnamese girl decided to have a fit, and ran across the room to bumrush another girl near the bar.  When a bystanding waitress tried to intervene, Drunk Girl switched targets and slapped the poor waitress around pulling her hair viciously.  Two other waitresses had to pull them apart while the waiters stood at the fringes, uninvolved and amused.

5 minutes later, there was hair on the floor

As they escorted Drunk Girl away I decided to follow to see what would ensue, and I needed the washroom anyway.  Not only did they not kick her out, but I later saw her in the ladies room, waving her shoes around jumping and screaming along to the music, oblivious to her prior actions and wilding out.

Given two fights occurred consecutive days at the same place, I was under the impression that it was just another weekend in Hanoi.  Mike later told me that this certainly isn't the case, and he's convinced that I'm apparently the magnet for drama.

Somehow we ended up back at Solas after making new friends an ex-Wall Street banker.  The hustler's pool table was now covered and people danced on top of it, adding to the menagerie.  However, the bottle of vodka we'd chugged was only enough to fuel twenty minutes of dancing to the mishmash of electronic sounds, after which we headed to Chicken Street to eat some of the best post-partying food I've ever had in my life.

Though the chairs we sat in were evidently designed for medium-sized midgets, the food soon had us ignoring all other senses and each other.  Roasted chicken wings, chicken feet and ribs were aplenty, with a tantalizing Vietnamese boss barbecue sauce for dipping.  To top it all off, they had this toasted bread dripping with honey that was ridiculously delicious.  If you're ever in Hanoi, do yourself a huge favor, visit Chicken Street and order that bread.

Eagle One Has Landed

Hanoi seemed like as good a place as any to start my travels.  I'd never been there before, and it was long overdue that I visited a member of my inner circle, Michael Piro.  Mike and I go way back to primary school days in Vancouver, and in the last several years he's carved out a very comfortable niche in Vietnam both professionally and personally.

In typical fashion Mike met me at the airport with his driver Kang in tow, and from then on Vietnam has felt like a second home.  I've always found visiting a friend in a foreign country a great way to travel, as it gives you an angle on the 'local' lifestyle through a familiar lens.

Blaring some contemporary hip hop tunes in the SUV, Mike rode shotgun with one hand extended on the back of Kang's headrest, subtly and comfortably in control of the situation.  We made a brief stop at Mike's house to drop my bags off and say hello to the family.  It was a long awaited meeting with Mike's two boys Damiano (aged four) and Christiano (aged two and a half); the last time I was in Vietnam was when Mike's lovely wife Tinh was pregnant with Damiano.  To set the tone and make a good impression with the kids I quickly gave them their presents: a toy Gundam for Didi ("Transformers! Transformers!") and Thomas the Train Engine for Chritchi.  It's impossible apparently for the Vietnamese to say anything remotely close to Christiano so Chritchi is the nickname that resulted.


Taking our leave, Mike and I then went for a high class Viet dinner with ever-flowing red plum rice wine, followed by a drink at the Metropole Hotel--a classy, French colonial white building that sits on the corner of an intersection covering two blocks in a massive L-shape.  The raucous table next to ours was occupied by locals, and Mike listened in on them while breaking down the situation for me.  The men were all in their late-30's or early 40's, rich second-generation sons of government officials and big businessmen.  The girls were all in their 20's and most certainly the mistresses.  At the end of the table was a big shot visiting from Saigon, with toasts being made in his honor.

As upscale as the surroundings were, it was a bit too quiet for our liking.  After a drink or two we marched out into the midnight streets of Hoan Kiem until we reached the building that housed a swanky club named Rooftop.  At the lobby Mike bumped into a drunken associate named Nam (I kid you not), whose family was 'big time', having built some Empire real estate project somewhere.  To complete the profile Nam had a particularly young, attractive and well-endowed lady companion.  Mike recognized her as a bonafide gold digger who has dated several other associates of his.

Another fella joined this friendly gathering, and the atmosphere soured as he evidently had some tension with Nam.  Because of Mike's presence they continued to speak English, telling each other in barely controlled tones to be calm.  But the shaky peace dissolved and the situation escalated the instant another guy piped in.  Nam lost his cool and threw a girly wrist-flick of a punch at the newcomer.  Two factions immediately squared up with Mike holding Nam back and myself caught in the middle.  I tried to contain my excitement because I hadn't seen a good ol' fashioned brawl in a while, though being from Hong Kong I had my reservations about how this scuffle would end.  Either way it had nothing to do with me, so I took a few steps back and watched the action unfold.

The quarrel quickly permeated the steps outside with close to twenty guys involved.  Through the glass I saw one wannabe combatant attempting to pick up an ashtray/trash can as a weapon, failing miserably in doing so.  Two uniformed security guards were literally less than useless.  After pretending to break it up they promptly retreated from the fray to become observers like me.  Mike later informed me that because of who these guys were, they couldn't be touched.  Money is power in Hanoi and if anything happened, strings wouldn't even have to be pulled for the security guards to lose their jobs and livelihood or worse.

As I'd half guessed would happen, the commotion died down after some melodrama and some truly fervent shoving.  Mike took Nam aside to remind him that he's a businessman not a ruffian and Nam came to his senses, apologizing.  Ms Golddigger had a more direct approach, slapping Nam in the face and following up with a kiss.  We left them in the lobby with the aftermath and headed up to the club, amped up from the fracas and ready for a party.  Though the place was bumping, only two songs played before an olive-green communist uniform walked in, full hat and brim.  Police raid, party over.

We wandered on trying to sniff out the next place to be, only to find the police sweeping many other  typical Friday night hotspots and forcing early closures.  In a last ditch effort Mike took me to 'the place you go when all else fails in Hanoi': a seedy after-hours joint named Solas, or Lighthouse, or Feng Dong depending on who you talk to.  We walked off the end of one street, past the late night vendors and other signs of human activity, down a slope and across a narrow, rickety wooden dock.  As we approached the dark and shoddy cabin-like structure we were met with the growing sound of bass from the thumping music inside, mixed with the dank, acrid smell of the dirty water all around.

Inside wasn't much better, but at least there was a crowd.  A pool table was positioned near the entrance, where it was soon evident that the local boys were smugly hustling the abrasive western tourists.  Once I walked in and started exploring the place seemed like a normal albeit run-down establishment, something I would perhaps find in Wanchai back home.  After a pair of watered-down drinks and a chat with the crowd around the pool table, it was time to make an exit.

Mike had a particular enthusiasm for the last stop of the night, street roasted chicken wings at a street vendor looking out over another body of water.  The woman running the business kept it bare bones; with no tables or chairs in sight we sat atop cheap mats on the steps next to her stove.  There were also no lights, and we consumed the delicious wings and Hanoi beer in the shadows.

It's only now that I realize the evident and steady decline from drinking at Hanoi's classiest and most historic hotel to being ravenous bums wolfing down street meat in the flickering streetlight.

Not the worst way to start a trip.

Farewell Hong Kong!

Sitting in business class for the first time in my life (thanks to Asia Miles), I’m finally afforded the opportunity to reflect after a two-week torrent of farewells and long distance calls, errands and last-minute preparations.

More than anything, I’ve been humbled by all the love and affection I’ve been shown by everyone around me. The well wishes and advice, presents and lai see packets, and of course the heart-to-heart discussions have all been so positive, reminding me that I will never truly be alone with such amazing people in my corner.

I'll keep this short (it's only a one hour and forty minute flight) but I'd like to express my sincerest love and respect for the whole Cheung and Chan families, as well as to all my brothers and sisters in Hong Kong and all over.  I'll be thinking of you all wherever I go, and hopefully repay the kindness you've shown by sharing my experiences as best I can.  If a man can be judged by his friends, then I can't be doing too bad!

Business class is overrated.

Final Preparations

After all this time, I finally booked my plane tickets on Saturday.  One-way flight out of Hong Kong, return date unknown.

It's been over a year now since I handed in my resignation letter at the Bank, in order to travel round the world and pursue my dreams of microfinance and social enterprise.  The long months of pain, planning and anticipation were being validated, the dream was finally becoming real.

Except that this moment was not at all how I'd pictured it.   Instead of elation, I've been gripped by an onsetting apprehension.  Through a filter of cloudy grey, a million details and worst-case scenarios have been flying in and out of my mind, building up into a wall of anxiety surrounding me.  Maybe it was all the risk management I've been focused on lately:  insurance coverage and claims procedures, pickpocket prevention, situational awareness,  how to spot and avoid scams, emergency consulate contact points, traveler horror stories.   Maybe it was my Dad's unreal paranoid depictions finally finding a foothold of pessimism.

Or maybe it's because today is Halloween.

In any case, I've spent the last few days juggling with the myriad last-minute adjustments of my growing to-do list, feeling unprepared and panicky as I came up with more and mores bases I haven't covered.  Meanwhile, messages have been coming in from all over as friends expressed their excitement and/or jealousy.  Inquiries naturally followed as to what my plans are, where I'm going, what I'll be doing.

The truth is, beyond that single ticket I booked, I really can't say for sure what will happen next.  I have a rough idea of where I want to go and what I want to do, but the only thing in black and white is that plane ticket.  Originally I had planned my trip with Bangladesh as the focal point, since it was the work of Muhammad Yunus and the Grameen Bank that sparked my inspiration and passion for microfinance years ago.  I had assumed that after training with Grameen, that the experience and contacts would thereafter carry the momentum forward and my trip would take shape accordingly.  But despite my best efforts, I could not get into Grameen's training program in Dhaka.  This was due to internal (and political) issues that Grameen is facing in Bangladesh, a microcosm of the troubles and backlash to microfinance as a global movement.

This has left me with no anchor, either in purpose or geography.  I may not have admitted it even to myself, but the let down has ultimately been the hardest pill to swallow, casting a shadow on the whole trip.  It was in pursuit of a dream and a cause that I sacrificed my relationship, my job, my security and even my health.  Now I could no longer see the same dream clearly, as if too many ripples were marring the surface of the pond.  Doubts began to creep in as to whether I'm doing the right thing, whether I even know what I'm doing.

All these thoughts weighed heavily on me until my Mom came home from work and we got to talking.  She proceeded to tell me about something unusual that happened to her yesterday. An ex-colleague named Linda Tong came unexpectedly to Jockey Club Sarah Roe School (where my Mom works) to visit her.  Linda was working as a supply nurse for the day next door at King George V school (incidentally where I went to high school).  Mom hadn't seen this woman for over five years, and they hadn't previously been particularly close.  She was thus surprised when Linda said that she missed my Mom and came expressly to see how she was doing.

They caught up over lunch, and shared what's been happening in the last few years since they'd been in touch.  As the conversation progressed Linda told a story about her friend's son, who we'll call Jack.  Jack grew up in Hong Kong and went to Stanford to study medicine.  A filial and capable son, he graduated accordingly and returned home from America, asking his mother what she wanted him to do next.  His mother replied, "Well why don't you go study law in England.  The family has the money and you don't need to work yet."  Faithfully he went to Oxford and studied law, then returned from England after graduation and asked again what his parents wanted him to do.  When his mother replied that she didn't know, Jack said, "I've done everything you asked me to do in life.  Now I'm going to do what I want to do.  I want to be a monk."

Of course his parents were shocked to hear this, but Jack gave himself a year.  During this time, he stayed in Hong Kong and taught at HKU, saving up a sum of money.  When the year was out, he told his parents that he would not be giving them any of his earnings, because they didn't need it.  Instead he bought a container full of computers and went to a poor area of southern Taiwan, where he donated the computers to children in need and taught them how to use them.  Making use of his medical background he also helped the children as a doctor.  It made him incredibly happy to do so, but soon afterwards he proceeded to a Buddhist monastery in the area, seeking to be the disciple of a famous Abbott.

The Abbott rejected him, thinking that the life of a monk was not suited for this handsome young man, born into a family of affluence and so well educated.  Jack however was undeterred, and kneeled in front of the temple for several days, until the Abbott began to have second thoughts.   Still unsure as to Jack's determination, the Abbott told Jack that he could become a disciple of the monastery for a one year trial period, and would not have to shave his head as a full monk in the meantime.  If after a year he decided to go back to his old life he could.  Jack told the Abbott that he'd already made up his mind and that he wouldn't change it.  He shaved his own head and joined the order.

Thereafter his mother would go see him every year, but after a few years Jack dissuaded her from doing so any more.  He knew it pained her to see her son as a monk, sleeping on the street, unkempt and malnourished.  In the letters he wrote her however, he was both content and happy with his life and to this day Jack has been with the monastery for seven years.

Whether this story is true or not is irrelevant.  What is important is that a message was delivered to Mom out of the blue, who then relayed it to me in my moment of need.  The parallels with my own life are apparent, albeit in a more extreme form.

As we continued chatting, Mom recalled all the hardship and humiliation I'd suffered during the winter months to overcome my eczema and steroid withdrawal.  Though it was a trial for the whole family, it was a process she saw as a necessary tempering of steel for both my resolve and my body.  She reminded me that I am going out into the world to fulfill God's plan for me, and that whatever happens next will be according to that plan.  I may not always see or even agree with it, but as long as I am humble enough to accept it, things will turn out fine.

I'm not worried anymore.  I remember now why I'm doing this in the first place, and though the destination is unknown, I will cherish every moment of the journey with an open mind, an open heart and open eyes.

I'm ready to go.