The San Francisco of Russia

The San Francisco of Russia. That's what the proverbial "they" call Vladivostok. It's the harbor, the hills and the diversity. Really, Vladivostok is apparently one of the most diverse cities in Russia, being so close to other east Asian countries and about half the world away from the extreme racism supposedly found in European Russia.

Last year today we stepped off the ferry and waited our way through customs, bags sniffed by a spectrum of mongrel drug dogs and intimidated by stern women in crisp uniforms who were decidedly unsexy.

This day was also the night of finding ourselves in a sort of speakeasy cinema pub located in an unlit nook behind an unmarked door down a dark alley off an obscure parking lot reached by an unassuming driveway tunnel that we were led to by a waitress-turned-tourguide whom we fortunately over-tipped in our new-country naivete.

Educated Tourism

As a tourist, it's important to have some knowledge of the place you are to visit. To do otherwise is to embrace ignorance and to tarnish the good name of tourism. Don't feel like you need to be an expert, but a little information and understanding begets much more of the same.

Above all, don't ever fall for anything resembling this hippie bullshit: "Going somewhere with a clean slate really gives you a pure experience man." This serves only as an excuse for laziness and ignorance.

Example:

I was recently in Belgium with my brother and my mother. Before our mother arrived, on our first night in Brussels, Andy and I watched JCVD as cultural research.

The hippies might've said, "Don't stay in your hotel room, man. Go out and experience something!" At the risk of repeating myself, this is terrible advice because I'm neither lazy nor ignorant. Plus it was a Sunday and there was absolutely nothing happening in the city. It was almost frightening.

So we got a taste for how Belgians feel about the Muscles from Brussels. It was a real local perspective on an international star. And we planned to visit the neighborhood where most of the action takes place to really solidify our appreciation for our new cultural understanding, but there just wasn't enough time unfortunately.

However, we did get to live a bit of culture in Bruges. In Bruges, brother, mother, and I watched In Bruges. I'd seen it before, but really benefited from the refresher.

After watching the film, we were armed with the knowledge that we were in the midst of a fairytale fucking town, full of canals, bridges, cobbled streets, churches and other fairy tale shit. And swans; the swans are still there.

We made a little In Bruges walking tour in Bruges. Naturally, there is the belfry, the Basilica of the Holy Blood (not actually featured in the film, that scene with Jesus' fucking blood is in the Jerusalem church), the Grote Markt and so forth. The dwarves, fat Americans, and annoying Canadians were nowhere to be seen.

We tried to find 17 Raamstraat. There actually is a Raamstraat, but it wasn't where the scene was shot. That was somewhere east of Jan van Eyckplein.

So take my word for it: don't be an uninformed tourist! Arm yourself with knowledge and understanding, and you will be richly rewarded.

Thank God for Pirated DVDs!

Last night after dinner with some Germans and Adam, we all stopped into a convenience store.

I didn't want anything, I was just looking at the pirated DVDs for sale when I saw this movie. I knew it was a winner just by the cover, the title, and the caliber of actor featured in badass reflective glasses.

I picked up the little sleeve and read the synopsis on the back. This is what it said:

"This is a lesson to all actors: pay your income taxes or you'll end up having to star in crap like this to get you out of the hole. Wesley Snipes is a disillusioned CIA assassin protecting a bad guy from badder guys. I don't know why. Three quarters of the film is a shootout in a hospital. Robert Davi spends most of his time having a heart attack, and Zoe Bell demonstrates why she's a stunt double. Except for the story, the dialog, the acting, the direction, the choreography, the special effects, the cinematography, the editing, the logic, and the music, it's not bad. Completely ignored everywhere but Japan."

It actually said all that. I was confused at first because it was so funny, and I couldn't even process it at first. I wish people wrote synopses like this more often. It's enough to enjoy without actually watching the movie. Thank god for media pirates with senses of humor.

How to Pass a Weekend in Hanoi

Friday night we met up with Courtney, Randy, Yannis, and Carlos from soloing and Cat Ba. After all of us finding our separate ways back to Hanoi, we met in the same hostel and had a little reunion night out; just heartwarming, I know.

We started by playing Asshole and drinking free beer in our hostel, then went out in search of bia hoi which took way longer than it should. Twelve beers on the street put us back a total $3.50. Then it was off to karaoke. At least that was the plan.

Google Maps led us astray, down a little alley by our hostel to where there was most certainly no karaoke. We went to a bar instead and a bartender was spinning and tossing flaming bottles of booze. Then the mouthy friendly woman behind the bar gave us directions to a karaoke place, and the cab driver brought us there to find no karaoke. We demanded karaoke and the driver asked someone where he could drop us because we had agreed to pay way too much for the ride and the least he could do was just get us to a karaoke place.

We got to one, but they wanted to charge like $20 an hour per person. We walked back to eat and drink on the street in our neighborhood.

That was Friday. On Saturday everyone had left except for Adam and I, and we were feeling lazy so we went to the movies. After accusing the cabbie of bringing us in the wrong direction, I was humbled when he brought us straight to the theater.

The map I had looked at showed it way north of us; it turns out that the Internet is occasionally not to be trusted. Who knew? It's hard to give the benefit of the doubt sometimes when you're constantly getting hosed - my bad.

We went to see Faster, but Adam talked me into seeing Due Date instead. It fucking sucked. Don't see it unless you like flat rehashed jokes that just aren't that funny, and films that are broadly uninspired in every way. The best part was when Robert Downey Jr. punched an obnoxious little kid in the gut.

Fortunately, we got there early and the movie was finished by 8PM and Faster started at 9PM.

Double feature!

Faster was infinitely better. The Rock was pissed off the whole time and had about eight lines of dialog, like a juiced up inked up Frank Morris. Here's an example of dialog:

After the warden's lengthy monologue -upon The Rocks release from prison - about darkness, life on the outside, and turning a new leaf,

Warden: Do you have any questions?
The Rock: Yeah. Where's the exit?

Truly awesome stuff. Billy Bob Thornton is a junkie cop, and there's some sissy British guy who's a prima donna hitman. There were no boobs, despite a quick scene in a strip club, and after taking so many steroids to get so jacked, The Rock strangely didn't even take his shirt off.

Here's one more example of how awesome the movie was:

The Rock is about to execute a pastor who had severely wronged him in the past, before the pastor "found God" and turned his life around. The pastor, invoking his unwavering faith, beseeches The Rock for mercy in God's name:

The Rock: God can't save you from me.

Pure class, pure entertainment. It's a train to Hue tonight, then Saigon, then god-knows-what.