Go take a peek below. To see them bigger, click on the fullscreen button on the lower right. To see them in Flickr, click the photo itself.

What they had in common was youth, a simple look about them, an an apparent will to help without asking for anything in return. They were good-hearted Vietnamese, in our opinion, above any suspicion.

Or would you doubt the intentions of a monk inside a Buddhist temple?

The first case: the perverted monk

It was our first visit to a Buddhist temple in Southeast Asia. We were in Can Tho, largest city of the Mekong Delta. And we were given, without any request on our part, a guided visit by a young man who seemed, to our ignorant eyes, an apprentice monk.

What started as sacred, with incense lit for the ancestors and three bows before the shrine, devolved into comical. The so-called monk, who spoke no English, made himself photographic director. He told us to pose with the bell. Under the stairs. With the view to the city. With the view to the street. We got the idea.

the 20th picture he started posing by my side, and the game of permutations resumed: the monk and me before the bell, the monk and me under the stairs…

We obeyed, a little out of respect, a little out of the weirdness of it all and a little out of curiosity as to where this would all culminate. After a certain point Roberto stopped pressing the shutter. He just aimed the camera and smiled. Disobeying a monk, after all, must be wicked bad luck.

What started as scared and devolved into comical soon turned to suspicious. At each shot this Vietnamese Annie Leibowitz found a way to get close to me. His hand migrated from my innocent wait to my hip. Alarmed, I said: “Roberto, the monk just grabbed my butt!”

But the exotic appeal was strong. A part of me wouldn’t believe in what I just felt. It had to be an accident. But the monk, not content with a successful fondle of a Brazilian butt, decided to push his luck.

After exploring my southern zones, he decided to migrate north. You know when you take a picture with someone by slinging your arm over his neck? Well, I think plenty of boys know the technique of leaving the land a little limp if his picture buddy is a lady of sizable bust.

The monk knew this technique. What started as sacred, devolved into comical, and turned suspicious, became startlingly clear. Take note of my expression:

No more pictures. No more joking around. We left in an instant.

The habit does not make the monk. It really, really doesn’t.

P.S. In the photos I’m wearing a tank top, a real faux-pas that I corrected a short while later. In a Buddhist temple, one must cover one’s shoulders and legs. My fail.

2. Pigeons are very, very tasty.

Photo by Naka7a

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3. Beer with ice is tolerable if consumed quickly.

4. “You have such white skin” is the highest compliment you can pay a woman.

5. Food is never fully prepared when it arrives at your table. You finish it off with heaps of fresh herbs and handfuls of sauces.

Photo by mmmyoso

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6. Coffee is only worth drinking when it’s so strong and thick and can double as barbecue sauce.

7. The horn is a most versatile device, useful for things like avoiding motorcycle accidents and announcing your existence.

8. The áo dài is the most elegant, most flattering, most joy-inspiring garment a woman can wear.

Photo by Chiendv

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9. Rats are no big deal.

10. A favour and a service are indistinguishable until the helpful stranger presents the invoice.

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Have you been to Vietnam? What did she teach you?

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When we first arrived in Asia – through Indonesia in July – our bewilderment was complete. We thoughtlessly gave and received items with our left hand and wondered why locals looked at us funny.

We responded to street sellers with exaggerated politeness, unsure of the proper way to turn down an unwanted pitch.

Today, we navigate any market with mastery. We know what prices are fair and we can haggle like a pro. Sign in foreign languages no longer intimidate us. The wild flow of motorcycle is no stranger than a large rat scrambling across the sidewalk ahead of us.

This means it’s time to move on.

We see travel as a constant learning experience. It should take you out of your comfort zone, force you to consider different ways of doing things. It should swarm you with new sights, smells, and flavours. It should always make you feel a little out of place.

Here are the signs it’s time to say goodbye to Southeast Asia:

Driving a motorbike no longer scares me stupid.

I no longer want to try new foods. I tried enough to know what I like.

I start complaining about the locals.

I no longer try to learn the language.

I stop exploring hidden alleys. I know what I’ll find and what reception I’ll get.

An interesting attraction outside my current city no longer excites me.

I use my hotel TV a lot more.

Haggling stopped being a game and has become a routine burden.

Connecting with the locals is no longer my main goal.

I don’t have to remember to use my right hand. It’s become habit.

Hoi An is a mandatory stop in Vietnam’s tourist trail. Secondly, because it’s a historic city, a UNESCO heritage site with lantern-lit cobblestone streets and centenarian homes that survived multiple wars.

But firstly because of fashion. There are an estimated 500 tailor and cobbler shops that make any – I mean ANY – custom-fit clothes. All this in a town of barely 120,000.

In Hoi An, your imagination is the limit. You can design your own clothes. Show up with a picture of a model wearing a surreal dress at a fashion show and ask for one for yourself. You can pick something from one of their phonebook-thick catalogs with men’s, women’s and children’s fashions from American and British brands.

Or you can settle for dresses, shirts and suits from their mannequins, which look identical from store to store.

We spent five days there and lament to admit that it was mostly inside shops or walking among them, browsing windows, getting measured, trying on the results and asking for alterations.

Yes, we became slightly insane, somewhat fascinated, and entirely obsessed. And we learned numerous lessons from our wins and misses. Hopefully you won’t have any of the latter with these tips.

1. Know what you want

It’s better to make a list of things you need before browsing the shops. It gives you focus, essential when making comparisons and setting budgets. You won’t spend money needlessly or feel overwhelmed by the choices in their catalogs.

I preferred to invest on classic pieces with the best fabrics possible, which will never go out of style.

2. Know their limitations

I ordered a pair of black capri pants made with a wool-cashmere blend, the same fabric used in suits. The pants came out exactly as I wanted. But since it’s a snug fit, and the fabric isn’t stretchy, I realized that I’ll struggle to sit down with it.

And because of that, I probably won’t use it much.

We learned that sellers are there to do what you ask, not to to give fashion advice or tutor you in the limitations of each cloth. If you’re a sartorial lamebrain, don’t invent anything. Go for what has been tested and approved.

3. More expensive does not mean better

I ordered from three shops. The most pleasant experiences, at all levels, was with the cheapest one: Thu Vân 2, on 499 Cua Dai St. I bought a total of eight garments, including a suit, for US$150. Many clothes means more bargaining power, but all the pieces came out perfect, and I only had to ask for alterations in half of them.

While chatting with the seller, I learned that the owner has two other stores that sell the same clothes at a much higher markup. Why? They’re in better locations with more foot traffic.

Meaning: When sellers insist their high prices reflect better quality, it’s a lie.

At Bin Hahn, a shop on 53 Tran Hung Dao St., I spent a lot more. Just a three-piece suit cost $105. When I compared to the other stores, the quality and fitting appeared exactly the same. A trench coat that cost me $70 could have been made for $40 in less snazzy shops.

Though I came out lucky, Roberto didn’t. A suit he ordered needed seven alterations on the jacket. On the fifth, it was mangled so badly they had to redo it from scratch. And it still had flaws on the lapel and the collar, which he couldn’t fix becasue we had a bus to catch.

And because he was fed up.

4. Give yourself time

Alterations will always be needed to ensure a perfect fit. Ask them to fix a garment two, three, as many times needed until you’re 100% satisfied.

Go shopping in the morning or at sunset. Stores aren’t air-conditioned and trying on a wool jacket at the height of tropical heat is not only unpleasant, but it makes you overlook some details in your rush to take it off. It happened to me.

But if you don’t want to travel to Vietnam just for clothes, make an order by email. Send your dimensions and a picture of the garment, and they’ll send it to your home.

But be ready to pay a tailor in your city to fix whatever they make.

Here are capsule reviews of the shops we used:

Bi Hahn – 53 Tran Hung Dao St.
Tel. +84 935 071 349
bihanhsilk@gmail.com

The most expensive of the bunch where patrons are served bottled water and wet napkins at each visit. Our experiences were varied: I was happy with my clothes but doubtful whether the prices were justified. Time will tell.

Roberto was extremely unsatisfied with his suit jacket, which needed seven(!) alterations and it still wasn’t perfect. They promised to refund $30.

Thu Vân 2 – 499 Cua Dai St.
Tel. +84 510 3915 007
thuthao@dng.vnn.vn

Not to be mistaken with Thu Vân 1, which is in the heart of the old city and is much pricier (I checked).

I liked what they did and the seller was delightful. Prices were unbeatable. As we say on eBay, A++++++++ seller!

Thu Tâm Fashion – 70 Tran Phu St.
Tel. +84 510 3911 021
clothshopphuoc_ha@yahoo.com

The store that sold me the grey coat with red trimmings (see pics below). Good experience; the coat needed only one alteration. Medium prices if you negotiate.

See the result of this marathon below.

[View with PicLens]

When I crossed from Cambodia to Vietnam, the culture shock was far greater than when I crossed the other way.

There are two ways to explain this.

1. It was a matter of relative durations. We had spent only one week in southern Vietnam before going to Cambodia. A country that was supposed to be a quick side trip kept us for one month. We were exposed to Cambodia far longer, and hardly had time to absorb Vietnam. We got used to one culture, so the change to the other was jarring.

Or 2. It was the people. Cambodians are meek and polite, at least with foreigners. It’s normal for people to mask their true feelings under a façade of extreme politeness. They are big on “saving face” by avoiding public conflicts that can lead to embarrassment.

Vietnam, on the other hand, is far less ceremonious. People are more direct. Bus drivers bark at you to get off quickly at the last stop. People grab your wrist to look at your watch without asking. Shoving in a crowded market is interchangeable with saying “excuse me”.

The first explanation places the responsibility of the culture shock squarely on us. The transition from one place to another was coloured by the choices we made. The second one assumes culture shock is a function of the culture differential between county A and B. That is, it’s entirely affected by the customs and habits of a place as compared to your own. And that the shock would be the same for everyone.

Like many things, the real explanation is blend of both.

While we were touring Indonesia, a German couple we spent the day with were suspicious of the Indonesian affability. Everywhere they went, locals asked them their names and where they were from. They were sure it was a ploy to sell them something they didn’t want.

Bianca and I, however, took it at face value. We understood they were being friendly and curious and we loved that.

That German couple was coming from other Southeast Asian countries with well-trodden tourist trails. Like so many backpackers, they faced a barrage of touts and hawkers, many who try to open a sale by feigning friendship. They ask your name and where you’re from as a gimmick to sell a product.

Whereas Bianca and I were coming from Papua New Guinea, which sees very little tourism and have none of the touts common in Vietnam, Thailand and Cambodia. We weren’t jaded by all the false kindliness like they were.

But nothing changes the fact that Indonesians are, by and large, an extroverted and bubbly people who love interacting with foreigners.

On both counts, the culture shock was a function of our choices – the places we were in before – and the locals themselves.

I think that being aware of this makes jarring transitions a little easier. You might still get annoyed at the (seemingly) odd customs of the place you’re visiting. But you’ll know that it’s partly your own fault.

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If the lottery is a tax on stupidity, paying twice for a Vietnam visa are the punitive damages.

You’re given the choice of a cheaper single-entry visa or a pricier one that lets you enter and leave the country as much as you want in a time frame. Budget-conscious – and logic-deficient – travelers like myself by reflex opt for the cheaper visa. After all, I only planned to visit Vietnam once.

But getting there you remember there are neighbouring countries also worth a visit. And that in some cases, it’s better to visit them as a side trip from southern Vietnam – as in the case of Cambodia – or from the northern half – as in the case of Laos.

I am now in Cambodia with an expired $50 single-entry visa that was used for a measly six days. I had to pay another $100 for a new multiple-entry visa.

The wasted money could have supported me for three days in Southeast Asia.

A little foresight a happy wallet makes.

Holy crap, I’m in Australia!

It was while sitting on a riverside restaurant on the Mekong Delta in the Vietnamese town of Chau Doc, which borders Cambodia. The resto floats on metal drums and bobs gently with the wash from passing boats.

You can see slender ladies with conical hats rowing their canoes across the river to visit a friend in a floating home, who might be washing her hair while crouching on her front porch.

That’s when it happened. “Holy crap,” I thought, “I’m really in Asia! Holy crap, I’m really traveling!”

A danger of extended travel is that it can become routine if you let it. You find yourself in another cheap hotel in another town. You get used to communicating with your hands and haggling over prices on a calculator. Exotic landscapes quickly become familiar as you adapt progressively quicker to alien environments.

You spend much of your time running practical errands, like changing money, and seeking reliable information. Yet the world is slowly becoming alike, and everything is getting easier. An ATM or internet cafe is seldom more than a few minutes away.

Worse still is the ubiquity of free or cheap wifi, giving you an easy refuge to the familiar, where you can forget that you’re in a shockingly different place.

And so I relish the little unexpected moments that slam you back to Earth, that remind you where you are and how lucky you are to be there.

I wish I had the discipline to wake up every morning and offer thanks to whatever force has allowed me to be wherever I am. Instead, I can thank an ageless brown river for spanking some gratitude into me.

What were some of your ‘Holy crap’ moments?

Other ones I had included:

In Solo, Central Java Indonesia, while sitting in a wedang, a food and drink cart that turns sidewalks into lounges with straw mats, iced teas and fritters. The sight of steam rising from food stalls under the pale yellow light from street lamps felt intensely Asian.

Watching a buffalo get sacrificed before my eyes in Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia.

Hoisting a mosquito net over a bamboo and straw bed in New Ireland, Papua New Guinea, where malaria is endemic.

Seeing the Sydney Opera House for the first time.

Feeling the slight discomfort and utter fascination of talking to a drunken Aboriginal woman in the streets of Alice Spring at 1 am.

Grilling green-lipped mussels that I picked myself at the Abel Tasman National Park in New Zealand.

For one month now I have not used a travel guidebook once. I didn’t used one in Papua New Guinea nor in Java. I have no intention of using one from now on.

Doing away with guidebooks is like leaving the backpacker ghetto of a city and plunging yourself into its alien reality. It’s cutting off any safety lines to comfort and convenience.

It is, I daresay, real travel.

It has always felt like a bit of a cop-out to whip out the Lonely Planet in the middle of a street to see where I am and where I want to go. There I am, surrounded by locals who know the city far better than any travel writer. And yet, I run to its selective and incomplete advice instead.

It reminded me of WALL-E, where bloated and pampered humans of the future communicate with those beside them via computer terminals.

Without a guidebook, you have to ask for directions and for advice. You have to communicate with hand gestures and drawing if necessary. You have to risk making bad decisions and getting what you didn’t ask for.

You have to navigate a new place using your own wiles. You have to hone your bullshit radar and tell a tout from a friend. You have to actually learn the strange ways of the place you are visiting.

And when you get to your intended destination, or you discover a hidden gem no one else knows, the satisfaction is orbits away from having simply obeyed a book’s directions.

Ask any chef what makes them feel more accomplished: following someone else’s recipe or inventing a delicious dish themselves.

Of course, having practical advice for travel is helpful, at times essential. But you don’t need to spend money and luggage space no bulky book.

Research online
Half an hour of Web time is all it takes to compile a list of attractions and accommodation. Sites like Tripadvisor, Virtualtourist, Wikitravel, and yes, even Lonely Planet are full of tips and opinions from other travelers.

Just ask
Ask anyone. Your waiter. The cab driver. The guy selling Pepsi on the street. Other travelers at your hotel or hostel.

Hit the tourism information office
There’s one just about everywhere. They have maps and can suggest places you might like.

Go high-tech
If you have an iPhone or similar, load it with local maps and travel websites. There are also tons of travel apps with country-specific info.

Just go
Arrive in a new city without any clue. Haggle with a cab driver to help you find a hotel. Walk around without a map. You’ll feel far more alert, far more receptive, and way more adventurous.