"I am Saigon-people"

The next day was another fun-filled day visiting factories and navigating our way through poorly
paved roads, when there were paved roads at all. There’s no sense in boring you regarding my factory visits, needless to say it was more of the same, with government controlled or influenced factories performing on a lower level than those running under a free market orientation. My colleagues from our agent’s office were much more comfortable come lunch time so we didn’t need to meander around for an hour looking for a “suitable” place to eat, we simply grabbed some seats at an outdoor restaurant on the banks of the river and enjoyed a nice local meal. My friends invited me to dinner that night to a popular local place that is frequented by both Vietnamese and expat residents. The food was outstanding and it soon became a game to see what else the foreign white dude would eat. I had reminded them several times that I had lived in Asia before and had traveled extensively, having tried all sorts of strange foods and meats, but they continued to order oddly named local foods in the hopes of getting a reaction from me. While I’ll admit to not knowing some of the things I ate, and am quite sure some of them involved organs or other strange meats I had no knowledge of, it was all cooked and presented very fine and I couldn’t find anything that really shocked my palate.

The next day was more factory visits but we were one person short – one of my enthusiastic hosts had gotten ill from the food the night before while the rest of us were just fine. I was grateful I myself was not ill as I had gotten seriously sick on my previous trip to India. Anyways, our work was finally done and that night I went to bed early after a quick bite to eat with my hosts. I was looking forward to the next day, where I had roughly a half-day to myself before having to return to Thailand.

The next morning I got up, had a quick breakfast at the hotel, grabbed my camera, and started out on the walking tour provided to me by an acquaintance I knew who had traveled to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) many times on business. He had sent me an e-mail with detailed instructions starting from my hotel door on which streets to walk down and what I should stop to see. The hotel was located centrally in the downtown area so it was easy to walk around and see the major buildings and sites. Just a few blocks away was the famous Ben Thanh Market, which is a massive indoor/outdoor market selling just about everything under the sun. For any of you who have been to Bangkok, it is very similar to the famous Chatuchak Market, although not quite as big and mostly indoor. They have sections for fabrics, textiles, electronics, preserved snacks, candy, shoes, coffee, seafood, vegetables, and the list goes on. Just about anything you could conceivably think of they had under this one giant roof – with some overflow outside. I originally planned to get something, but as I walked through the market snapping pictures I realized that not only did I not really need anything, most of it was stuff I had seen at just about every major market I had been to in Asia. I was not a coffee drinker; otherwise the impressive selections of coffee beans and ground coffee would have been enticing. There were some interesting snacks and foods, a few of which I grabbed to snack on, but nothing I felt like trying to pack into my tiny carry on. So I just slowly walked around, soaking in the scene and taking pictures. Not quite as crowded or sweaty as Chatuchak in Thailand, yet the merchants were very pushy whenever they saw a white face. Eventually I grew annoyed at the constant badgering and once again was subjected to grabbing, which I don’t particularly like. Its one thing to badger a person verbally to buy something, quite another when you grab their arm. My theory for dealing with it is to simply ignore them, keeping my personal items close and an eye on them at all times, and gently pulling my arm away while never stopping.

Eventually I got back out onto the hot and humid street and kept walking the various streets, snapping pictures as I walked. I was soon badgered again, this time by more of the “bicycle-shaws” where you sit in a cart pulled by bicycle around the city, and also various street vendors selling maps, trinkets, etc. I continued to decline their offers and eventually one of them asked me “You Saigon-people?” My appearance must have prompted the question. I definitely did not look like the typical tourist – dark slacks, black semi-casual/formal shoes, and a loose, solid color, short-sleeve button down shirt. I did have a camera but it was a small digital one that I held easily in one hand.

Sensing a way out of the situation, I immediately answered “yes, I am Saigon-people” Immediately all the vendors and bicycle guides dispersed, leaving me completely alone. Some of the other nearby vendors must have also heard and didn’t even glance my way as I walked by. On the next block I was again accosted by eager street vendors and I decided to test my newfound phrase, stating again “I am Saigon-people” Again, they quietly turned around and went right back to what they were doing. Lesson learned: If you are traveling in Ho Chi Minh City and don’t want to be bothered while walking the main streets or touristy areas, simply tell them you are “Saigon-people” and that you live there and you should be left alone. Hint: this obviously will not work if you don’t at least somewhat look the part. Nobody is going to believe you if you look like the guy I saw walking across the street – fancy designer sunglasses, gaudy un-tucked shirt unbuttoned halfway down to the waist, sun burnt neck and arms, khaki multi-pocketed shorts packed with junk, cheap sandals, a backpack and a big camera. (Note to world: You wouldn’t walk around your hometown dressed like that (hmm…or maybe you do…?) – so what is it about travel that makes you completely comfortable walking out of your hotel room like that?) (Note to SOME older Western int’l businessmen: I would hope you don’t walk around your hometown, day or night, loudly laughing and talking with your colleagues (for all to hear) about the bar you went to the night before and brazenly ogling and talking about girls you see on the street old enough to be your daughter, or in some cases your grand-daughter. What’s unacceptable at home is just as unacceptable when traveling on business – common sense rules of decency, professional behavior, and politeness don’t disappear just because you crossed an international border.)

So provided you are dressed somewhat normally and aren’t carrying bags of souvenirs (sometimes, understandably, this can’t be helped) you can probably get away with the “I am Saigon-people” line and prevent a lot of unwanted attention from tourist vendors. Of course, if you really are a tourist and are interested in taking a bicycle tour of the city or buying some nifty souvenirs off the street, then by all means ignore my advice. I only had a few hours before my flight and wanted to soak in as much of the city as I could before I had to jet, therefore I wasn’t interested in buying any souvenirs – I was exploring.

For lunch, once again I was amazed at the difference between the area around my hotel, downtown proper (surrounded by office buildings) where the prices aren’t much different from back home, and the neighborhoods a good long walk from the main drag. I had an outstanding bowl of pho (Vietnamese rice noodles with your choice of meats, basil leaves, etc.) that cost me less than USD 1.00, and it filled me up. On the way back to the hotel, I was dying in the heat and grabbed a banana shake from a small café about a block away – that cost me USD 5.00 and wasn’t even that good, nor was it of a decent size. An original size Jamba Juice in the states costs 4.50 and tastes better.

Eventually it was time for me to leave and my hotel suggested I leave a good 3 hrs before my flight departure, even though the airport was not even 20 miles away. I took their advice and was glad I did, as it took us over an hour just to get through downtown Ho Chi Minh City.

At the airport it was controlled chaos, as the existing structure was never designed to handle so many people. Unlike India, however, there was some organization to the mess and people pretty much stayed relaxed and the lines were moving. Inside I waited nearly 30 minutes in line only to be told I had to pay the airport tax. I had to go to another line, pick up a form and receipt, and then stand in another line to pay. I got up to the front of the line and the government worker said to me “14 dollars” I explained that I didn’t have any dollars – this was Vietnam and I had plenty of Dong but no dollars. “14 dollars – you must pay!” I again tried to explain that I had no dollars and asked her why, since this was Vietnam and the legal tender was Vietnamese Dong, she insisted on dollars (I knew why, of course, everyone wants dollars as the local currency is pretty much worthless, but of course they can’t tell you that). She again repeated “14 dollars!” I opened up my wallet and showed her all the Dong inside – see? No dollars. “I want to help you, but honestly, I don’t have any dollars, only Dong.” I also pointed out, as nicely as possible, that the airport tax receipt also indicated the tax in Dong, not dollars. She quickly calmed down, realizing that I really didn’t have any dollars and understanding that there wasn’t much she could do about it. She nodded politely and took my Dong and stamped my tax receipt.

Then I had to go back in line and check in again. Whereupon the person working the counter had a runner go back up to the airport tax counter with my tax receipt – I guess to verify, despite the official stamp, that it had actually been paid…..? Then wait for the runner to return, and get my boarding pass. Another very long line through security where they must have stared at and handled my airport tax receipt for 5 long minutes before allowing me to proceed (had there been a recent rash of forged airport tax receipts or something……?). Then another long line to go through outbound immigration. As mentioned in my first report, Vietnam seemed to take immigration very seriously. Once again a very young, very serious young man gave my face and passport, and Vietnam visa, multiple, thorough looks before stamping my passport and allowing me to proceed.

It’s barely an hour flight from Bangkok and I was soon on the ground in Bangkok and headed back to my temporary residence there. All in all it was an interesting trip. Vietnam looks to be a promising place to come for both business and tourism. It is a country full of enthusiastic, smart, and hard working youth and massive development is everywhere. Ho Chi Minh City, at least, reminded me of China roughly 10 or so years ago – on the verge of immense growth and hopefully prosperity for its people. However, there still remains much to be done – transportation infrastructure is very poor and there is widespread corruption and disregard for basic law. Traffic is an absolute nightmare and the weather is unbearably hot and humid almost year round. I highly recommend going and hope to return again someday.

Where do the locals eat?

My hotel was of the 5-star variety and was ideally located and beautifully decorated. An internet acquaintance of mine had commented that he felt it was one of the best, if not THE best, hotels in all of Asia. I found it hard to argue with him as the service was impeccable and the rooms were roomy and well decorated with many amenities. The windows had beautiful wooden shutters on the inside that opened up to a beautiful view of the skyline and local neighborhood. I would stand at the window and watch the morning chaos of scooters and bicycles emerge as the day began. As with all such accommodations, I was grateful my company paid the bill – which they should, after all I was here on their business – because if I had traveled to Vietnam on my own I would most certainly be staying in a cheap hotel of questionable quality.

My hosts were not free for dinner that first night so I was on my own. I simply dropped my luggage in the closet and headed out for a bite to eat. Sure, I could have played it safe and expensed a fat dinner at one of the hotel’s prestigious restaurants, but what’s the fun in that? Here I was in a new city I had never been to before and would have no idea when I might be back. Working all day long meant few chances to see anything, so I decided to take advantage of the hotel’s ideal downtown location and find a local place to eat that wasn’t inhabited by tourists and businessmen.

Easier said then done. In the U.S. we have our Chinatowns, Little Kabul, Little Saigon, Little Italy, etc. In some places, like Oakland or San Francisco, the Chinatowns’ are large enough and offer a diversity of businesses (along with huge Chinese/Asian populations) that an immigrant from China could completely live and survive within their own culture, never having to fully learn the language or fully involve themselves in mainstream American business and culture. The same thing is true of what we call the expat culture overseas; westerners tend to congregate in mostly foreign occupied housing, go to English speaking international schools, shop at English speaking western-style supermarkets, etc. I saw the same thing when I lived in Hong Kong, where entire luxury apartment buildings, clubs, restaurants, supermarkets, and even office buildings catered almost exclusively to expats and foreigners. I knew of one guy who had lived in Hong Kong for over 10 years and couldn’t speak more than a few words of Cantonese and couldn’t remember the last time he had ever ventured off of Hong Kong island, not to mention his own general neighborhood. He worked in an international company with other foreigners and English speaking local staff, ate with colleagues and friends in western-style restaurants, bought his food on the weekend from the local international supermarket located within walking distance from his home, cooked and ate the same food he ate in his home country and mostly hung out with his foreign neighbors and friends. He basically lived life no differently then when he was at home. There’s certainly nothing wrong with that, he was a great guy who just didn’t fancy the Chinese culture or cuisine and felt more comfortable living in his “own environment”.

Downtown Ho Chi Minh City is no expat village, but since it’s mostly a collection of international hotels, multinational office buildings, and tourist attractions it certainly tends to attract a mostly expat clientele. While there were plenty of locals bustling about, there was also an equal amount of, if not more, foreigners milling about, particularly at dinner time as employees were leaving the offices after a day’s work and heading home. In this environment, finding a nice “local” restaurant turned out to be impossible. I first wandered around the streets just to get a feel for the neighborhood, and I am a fast walker and enjoy exploring, so I covered a lot of ground. There were plenty of restaurants, but they catered entirely to expats and foreigners – Italian restaurants, German restaurants, Japanese restaurants, French restaurants. There were some restaurants that claimed to actually serve local Vietnamese cuisine, and perhaps they did, but when I looked through the windows all I saw where western faces looking back at me – which I took as a bad sign, considering I was in Vietnam!

Perhaps some travelers like the “comforts of home” so to speak but when I travel to a new destination I want to try something new, experience at least a taste of local life, and what better way to do it then to try some local cuisine, preferably in a local setting and not chock full of tourists.

Another thing I noticed was the prices. This was Vietnam, after all, a still developing country where the GDP per capita was only $3,100 and food supplies were therefore relatively cheap, comparably speaking. Yet the prices I was seeing on menus were more than I would pay back home in the U.S. It didn’t affect me directly since I could expense it with my company, but normally when I travel to Asia I tend to spend less eating out then back at home.

I finally gave up trying to find out where the locals ate and settled on a Thai restaurant, of all things (having just traveled from Thailand). There were ZERO locals in the restaurant, the only Vietnamese people in there were those that worked there and they all spoke English. Various couples and people from a multitude of origins populated the restaurant. There were some Indian people there, plenty of Caucasians, and a handful of Asians who appeared to be from either Singapore or Hong Kong. I ordered an herb tea, an appetizer, and one small noodle dish: total bill, including tip? USD 20.00. The food was certainly good, but the same meal in Thailand would have cost less than half as much.

Walking back to the hotel I kept getting bothered by bicycle tour guides, where you sit in a little cab pulled by a bicyclist. Other vendors also bothered me with wares or service, and like Bali they were very insistent. I was polite at first, but unlike Bali they didn’t leave me alone. So I finally ignored them and just kept walking faster. At one point I had like 3-4 guys hurriedly following me, all shouting at once for my business – I think I would have been treated differently had I not been alone – perhaps families or groups were bothered less, but it’s a little unsettling to be in a foreign city in the dark at night, walking alone, and having people accost you aggressively for business.

To be continued….

Traffic, Traffic, and more traffic......

Bangkok, Thailand is famous for its bumper-to-bumper traffic; it makes Los Angeles traffic look like a cake walk. But nowhere I have been can compare to the horrid mess that is known as Ho Chi Minh City traffic. There is only word to describe it: chaos. Make that two words: utter chaos. Ho Chi Minh City is a city undergoing massive development on a very fast scale along with rising incomes and a growing middle class. The preferred mode of transport in and around Ho Chi Minh City is the scooter. I had heard that scooters were prevalent in Vietnam but nothing could have prepared me for what I experienced. Scooters were everywhere, going everywhere, and in every direction, in complete disregard to the right of way, signage, and basic road laws. In Ho Chi Minh City, everyone wants to go all the time regardless of direction, traffic flow, or traffic cops. At certain intersections and especially during rush hour traffic cops play a losing battle trying to direct the mass of scooters, motorcycles, buses, and cars and everyone tends to ignore them.

Another problem is that once you get outside of Ho Chi Minh City proper the quality of the roads declines considerably. Whereas the airport area and downtown look like just another bustling, developing big Asian city, once you venture far enough away things start to take on a decidedly worn feel. Nicely paved and divided streets turn into potholed sloppily paved streets with gravel sidewalks. Occasionally the pavement would end and we would find ourselves on dirt roads for awhile occasionally cruising through deep mud holes before finding a patch of pavement again.

Before my trip I had planned to visit a number of businesses located in what I considered close proximity to Ho Chi Minh City. Then my agent had informed me that it would be very difficult to visit so many factories in such a short period of time and scaled things down. I accepted the scaled down version but insisted on keeping a couple of key factories on the list, insisting that we find a way to fit everyone into the schedule – after all, none of the factories were more than a 10-15 miles away from each other. My agent patiently explained to my ignorant self that the transportation infrastructure in Vietnam left much to be desired. No worries, I thought, I had seen some dodgy roads here and there in my time – how bad could it be?

Bad. Really bad. From the airport to the first factory was only about 20 miles – and it took us over an hour. As mentioned above, crowded city streets gave way to single lane, roughly paved roads with gravel sidewalks. These in turn became pot-holed nightmares with the occasional dirt patch thrown in. At times we turned completely off the main road and were cruising on rough dirt roads along with bicyclists, water buffalos, carts, and pedestrians. I have no idea what war-era Vietnam looked like, but I can’t imagine much has changed outside of Ho Chi Minh city. Lots of bicycles, scooters, and pedestrians driving down narrow, poorly maintained roads, with rickety storefronts facing the streets with faded residences upstairs; the occasional rice paddy or tended field, carts being pulled by water buffalo, and old communist party murals and pock-marked billboards from the war era. Occasionally you’d even see the rusted hulk of some military vehicle or other war-era relic, overgrown with weeds.

Eventually we made it to the first factory, which was a sprawling facility in the middle of the jungle, a good 20 minutes from what passed as the main road. I’ll spare you the details of factory visits and business meetings, but suffice it to say there are huge disparities between the fairly new private ventures and the old-school government owned and operated factories.

The private facilities were often bustling with activity, well organized, with many modern manufacturing procedures and processes in place. Government owned factories tended to be less organized, less efficient, and simply appeared as if they had seen better days. They tended to boast official party connections with numerous certificates from party organizations and multiple pictures of prominent party members. It’s not that these factories weren’t producing – they were, and they certainly worked hard, but they have some catching up to do if they want to be the equivalent of the private market.

Another thing I noticed, which I am sure will rankle the true communists out there, is that the employees in the non-government run facilities had a safer working environment and were often paid better and treated better than their comrades in the government operated factories (Although they also worked harder, and faster too). There seemed to be a lot of down time at some of the government run facilities. At one government run facility I went to they were constantly boasting of their party connections and that they were better than all the other factories in the neighborhood – not because of some perceived competitive advantage or that they had some kind of unique product or manufacturing process, but simply based on their party affiliation. There was no logic to it, but they seemed to believe that they were superior simply because they were more strongly connected to the party. Every time I questioned them about what I saw were deficiencies that needed to be improved it was dismissed with a wave of the hand and a pronouncement that their close party ties would solve everything.

At lunch time my colleagues appeared visibly nervous and began chatting furiously with each other and the driver in Vietnamese. We got out to the main road and made several u-turns and went down a few side streets before I finally asked them what was wrong. They smiled shyly and said they didn’t know where to eat. This was officially “the sticks” by Western standards and they didn’t know where to eat that would be deemed “suitable” by my Western mind. I politely informed them that I considered myself a world traveler who relished living and eating with the locals as opposed to staying in the sanitized picture of 5-star hotels and business restaurants that catered entirely to foreigners. They looked at me skeptically – Was I saying that I would be comfortable eating at some roadside restaurant with the locals? Absolutely, in fact I preferred it. They found my reply humorous and, obviously relaxed now, quickly gave the driver some directions.

I found myself at a small, airy, very clean open air restaurant with high ceilings and numerous fans to keep the hot, muggy air moving. The restaurant staff froze when they saw a white face and stared at me, standing there in slacks, a button-down shirt and tie, eyes wide open with surprise. My colleagues chuckled and I got the impression that maybe, just maybe, this restaurant rarely served foreigners. I was laughingly asked what I wanted to eat as the menu was completely in Vietnamese – no surprise of course. They then told me we would be eating a very typical local lunch.

It was nothing I hadn’t eaten before in Vietnamese restaurants in the U.S., but the way it was served was much different. Basically we ate spring rolls, but unlike in the U.S. where they come to the table all wrapped up and on a plate, here they bring you several plates of flat wraps and a huge platter of ingredients and sauces. You picked the vegetables and other ingredients you wanted to eat, wrapped it up, and chowed down. We also had small bowls of noodle soup as well. It was refreshing and delicious. The restaurant was meticulously clean and before eating they had distributed plastic-sealed sanitary wipes to clean our hands before eating. My colleagues were pleased that I enjoyed the meal and openly relieved that they didn’t have to drive around in circles for an hour trying to find a “foreigners” restaurant.

At the end of the day I checked into my hotel which was conveniently located in the heart of Ho Chi Minh City in close walking distance to all the major attractions and the main business district of the city.

To be continued…….

Welcome to Saigon! Er...Uh...I mean Ho Chi Minh City

I was excited to go to Vietnam, a country I had always wanted to go to and see how things had changed since they opened up to the world and the U.S. normalized relations with them. I had heard mostly positive reports from business colleagues and some of my more adventurous travelling acquaintances, which only served to fuel my excitement in going. Unfortunately, my trip was all work and no play, with only half a day of free time. However, I was given an outline via e-mail of a great half day walking tour based on my hotel location from a friendly stranger which proved to be just perfect based on the amount of time I had.

Despite normalizing relations with Vietnam and their booming economy, there are no direct flight options to Vietnam, although most of the Asian air carriers have connecting flights to Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi. I had already flown into Thailand so it was an easy 1 hour flight from Bangkok to Ho Chi Minh City - they are pretty close. I took Thai Airways from the brand new Suvarnabhumi International Airport in Bangkok and was told to get there early. Boy was I glad I did. The new airport in Bangkok is massive and that goes double for the check in area for Thai Airways. Not that its size helps much, the line to check into Thai Airways - for both Int'l and Domestic flights - ran out the door and down the sidewalk. Despite having rows of check-in counters available the staff simply couldn't check people in fast enough. Worse, there was no way of knowing which row of counters you had to go to for your flight until you managed to get through the door and into the terminal. After wasting an easy 30 minutes inching forward in this long line, I finally saw a sign that indicated check in for business class passengers (thankfully my company pays for business class tickets when travelling overseas). Once I got there it was smooth sailing and I was on my way to the gate.

However, once I got to the gate they announced that the flight was delayed (I apologize to my proud Thai friends but this is quite normal for Thai Airways, delays are too frequent and common). So despite arriving early and sweating in a long line I was destined to wait for Thai Airways to get their act together. Eventually, they herded us onto a bus on the tarmac where we drove around in what seemed like circles for 15 minutes before getting to our plane. (For your information, Thailand opened the new airport before it was 100% complete just to save face since it was already a couple of years late. Because of this, construction is still going on in various sections of the airport and not all the gates are available for the number of flights being handled by the airport). I settled down in my seat and closed my eyes and away we flew. It seemed we barely had time for a quick meal and a drink before we were landing in Ho Chi Minh City.

For those of the Vietnam War-generation, Saigon is the only name they know for Vietnam's largest, bustling city. Even the 3-letter airport code - SGN - has remained the same. But after the Vietnam War was ended, the government renamed it Ho Chi Minh City in honor of their beloved leader. For some people my parents age and who lived through that era it will always be known as Saigon and in fact many of the locals still refer to it this day as Saigon. However I found that many of the younger people did refer to it as Ho Chi Minh City, particularly when talking to a foreigner.

The airport is old and dated but it should be noted that Vietnam is making significant investments in transportation infrastructure and a new airport was hastily being constructed next to the old one. Althought the structure was quite dated and obviously unable to keep up with the number of flights and passengers being handled, everything was kept quite clean and orderly. While both the outside and inside looked as if they hadn't been changed much since the 70's, it was conspicuously clean and well organized. Long lines formed at immigration and when I got closer I could see why. Vietnam is one of the very few countries I have been to where the immigration control officers take their job seriously. These guys must have looked at my passport, their computer screen, my face, and back the passport again a dozen times over many long minutes before finally stamping my visa and passport and allowing me to go on my way. The baggage claim area was neat and orderly with uniformed government airport officers keeping close watch on everything. The AC was surprisingly in good order.

The official Vietnamese currency is the Dong and it's close to worthless. Up until a few years ago everyone openly accepted US Dollars in addition to Dong - in fact, even today, you can still find prices for some things in Dollars and not Dong. However, several years ago the government clamped down and mandated that goods and services must be tendered using the official Dong currency. The current value of the Dong is about 16,700 to the dollar, although it fluctuates widely and the rate you get from banks and hotels can vary from about 15,000-16,000 and is subject to change by the day. Because of this, Vietnamese use very few coins, with almost all transactions being done using paper money of large denominations. I had promised a friend of mine to pick up some Vietnamese coins and the only way I could do it was to beg a restaurant to give me a portion of my change in coins instead of paper.

I changed a small portion of money at the airport, figuring I could hit an ATM or bank later to exchange more. Besides, I was there on business and would be in meetings all day every day so there was little chance of me spending a lot of money.

Walking outside the heat was nigh unbearable. That sounds hard to believe coming from hot and humid Bangkok, but for those who know how hot Bangkok is believe me when I say that Ho Chi Minh City is even hotter! The humidity is worse than almost anywhere else I have been and the temperature several degrees hotter than Bangkok. I squinted my eyes in the bright sunlight outside as I looked for my agent who had come to pick me up. I noticed a bright smiling young man who looked as if he could have passed for 19-20 yrs old oustretching his hand and greeting me by name. His English name was James and it turns out he was indeed young, although more like 25-26 than 19-20. Again, like so many other Asian countries I had been to, it seems as if the young people are "in charge" just about everywhere. I met the other people from my agent's office who would be accompanying me the next few days and it turns out I was the oldest in the group at 33 yrs of age and the only one married! We quickly set off for our first factory visit and meeting in a mercifully cool SUV.

To be continued.........

Bali, Indonesia wrap-up

Meant to post this a very long time ago (I finished my trip to Bali way back in May 2006 - talk about procastinating!) but just got back from Costa Rica and before that spent a month in Vietnam and Thailand, so I have a lot of posts coming up about my recent travels. That and keeping up with my other work as well as taking care of my rapidly involving and active 11 month old has made it difficult to keep up with the blogging. So this post will be brief so I can begin my posts on Vietnam.

Bali is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to. The Balinese people are cheerful and they have a very unique culture with their own strain of Hinduism. I think that's why the terrorist attacks were such a shock, it's hard to fathom such an attack taking place in such a relaxing and peaceful environment. The loss of confidence in security and the multiple travel warnings from Western governments have kept the flocks of tourists away and the Balinese economy has suffered greatly. Walking down the quiet and lonely streets of Kuta and Legian Village being physically accosted at every turn by desperate stores and street vendors is a sad experience, considering those areas used to be jam-packed with shoppers. Tourism is the number 1 industry in Bali and the terrorists nearly destroyed it.

That desperation has shown itself in the unbelievable admonitions of the locals who repeatedly insisted to me that there were "no more terrorists" and that Bali was "perfectly safe" with please to personally encourage my friends and relatives to come back to Bali. While the tourist trade has been slowly trickling upwards over the past year, it is still a fraction of what it used to be. Hotels and some major tourist areas have made significant investements in security, but should the terrorists decide to strike again I doubt it will make much difference, considering Indonesia's inability to properly prosecute and convict terrorists and the endemic corruption (particularly at the police and local government levels).

That's not to say I won't be back - I hope to go back one day to enjoy Bali again. Some people say it's not worth the risk, but I lived through 9/11 in NYC, which was far worst than the Bali terrorist attacks. The bottom line is that you are no longer safer ANYWHERE you go - terrorists have and can strike anywhere, America and Europe are no exception. That doesn't mean you should strap on a backpack and go hiking in the mountains of Taliban-controlled Waziristan or take a walking tour in Anbar Province in Iraq, but even so-called "safe" destinations are no longer safe. While I would be careful in Bali, I wouldn't avoid it - it has far too much to offer and its people deserve better than what they are dealing with now.

Post-Trip Report: Observations on India

While the majority of my postings were basically just day-journals describing where I went and who I met, etc. I wanted to do a post-trip report detailing some of the things that I learned or discovered and thought were interesting, at least to me.

India:
India's greatest export is human talent and they know it. Everyday I read the newspaper and managed to read the occasional local English language news magazine. They were chock-full of advertisements for private universities, colleges, and technical schools offering degrees in Medicine, Engineering, Computer Programming and Science, Advanced Chemistry, Physics, or Biology, Nursing, etc. The advertisements openly stated that their goal and purpose was to prepare their students for overseas positions in the U.S., Europe, and other developed nations, some even made dubious claims that guaranteed their students placement with a multinational firm. Despite India's "developing" status it is still an incredibly poor country with huge income disparity, massive poverty, barely functioning infrastrucure, mass pollution, and a rocky democracy. Anyone with enough education or money to immigrate has done so or is trying to do so. The few wealthy I met who were content to stay were those that owned factories and business and often had government or influential family connections. They lived in considerable luxury, driving Mercedes and BMWs, servants to take care of their every need, and took vacations all over the world, so they had little desire or need to move anywhere else. From what little I could gather, it was the middle class or somewhat upper middle class that was yearning for a new home elsewhere.

My agent had tried unsuccessfully to immigrate to the U.S., Germany, and France. He still had aspirations to move his family to another country, despite being fairly well off with what would be considered a very good job in India. A short time before I arrived he had gone to a farewell party for one of his close friends who had finally managed to find a way to immigrate to, if I remember correctly, Australia - after numerous attempts to European countries and the U.S. over a very long multi-year period. He had another friend who had spent a small fortune obtaining an engineering degree and several years of experience in a big Indian firm just so he would be considered for engineering positions overseas. After many months of searching, he finally got picked up by a firm in California willing to sponsor him for a work visa.

Bottom line, Indians are very well aware that the industrialized western world is short of skilled scientists, doctors, and technical workers such as engineers. There is a huge market for educating and developing skilled workers to supply developed countries and there is plenty of interest from the public.

The difference in our education emphasis was profound. Talk to most Indian parents and they will tell you their children are studying science, math, technology, finance, etc. Same goes for the students, who invariably end up studying whatever their parents want them to. While there are liberal arts colleges and classes, it seemed to me they were in the minority. When I told them that in the U.S. our students, for the most part, studied what they wanted to despite their parents' expectations, they were horrified that a child would even consider not fulfilling their parents' wishes. Keep in mind that this is a culture where some marriages are still arranged.

As can be imagined, many Indians are vegetarians, but what may be surprising to some is the militancy to which some Indians take it. For example, in Delhi some landowners refuse to rent to non-vegetarians. They will ask potential tenants if they eat meat or not - if the answer is meat, then they refuse to rent to them. This is obviously discriminatory and would never fly in the U.S., probably they even have an anti-discrimination law, but nobody follows it. In fact, that is a common feature of third world and developing countries: a lack of respect for the law and little enforcement of it. Many people just ignore the laws in place because they know there is little to no consequence for not following the law.

Another example of this is the concept of multiple wives, which from my understanding is forbidden by largely ignored laws. It is seen as a sign of affluency to have more than one wife. Of course, you can only be legally married to one wife, but often men will take a second or third "wife", just not legally marry them. Sometimes they all live happily together, sometimes the men will have several homes with a wife in each. Most of the time the first wives were fully aware of the situation and some were quoted as saying they had no problem with it - as long as their husbands took care of the family and the finances, then they were fine. However, I did read one story where they finally busted a guy after one of his newer wives complained - seemed he travelled a lot and was in the habit of marrying a girl in just about every province he visited. He even had homes and kids with these "wives" and somehow managed to keep it all in order without any of this wives realizing he had other families. He even used false identities in some cases to secure marriages. Eventually he was found out and they sorted through the guy's messy life. In most cases the men simply ignored or flaunted the law.

While many in the cities are well educated and live modern lifestyles, one only has to travel a short way outside the city limits to find dirt poor Indians living in the stone age. What middle class exists is thin, with most of society divided between urban and poor - you either live in a city in the modern world or eek out an existence in the rural country. As I stated in one of my India posts, it was not uncommon to see a shining gigantic mall and right across the street are farmers living in tin huts raising chickens and scratching out a living in the dirt. Often both sides were living smack dab next to each other.

The communist party has always enjoyed a fairly strong presence in Indian politics and from what I read it seemed they had taken good advantage of these "class" differences to bolster their numbers. I was alarmed to find that in one province the communists had won a large majority and was considered a major victory. Photos showed huge crowds of supporters in red shirts. My colleague could see I was surprised and told me not to worry, that the communists were a minority and not so bad. Yet one of the party organizers had named himself Stalin - legally changed his name to Stalin! - and it is an open secret that there is a growing Maoist insurgency wreaking havoc in different parts of India.

All the Indians I met were incredibly friendly, gracious, and polite. While certainly part of that is due to being on a business trip where I was the client, Indians are simply gracious hosts and value hospitality. They are also very proud of their history and culture, it only takes a few prodding questions about this or that landmark or building and they will eagerly provide you with a detailed history about it. Everywhere I went my Indian colleagues were eager to find out if I liked the food or pushed me to try something different. They went out of their way to ask if I was happy with the hotels or had any problems and seemed especially pleased when I complimented them about their offices or operations.

While we mostly avoided politics, the Indians I met seemed to genuinely like America and Americans, although many also expressed disappointment in our alliance with Pakistan, their old enemy. India has long been a victim of terrorism from a myriad group of enemies, long before the U.S., and those I spoke to expressed their strong opposition to any and all terrorist attacks and sympathized greatly with the U.S. during and after 9/11. Those I spoke to were avid supporters of the war on terrorism; some thought we weren't doing enough to kill terrorists and wondered why we showed so much restraint, and one gentleman even suggested we changed the wrong regime - he said we should have taken over Pakistan instead of Iraq.

While I thoroughly enjoyed all the wonderful people I met and found Indians to be incredibly friendly and gracious wherever I went, I can't say that it is a country I am looking forward to visiting again soon. I loved the food and have definitely made at least one good friend, but the entire country is basically broken - nothing really works. Sure, they have beautiful 5 star hotels with every amenity and modern air conditioned tour buses and cars that will take you to every major attraction you wish to see, but step outside that false comfort zone and you will find that all is not as it seems to be. Infrastructure is old and dated and unable to keep up with the pace of growth. If it weren't for the numerous generators installed at hotels and factories and major office buildings the electricity would be going out intermittently throughout the day. Litter was everywhere and in some cases piles of trash were found in the middle of fields or just on the side of the street. The pollution is almost unbearable and traffic is insane. Of course, it didn't help that I got horribly sick while I was there, that will put a damper on anyone's trip, but even when healthy I just saw a country trying to catch up with the industrialized world. Surely, they are making progress, and with such intelligent and hard working people I believe they will get there and become an economic powerhouse in the years to come. But that day is years away.

Next: Bali post-trip comments.

Eager to go home

This day was my last day with our agent and transportation rep, neither of which was local, both having travelled away from their families and homes on Java. Even though Bali is also a major vacation destination for local Indonesians from Java and other islands and provinces, being away from their families was taking its toll and I could tell they were itching to get this day done and head home.

Once again we headed up to Tampaksiring and by this time I was recognizing the roads and landmarks as we travelled into the hills. We visited a new supplier for my company who, like so many others in Bali, had simply located their "factory" in a residential area behind their house. They had about 20 workers busily carving and finishing different types of handicrafts in a large building constructed behind the main house. A small driveway connected their "Cargo loading area" to the main street outside. The owners were very young and had only started the business a couple of years prior. They were very proud of their accomplishments, although they seemed somewhat uneasy at their long term prospects, having only secured a handful of major accounts.

We then moved on to another factory located in yet another area we had been to before. This one consisted of several buildings thrown up amongst fields of rice paddies. They were substantially larger with a somewhat more traditional factory operation in the western sense, although I was confused as to why they had located in the middle of nowhere, I guess it was really cheap. The owners were interesting. They were a married couple, the husband a local Balinese and strict Hindu, and his wife a former Muslim from Java. I was a bit surprised as most of the married people I had met were either both Hindu or Muslim or Christian, never a mix of the two. The man's wife had since converted to Balinese Hinduism after marriage, mostly because her family and friends had denounced her decision to marry someone outside of the faith, declaring her "unfit" for Muslim membership. She explained that the decision to marry her husband was one of the toughest decisions of her life. A devout Muslim her entire life, it was expected that she would simply marry a fellow Muslim man, most likely arranged by her parents. She kept her relationship with her Hindu husband secret for awhile out of concern for her parents reaction. When she announced she wanted to get married to him, her family was very angry, with her parents threatening to disown her and receiving threats of bodily harm from so-called friends and relatives. She decided to stick with her decision and her parents basically cut off communication and refused to attend her wedding. She still maintained limited contact with some of her relatives, but the relationships were strained. While she had converted to Hinduism she explained that she still could not bring herself to eat pork, while her husband could not eat beef (Muslims don't eat pork because it is considered an unclean animal while Hindus don't eat beef because they consider cows to be sacred animals). She laughed, saying this made for some interesting dinner combinations, particularly when they went to her in-laws for dinner. Despite her family troubles, she seemed very happy and content with her new life in Bali. She took us out for lunch to a restaurant set amongst fields of rice paddies. It was very quiet and peaceful and kind of odd to be eating lunch while farmers worked the fields only yards away.

Later I asked our transportation rep, who was Muslim, what he felt about this woman's situation. He said it was not an uncommon reaction among the Muslim community to reject or threaten those that marry outside the faith or convert away from Islam, although he was quick to point out that reactions varied heavily depending on the family and situation, with some being more harsh or far more lenient than others. He said he was not surprised at her story but personally felt no ill will towards other religions or those that converted to other religions. I should point out that the management staff of the factory was of mixed Hindu and Muslim managers, and they all seemed to get along just fine. I doubt the owners would have hired them if they felt their managers would not get along or would look down at them for their inter-faith marriage.

The last factory visit of the trip was to busy Kuta, the commercialized, crowded, tourist area close to Denpasar, the main city. Here was a very large, western style industrial factory employing hundreds of workers. The owner was supposedly one of the richest men on Bali, who owned several factories and a score of hotels and restaurants in the Kuta area. I won't bore you with details, but on the drive back to the hotel the driver slowed down to point out each hotel and restaurant we passed that were either fully owned or partly owned by the factory owner.

Finally it was time to say goodbye to my wonderful agent and the transportation rep, who were happy that work was done and eager to head home to families. We promised to stay in touch and said our goodbyes.

I went back to the hotel and took a long shower and changed my clothes. This would be the first night I had been alone since my first day arriving. Seminyak, where the hotel was located, was a quieter residential area away from the hustle and bustle of the touristy areas of Legian and Kuta, although it was becoming well known for its many restaurants. I decided to just walk and find something to eat close to the hotel, which involved quite a bit of walking seeing as how the hotel was located right on the beach in the middle of a residential area.

I walked quite a ways as I wanted to get a good look at the restaurants. I finally settled on one of the quieter, smaller restaurants and sat down to eat. I ordered a fancy salmon appetizer, some sort of spicy noodle dish, fresh grilled fish, a vegetable dish, and tropical ice cream for dessert. Total price, including drinks and tip? A whopping USD 5.00!! I couldn't believe it and even asked the waiter to make sure he hadn't charged me in error. He smiled and assured me it was correct. The food was outstanding too, not just basic family-style stuff, but prepared brilliantly and presented like you would find in an upscale Manhattan restaurant.

I walked back to the hotel and spent the rest of the night sitting on a beach chair looking up at the stars and listening to the surf.

The next day I had the day off and decided to do absolutely nothing. Running around visiting factories all day every day for 2 weeks had worn me out and my hotel was so beautiful and the beach so inviting that I decided to just hang out there. I grabbed some newspapers and magazines and plopped myself down in a beach chair at the hotel with the sand at my feet and the ocean in front of me. When I got tired from reading I would take a nap or just take a swim in the ocean, which was incredibly warm. The beach was full of tourists and locals, but not crowded, and again I can't describe in words how beautiful Bali really is.

Later in the day I took a nice swim in the huge pool at the hotel to get all the saltwater off, took a quick shower, and then headed out to the same restaurant as the night before for another wonderful meal.

I woke up the next day feeling refreshed and happy and the hotel took me to the airport. I was eager to get home and see my wife and young son, but I would miss Bali.

To be continued......

"Don't worry, no more terrorists"

My agent picked me up from my hotel promptly along with the representative from our transportation provider, who had been with us all day visiting factories. He asked me if I liked seafood and of course the answer was an enthusiastic yes. He said we would be heading to Jimbaran, a touristy area famous for its fresh seafood restaurants popular with both Indonesian and overseas tourists. It was also popular for another reason, but I would not find that out until later.

Luckily Jimbaran was too far from my hotel, maybe 20 minutes or so. Jimbaran is located several miles to the southeast of Kuta, with its beaches facing the airport in the near distance. The place we were going was a long and crowded narrow street lined with restaurants. The front side of all the restaurants faced the street, but the second you walked through the main door you were outside on the beach. Each restaurant was laid out similarly, with large fish tanks and counter tops displaying the many different seafood items available. Attentive staff pounced on their guests the second they entered eagerly directing them to the choices available and tallying up whatever you chose to eat on a notepad. They in turn handed this over to the cooks behind them, who would then cook your chosen meal on a giant outdoor bar-b-q grill. The restaurants themselves were very small because they only needed to house the grill and the fish tanks and counters full of food - nobody ate inside, you simply ordered your food and then literally sat at a table on the beach. The waves were maybe 10-15 feet away and I wondered if the occasional fast tide washed right into the guest tables on the beach.

Up and down the beach, as far as I could see in the night, was nothing but tables and tables and tables. Each restaurant had their own little on the beach and they distinguished themselves by different colored chairs and tables. I have to say it is quite enjoyable sitting on the beach watching the waves and looking up at the stars, watching the occasional plane land at the distant airport.

Our food arrived and we had 2 grilled crabs, 2 grilled fish (forget the name, but they were delicious), grilled clams, gigantic grilled prawns, and a vegetable dish. My host explained that traditional Balinese ate with their hands and suggested I do the same. While eating with one's hands may seem adventurous and exciting, it is quite messy and all I could envision was my mom's childhood lectures about filthy doorknobs and dirty hands and the risk of getting sick yet again on my trip. But before eating, my hosts and I proceeded to wash our hands at the community sink inside the restaurant, complete with a strong-smelling anti-bacterial soap. So I guess they too were concerned about germs, as everyone in the restaurant made a point to wash their hands before eating. Then we sat down and proceeded to devour our deliciously grilled meal by hand, which, as you can guess, was quite messy, but somewhat fun in a demented child-like way.

As we sat chatting on the beach, my host pointed out a restaurant just 2 doors down that had scant visitors and appeared to be mostly out of business. I asked him why. "That is the restaurant that was hit in the October 2005 suicide bomb attack". Here we were, sitting and eating on the beach that was the subject of a terrorist attack only 7 months prior and the main attack point was only 2 doors down. My host pointed out that while the restaurant we were in and several others seemed to be doing ok, the Jimbaran area used to be heavily crowded with tourists and locals. He said before the terrorist bombings the street outside would have been extraordinarily heavy with traffic and all the restaurants full, sometimes having to wait to get in. Now they were mostly quiet, although the restaurant he had chosen seemed somewhat busy.
I remembered the complete lack of security or police when we drove down the street and asked my host how safe it was to be sitting in such an obvious terrorist target. He laughed and said "Don't worry, no more terrorists". I was puzzled and more than a little worried and annoyed that my host thought he knew for a fact that there were "no more terrorists". This was a distrubing phrase I was to hear more than once talking to people in Bali during my trip. It was as if the fact that some people had been arrested after the bombings who had connections to the acts solved the problem - much like a criminal who robs a bank or your house. You arrest the criminal, no more problem. The overall theory was that since the police and government had managed to arrest a number of suspected terrorists and organizers that there simply were "no more terrorists". No one seemed to identify the problem that terrorism still existed and that while catching some of the people responsible for an act was a good step forward the umbrella organizations and ideology that kept terrorism going were still very much alive. In fact that very day the local news had a story about the Balinese police stopping a suspicious truck from Java that turned out to be carrying explosives and bomb making materials. But "don't worry, no more terrorists". I am sure that some of this was just to reassure me that "hey! Bali is still safe, please come back, tell your friends that Bali is ok, no more terrorists" but it was obvious some people I spoke to really believed it.

But one thing that did resonate with everyone I talked to was the extreme hatred every Balinese had for terrorism in general, particularly the ones that had destroyed the tourist industry of Bali. In targeting crowded tourist areas the terrorists succeeded in killing large numbers of people that included westerners but also managed to kill just as many locals while simultaneously killing the tourist economy that Bali depends on.

Our driver, who ate with us, was Muslim, as was the representative from our transportation provider. I asked them both what they thought of the Bali bombings. The driver said he did not understand it - why would the terrorists want to kill their own people (Indonesians)? He was visibly upset at the damage the bombings did to the local economy as well, he said it was much harder to make money these days compared to before. The rep from our transportation provider, who was not from Bali but Surabaya, echoed similar thoughts, stating that most people just want to live, work, get married, and enjoy life - why would anyone want to destroy that?

After quite some time we decided it was time to head back to the hotel for some rest. The next day we were going out to the same areas, again, to visit 3 different factories.

Handicrafts and interesting people.

I didn't think anybody was reading this thing, so I kind of dropped out for awhile, but after some encouraging words from a couple of people who said they enjoyed reading my travelogues, I decided to continue and conclude my trip to Indonesia.

Luckily I did not have any episodes with the porcelain god that night, I slept incredibly well. I woke up earlier than normal, and feeling quite well although I decided it would be a good idea to continue to be careful about what I ate for awhile, but that would prove to be difficult as the guest in a foreign country.

As is my usual habit, I skipped breakfast - I can't stand breakfast except for maybe a glass of juice - but I did stop and enjoy the gorgeous beach and watched the local martial arts group practice in the surf.

Today I was going to visit 3 factories and as luck would have it none of them were close to each other, they were scattered all over the island of Bali, and Bali is not as small as some people think. It is roughly 60 miles wide and 90 miles long at its furthest points. Unfortunately my agent, who hailed from a town near Jakarta, failed to consult anyone in Bali regarding our schedule, so instead of hitting all the factories in one area and then moving on we were hitting factories in 3-4 different areas every single day, which meant repeating visits to the same geographical areas over and over again.

The first visit was to a factory up in Tampaksiring, which is in the rice-paddy covered hills far above the hustle and bustle of Denpasar, the major city in Bali, and all the touristy areas down south. One thing you will notice quickly in Bali is the number of scooters and small motorbikes and the almost complete absence of sedans or any other 4-wheel vehicle that isn't a pick up truck or suv. There are few major roads in Bali with most roads, particularly outside of Denpasar and Kuta, being of the single or 2-lane paved variety. Once you leave southern Bali the island is very hilly and mountainous with winding narrow roads rising up into the hills surrounded by small villages and dotted with picturesque rice paddies. Those that could afford to buy a vehicle drove SUVs, I assume because of the hilly terrain and occasional absence of paved roads.

Tampaksiring is the handicraft center of Bali. There are numerous export showrooms and handicraft factories everywhere. Of course, calling them "factories" is a bit much, as most "factories" consisted of 20-50 artisans working in a single facility that more often than not was someone's modified house. I was told by my agent that this region of Bali was famous for its artisans, hence the prevelance of small export houses and trading companies. He said certain villages or families were famous for specific kinds of handicrafts - perhaps one village was famous for its stone carvings, another for wood, and yet another for decorative fabrics or metal working. You would find a family or village that excelled in whatever handicraft you were interested in selling or exporting and hire several of them to work in your "Factory". They would in turn refer their relatives and close friends to work with them, so it was kind of a unique experience, as many of the "factories" were simply extensions of one's family or village, with so many of the artisan(s)'s relatives and friends working with them. It is not uncommon to find "Factories" located in residential areas where the chief artisan and his family lived in the house at street level and simply constructed a second building behind the house for production. Imagine simply waking up, walking out your backdoor into the backyard, and opening the door to your workshop to work. It is not unlike some craftsmen we have here in the U.S., particularly those out in the country, who have built their workshops on their home property and simply work from there. People like my Uncle could relate. The only difference is that all the product manufactured in these cottage industries in Bali is for export.

The first factory we went to see was indeed an actual factory although located in a residential area. And it wasn't an industrial factory in the western sense, it was simply a small office with a large building in the back for production. Production consisted of re-working bamboo handicrafts by hand by roughly 20 workers, boxing them up and then sending them by truck down to Denpasar to be shipped out to Surabaya for transport via sea freight to the rest of the world. I was excited to see this factory as I had experienced numerous pleasant conversations and correspondence with the staff from this factory. Sure enough, they were as I expected, friendly as all get out and very genuine and serious about their business and their customers. It is always a pleasure to work with suppliers like this. Everything was fine and in order so we moved on.

We then had to travel all the way down out of Tampaksiring to another village that I think was located somewhere on the southwest portion of the island. The whole area was farmland dotted with the occasional home with a very busy road running through the middle of it. We did not see anything that looked as if some kind of production was going on. We must have driven up and down the same area 5 times before finally stopping in front of a locked gate - was this it?? My agent said it was. Nobody was there. We both speculated whether this was an actual factory or just a showroom, which was not acceptable for our purposes, we needed to see the actual factory. After waiting about 15 minutes a gentleman pulled up to the gate on a scooter and unlocked it. We drove into the driveway of what was obviously a private residence. My agent and I gave each other dubious glances.

Some other workers soon arrived and we were told we were waiting for the owner. We could not see anything that appeared to be production or storage of any kind. While no one appeared to live in the house, the rooms were set up like showrooms, with various products laid out for display. We began to question the workers - is this a factory? a showroom? or a packing/shipping facility? We got answers for all three, which only confused us more.

Finally an SUV pulled up and a young American guy roughly my age hopped out. He introduced himself and I suddenly realized that we knew each other. While we had never met in person, we had communicated with each other months ago regarding a number of factories in Bali. He was the previous agent in Bali, yet he was also one of our suppliers. I did not know this at the time, figuring he was only our agent.

He had been living in Bali for about 18 years. Like so many other stories I was soon to hear from other local expats, he came to Bali on vacation, a surfing trip with a bunch of his buddies. He liked the island, the people, and the culture so much that he decided not to go back. In order to make a living so he could stay, he started buying product from local craftsmen and would fly back to Hawaii and California to sell the products in flea markets. Eventually he got some regular buyers and then started hooking up with larger outfits in the U.S. He spoke fluent Indonesian although my agent said it was with a strong accent.

We finally got to the bottom of things. His company was strictly a trading company, they did not produce any of their own product. They sourced from several different local suppliers, did some minor re-work, and then packed and shipped things out. His previous packing/shipping facility was inadequate so he was moving everything to his showroom, which we were at. He was a nice guy and I had to admire him for sticking to his dream of living in Bali and finding a way to make it work.

Our third appointment was all the way back in Kuta, the crowded touristy area close to Denpasar and the airport. My agent was on the phone conversing hurriedly in Indonesian. He explained to me in English that the driver did not know where this factory was and the directions were too confusing so we were going to meet the owner of the factory at a recognizable location.

It was a freakin' McDonalds. Even in Bali you can't escape the golden arches and this location was very prominently located on a major road. Apparently we weren't the only ones meeting people there, as a number of people were standing on the sidewalk looking around for people they were supposed to meet. Because of the recent terrorist bombings in 2002 and 2005, there was considerable security at the McDonalds, since obviously many westerners dined there. Security was checking vehicles going in and out of the parking lot and I could tell the groups of people meeting others there made them nervous.

Finally a Jeep pulled up and a white woman with red hair rolled down the window and said something in Indonesian. I thought my agent was going to crap his pants. His jaw dropped to the floor as he stammered and stumbled his way over to the jeep. Apparently he had no idea that the woman we were supposed to meet was caucasian. He had been talking and dealing with her for months and never suspected she wasn't Indonesian thanks to her fluent skills in the local language. He told me her Indonesian was completely "native".

The owner of the factory was in fact a British National. When she was very young her father had gotten a position working near Jakarta on Java and worked there for many years. She ended up going to school in Indonesia. Eventually her parents moved back to the UK but she decided to stay in Indonesia. She graduated from high school in Indonesia and even gained her University Degree there as well. She had more Indonesian friends growing up than western friends. She basically grew up Indonesian and while she visited her family in the UK every couple of years she felt that Indonesia was more her home than the UK. She had been in Indonesia for more than 30 years, with more than 10 years in Bali. She had developed an interest in Balinese fashion and home decor and had developed her own export business.

We first went to lunch and they asked if it was ok if we ate local food, which I said would be fine, as a good guest does. We ate at an old-fashioned restaurant just steps from the water with open air rooms and all wood furniture. I had Nasi Goreng, which is basically a mixed fried rice dish containing shredded chicken, egg, fried pork crips, shrimp, a little fish, and some kind of green vegetable. It was absolutely delicious. The Balinese eat a lot of rice, breakfast, lunch, and dinner all consist of rice dishes.

After lunch we went to her factory which was - surprise - a house in a residential area with a building constructed in the backyard for production. The "factory manager" and his family lived in the house and the "factory" was basically a one room building with rows of sewing machines and a storage room for packing finished product. It employed about 30 people. The owner said in all the years she had been in business she had yet to fire anyone. Almost everyone was a relative or close friend of someone else and all were referred by someone else that worked there.

Everything was in order and it was time to head back to the hotel. My agent invited me to dinner that night and said he would pick me up around 7pm or so. So I had about an hour to check my e-mail and enjoy the waves and the view from the hotel.

To be continued.....