Mr. Rich

He met us at the airport with a sign that read "Streicher" and a beaming smile. 

He led us out into the steamy night air, scattering jokes and easy laughter like the stars in the Siem Reap sky. 

Proudly, he directed us to his tuk-tuk - an open-air metal conveyance pulled by a motorcycle - and we obediently scrambled aboard. 

And for the next twenty-four hours, our new friend chauffeured us around the archaeological ruins of Ankor Wat, the streets of Siem Reap, and the Cambodian countryside with a never-ending stream of funny stories, interesting quips, and good-natured teasing. 

He took us to a great restaurant for a late-night dinner, told us all the best spots for photos in the ancient temples, and kept us well-supplied with icy cold water during the overwhelming heat of the day. 

He also pretended not to know us when we returned to his waiting vehicle, calling out, "Tuk-tuk for hire! You ladies need a ride?!"

And when my enthusiasm for one last temple was flagging in the midday heat, and I asked him exactly how long it would take me to trudge through the jungle to see the finer points of this particular set of ruins, he looked me straight in the eye and dead-panned, "Just three hours." His twinkling eyes immediately gave him away, but he paused a perfectly-timed beat before laughing deep and heartily at my astonished face and his own sassy wit. 

Suffice it to say, Mr. Rich was a pure treasure. And if you ever find yourself in need of a tuk-tuk driver in Siem Reap, Cambodia, you should definitely look him up. 

Oh, Cambodia!

Never in my life did I ever expect to see the ancient temples of Cambodia's Ankor Wat with my own two eyes. But I did. 

Nor did I realize that there are other temples in the area, each with their own special brand of charm. But there are. 

[More on those later.]

And not in a million years did I expect the people of this tiny country to be so full of big brown eyes, easy laughter, and good natured hospitality. But that is exactly what I found.

Oh, Cambodia! You're entirely full of surprises. 

My Sunny Afternoon With Travis

Meet Travis. He's an 18-year-old Vietnamese country boy turned university student, a former pupil of my daughter and an online buddy of mine. 

Since meeting in my third-born's classroom two years ago and connecting through Facebook, Travis and I have become great friends. He calls me his teacher and asks me all sorts of interesting and curious questions about American idioms and finer points of English grammar. And I call him my student and do my best to explain these puzzling nuances. In the midst of these sessions, we have grown quite fond of one another. 

So it was with great anticipation that I made plans to meet Travis in Saigon last weekend. And a lovely reunion we had together, talking and laughing in a cool McDonald's, sharing cheeseburgers and French fries as Travis talked to us about slaughtering chickens for his home-cooked meals. 

As I've come to expect when meeting far-flung Facebook friends, shadows of difference quickly fade away and the pure light of genuine connection shines in the balance.  I'm grateful for my sunny afternoon with Travis. 

Miss Saigon

Upon arrival in the sweet city of Saigon, we first checked into our hotel with the flurry of lanterns streaming up through the atrium. 

Well. There was also the matter of the taxi driver who tried to cheat us on our fare. But between my feisty third-born's instincts and my tutlage in dealing with Indian rickshaw drivers last year in Hyderabad, we soon got him sorted out. 

Then we were off to explore the city and here is what we found. 

Parks. 

We found a lot of parks. Often their design bespoke the city's French roots, with a mash-up of Communist colors and patriotic statues. Surprisingly pretty and serene. 

French architecture

No, I don't mean French-inspired Asian knockoffs, longingly interpreted by the Indochinese of the 19rh century. 

I mean that the Notre Dame Cathedral was designed by a Frenchman and crest from material imported from France. It stands strong and tall to this day, the pride of local Christians, a bastion of European artistry, and a jewel for all to enjoy. 

Energetic Street Life. 

Yes, as expected, the streets of Saigon are chaotic. More cars than I expected and endless streams of motorbikes create something other than bedlam. Woven together with groups of happy schoolchildren, mid-century architecture, and iconic emblems of her historic past, Saigon's streets are pure poetry in motion.  

A City On The Rise.

Quite literally, Saigin is growing upward and outward, and this fact is readily apparent from the SkyView deck of the Bitexco Financial Tower. I'm not one for squandering a dollar on trumped-up tourist activities but this bird's eye view of the city was well worth the investment. 

Butterflies. 

Standing outside a coffee shop and shooting photos of the street, I witnessed a most remarkable thing. In the midst of the motorcycles, bicyclists, pedestrians, vendors and other citizens of the streets, a single butterfly appeared. Flying past me, flitting straight up the street, its pale yellow wings seemed impossibly fragile, its path far too serendipitous for this tumultuous environment. 

Yet she flew safely on, as far as I could see her go, this bold butterfly. And if she needed a name, I would call her Miss Saigon. 

Ghosts Of War

Cong Caphe is a Vietnamese coffeehouse that capitalizes on a wartime theme. Sure, it's a fun, hipster-driven motif. But sitting in an apparent base camp for the  North Vietnamese fills this American's veins with ice and her heart with a strange, outdated fear. 

When my daughters visit Danang, they experience tropical breezes, ocean waves, and a delightful little city full of bridges, motorbikes, and endless food. 

But when I come to Vietnam, I see ghosts. 

Ghosts of war. 

A war that was fought when I was just a child. At the time, I thought I didn't understand what was happening in this mysterious, far-off land. 

But now I see that I grasped the terror all too well. 

Children dying unspeakable deaths. 

Innocent men and women fleeing danger, desperate for a new home, a new village, a safe place to plant their rice and raise their chickens and pray that life could return to normal. 

American soldiers dying for a war that their countrymen rarely understood and didn't support, fighting an enemy they didn't know how to fight. 

A tiny Asian nation turned against itself in a proxy battle between the two Cold War super powers. 

And a post-nuclear world that looked on in horror as the conflict edged closer and closer to the abyss. 

* * * * *

This is what I think about when I come to Vietnam. And I worry how the people here will respond to a person like me, an American, who dares to come back and stir up those old memories.  

But each time I visit, the gentle people of Danang wrap me in kindness and generosity and love, and I understand that we are all helping each other heal from those terrible ghosts of war. 

Family Reunion

The first hours of our trans-oceanic family reunions always involve working out some kinks. Despite our near-constant communication across the months and miles, our in-person interactions creak and groan at the start, as we re-accustom ourselves to each other's idiosyncrasies and quirks. 

Somewhere around the 48-hour mark, the adjustment process comes to a head. Emotions crescendo, and we hold a pow-wow to sort things out and clear the air.  

And then, refreshed and renewed in ourselves and each other, we move ahead together. 

Welcome Back

Day One

In which a sunny afternoon spent jumping in the waves of the South China Sea and lounging beneath a palm-shaded tiki hut  feels like a warm welcome back to a comfortably familiar place. 

Bathroom Design Deadlock

In less than twelve hours, my friend Beth is coming over to help me design my new shower stall. And as much as I have poured over photos of bathrooms for months and considered an endless parade of options, I simply cannot make up mind.

Postscript | After meeting with Beth and my contractor, Derek, I learned that quite a few of my assumptions about tile and grout were wrong, wrong, wrong. Corrections and mea culpas are interwoven with my previous comments below.

Post Postscript |Wanna see how my shower stall turned out? Read about it here

* * * * *

If I had all the money in the world, I would go with huge, floor-to-ceiling slabs of marble:

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Yum. The handsome veining and seamless construction not only sweep me off my feet, but make me swoon with delight over how easy this surface would be to maintain. I. Am. In. Love.

Postscript | Derek reminded me that water can penetrate even marble slabs and a continuous surface like this one is not necessarily more waterproof than smaller tiles. The real waterproofing work happens in the underlying construction, and the shower finishes are simply an art project. Good to know.

But let's be honest. I don't have all the money in the world. 

So in a more budget-conscious universe, I can happily fall in like with the boy next door, subway tile:

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I love the sweet scale of a classic size subway, which I find particularly darling with a moderate shade of grout.

But here's the thing. I lived through the eighties, sister, and when it comes to keeping grout clean, I've been round the block a few times. All the toothbrushes and baking soda in the world are not enough to scrub out the inevitable discoloration, and I have served penance to such drudgery long enough in my life. Pale grout is out.

Postscript | A lot of things have changed in the past thirty years, and it seems that grout is near the top of the list. Derek explained that today's grout is a completely different ball game: whereas the old grout was porous, the new grout is an epoxy and almost impenetrable; the old grout stained easily but the new grout will unerringly maintain its original color; and clean-up, as they say, is a breeze. I stand majorly corrected.

So how about some dark grey grout? 

Super on-trend, the simple combo of basic subway tile outlined in almost-black can go in quite a few different directions. My favorites are the simple running bond:

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And the herringbone. I drool over herringbone:

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But wait. I have to admit that my first association of subway tile goes to the down-and-dirty walls of the actual subways of Chicago and New York, in all their urine-scented and urban-gritty reality. I do not know if I want to invite those recollections into my personal sanctuary and daily hygiene routines. 

So. What if we switch out the negative associations of rectangular subway tile for some basic old-school square tiles? These 6x6 classics were all the rage during my formative years, and when I think "bathroom tile," they are always the first thing to hop into my head:

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And while I'm not first and foremost a trend surfer, I do love the fact that these old timers are making a comeback. Yep, it's once again hip to be square and I wouldn't mind hopping on that train.

But I still get leery of all that grout. The giant uncut slabs of marble of my fantasies may be out of my checkbook's reach, but what about oversize tiles? These are also surging in popularity, albeit often with a strong modern sensibility, which is not my jam. But, you know, anything to cut down on the percentage of grout in my life:

Postscript | Let me say it again. Grout is no longer the enemy. I was wrong. 

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This oversize subway style is a fun mash-up of the classic shape, and does not conjure up quite as many memories of sweat running down my back or subway screeches crashing through my head when I look at it. Which is a plus.

Or how about 12x12 marble tiles? 

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Here's an option that represents a fine compromise between my original love for solid slabs and my grout-despising sensibilities. My checkbook approves, and I can get excited about this look too.

* * * * *

While my mind spins round and round on basic tile options, other features of my new shower pop crisply into place.

There's going to be a basic rain shower. 

And built-in shower shelf is a must

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I'm a fan of the little blast of hex tiles backing the shelf. 

And I like the long and lean look, with plenty of room for product. For me, that pretty much boils down to shampoo, conditioner, razor and a bar of soap. But it would be nice to know I have the real estate to expand. 

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The vertical arrangement is nice as well. But the skinny glass decorative tiles are so not my jam. Tarek and Christina have done them to death, and I say rest in peace.

* * * * *

Fixtures? More options plunge me deeper into a torrent of indecision.

Brushed nickel is boringly basic.

Chrome is definitely more fun.

But black fixtures are crazy on trend and they do make me swoon. 

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Still, I think this brass is more my style. 

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Realistically, I think my budget will have the last word on this decision. So yes, I will find a way to be happy with chrome.

* * * * *

Hmm. Eleven hours till Beth shows up on my doorstep, and I'm no closer to making up my mind. Let's hope she can work some magic with my indecisive brain, or I may be living with the studs and holes look for a while longer. 

* * * * *

I've looked at a ridiculous number of posts featuring bathrooms, from the decadent to the basic DIY, and these are my most favorite ones:

11 New Trends for the Bathroom by Apartment Therapy

On Choosing Bathroom Tile by Little Green Notebook