The morning after the morning after

Although my head is still throbbing, I can't help but laugh out loud as I relive the sequence of events of the last 24 hrs. I did indeed partake of the spirit and imbibe a goodly sum last night whilst enjoying the company of a good friend. Never before have I felt like a visitor in my own house, but in my head I was on my trip already and there was no other place I wanted to be.

And as I stopped to reflect , I came to realize the impossibly absurd synchronicity of all that transpired. Starting with the trip to the airport during which a massive pile-up going the opposite direction led my driver to take me all the way to the terminal as opposed to dropping me off at Bart since he would be unable to return until the mess was sorted out anyway. This got me there half an hour earlier and is the only reason I was able to catch the last bus back to Napa. I would never have known that Vietnamese travel agents can secure a visa had I not been serendipitously directed to one at the airport. It was only because I mistakenly thought the consular dept. was open that I even went to the city the next morning.

Once I realized the embassy was closed I had decided that there was nothing to be done. I was about to drive off to Chinatown, but didn't want to deal with parking hassles so I dumped a bunch of quarters into the meter where I was already parked and walked off. The Southeast Asian Community Center? Come on, what are the chances? The very last seat on the only affordable flight leaving this week? Perfect weather at the end of January in San Francisco, which allowed the walk? Having a ticket and a visa after I had decided that I would do absolutely nothing about it? And in the end I'm glad for the abbreviated journey. Three weeks is long enough and I'm currently traveling in the San Francisco Bay Area, one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

No, my friends, it wasn't yet time to embark as evidenced by the fact that my mood was eerily somber on the day of my trip. I shudder to think of the precision with which the universe unfolds. Not really, but that sounded cool. Oh, and a brand new atm card came in the mail and my digital camera just might make it on time. Like it was ever not gonna make it. This has been barefoot philosophy 101.

If you insist

"What the hell am I doing back here in my comfy bed?" I think, as I rise from a deep slumber. I'm supposed to be halfway in to a 14 hour flight to Taiwan. I can fix this. I need to find out: 1) How fast can I get a visa? 2) When is the next available flight? 3) Can I rearrange my time off to fit a new trip? 4) If I can't salvage this trip, where will I watch the superbowl?

The only flight available this week departs for Saigon on Tuesday night. The Vietnamese Embassy is closed until Monday, but the website indicates that the consular department is open for three hours this morning. An expedited visa takes 1 to 2 business days. Today is Thursday. I do the math. Holy crap, I've got to go now! Fast forward ahead and I'm running up the stairs to the Vietnamese embassy. "Sweet dude, like, I totally made it and stuff. Wait a minute. Uh oh, What's this? No, it can't be!" Closed until Monday. That just does not leave enough time to catch a Tuesday night flight. It must have been the D.C. branch that was open today.

Oh, well. I'll figure it out, but there's nothing more I can do right now. It's one of those rare days in San Francisco- warm, sunny and clear; made even more unusual by it's appearance in late February. I feed the meter, not knowing where I am, and head off, not knowing where I'm going. I wander around, not towering over anyone, but feeling like a traveler, when I notice the 'Southeast Asian Cultural Center.' "Cha-ching!" I'll bet they can help me get a "wisa." I walk in and sure enough, there's a travel agency inside and yes, she can indeed help me with that and all of my travel needs. Objective 1 completed.

I call China Airlines to find out how much it will cost to change the reservation. The agent tells me there's a $100 rebooking fee. She then corrects herself, saying there's a $250 cancellation fee. To me, the first number sounds much better and I profess my love for it. She replies that the second number is the actual amount, but... "if you insist, I'll talk to my supervisor."
She tells me her supervisor is at lunch and she'll call me back at two, which she does, and since I insist, it's decided that $100 is sufficient. Objective 2 completed.

I run back to the travel agent all full of glee. I hand her the hundo that she wants and ask her to make sure that my visa is for multiple entries so that I can go to Cambodia and back. The next sound out of her mouth is something between a gasp, a laugh and a scream. "Oh, they want double for that. Communist government want to take all your money." I bet. I decide to go with the single entry and deal with it later, so it remains to be seen if the country formerly known as Kampuchea will be seen.

"One, Two, Three Four. Hit me! I Feel Good." But there is one thing I regret. For the last six days I've abstained from drinking to keep myself sharp. Those are six sober days of my life that I'll never get back so I must begin at once to make up for lost time. One final note: I got the very last seat on that flight and as that was happening my original flight was just landing in Taiwan after it's first 14 hour leg. Cheers

"Where is your wisa?"

San Francisco International Airport.

At 5'9" I don't often tower over anyone, let alone an entire roomful of people. Yet, as I stand in this serpentine queue, that is precisely what I'm doing- towering. Armed with cameras and camcorders, these optimistic observers commence to capture every magical moment of this mundane procession to the ticket counter. Perhaps they are secretly filming the light-eyed spectacle among them. I begin to imagine towering over a sea of these diminutives on a busy Saigon streetside, my Herculean muscles glistening in the sunlight, when I'm called to the counter.

I hand the agent my passport and after leafing through it he asks, "Where is your wisa?" I smile at his Chekovian pronunciation, but the little chef in my gut is sheepishly hinting that I may have forgotten a key ingredient in this recipe. I explain that it's okay, I'm a seasoned traveler. I've even been to Thailand- twice. Enter supervisor. Half waiting for her to say, "Well Mr. Bieler, since you're such an experienced traveler and you've even been to Thailand and all, we're just going to let you slip into the country without the necessary paperwork." But she doesn't say that. In fact, I'm beginning to suspect that someone else may be enjoying the view from my window seat.

With only seconds left in the game and trailing badly I mount my comeback. I take aim and shoot, "How 'bout I just get to Taiwan and get my visa there?" Denied. I grab the rebound, drive downcourt and go for the slam dunk, "What about Thailand?" Rejected. She recovers the ball and calls for a time out. "Go talk to him." The stranger is working the sidelines so I cover him man-to-man until I corner him and discover that he's a travel agent seeing off his customer. Wow, now that's a full service travel agent! When is the last time your agent accompanied you to the airport? Anyway, my last embers of hope are quickly doused as he informs me that the Vietnamese government is closed for Tet, the new year celebration, and there's nothing anyone can do.

"And there's the buzzer folks. The players showed up, but the gameplan was flawed. A heartbreaking last minute loss if there ever was one." I head back to the locker room to regroup. Assuming I can salvage the trip, there is an upside side to all this: 1) a lucky stand-by passenger is going home, 2) that damn camera I ordered too late on the internet might actually accompany me and 3) I won't have to deal with the Tet shutdown. This is the barefoot philosopher signing off.

Welcome

Welcome and thank-you for visiting The Barefoot Philosopher. This first group of stories take place in southern Vietnam and Cambodia. I hope they amuse you.