Jacq sizing up the mountains outside Vang ViengVang Vieng, Laos - VV is both as ugly and as beautiful as the guidebooks and the travellers grapevine suggest.
Ugly because it seems to be a town built in a style merely to succeed in its two functions, without a thought for aesthetics or decoration.
And its two functions? A) Deliver re-runs of 'Friends TV episodes at full volume to backpackers in the various TV bars around main street and B) send the same backpackers down the Nam Song River in tractor inner tubes and fill them with Beer Lao.
But it's also beautiful. Just 100 metres from the dusty, treeless backpackerland main street is the shaded river bank with its quaint bamboo bridges and small market gardens. A couple of kilometres over the river are the magnificent limestone karst outcrops - home to a natural wonderland of caves, lagoons and streams.
Jacq and I turned our back on the town, rented a moto and explored the karsts for a day.
At one cave entrance a young boy greeted us at his stand which featured a row of headlamps attached to bulky battery packs. We paid our 5000kip entrance fee and followed him into the blackness. Apart from exchanging our names, he never spoke during the rest of the adventure.
The first section of the cave was relatively easy. We saw a buddha and marveled at the stalactites. But the deeper we went the more it became a struggle to squeeze through the passages. I had a camera bag and battery pack to balance on different shoulder straps. Jacq had our backpack.
But it got tougher. The shaft became so small even our guide had to crawl on his belly. Jacq took the pack off and pushed it ahead of her. I did the same with my camera bag and watched in horror as it got coated in mud and dust.
I also started to get a bit nervy about the small tunnel. With Jacq and the guide ahead of me, and another couple with their guide behind, I was feeling a little hemmed in and quite fucking keen to turn back. A sentiment I shared with Jacq in increasingly urgent whispers in the half-darkness.
But we crawled on. Just when I thought I was at melt down stage somewhere deep underground with thousands of tonnes of rocks above me, Jacq announced "I can see sunlight". And it was true.
We had come full circle and swung back to the cave entrance! As I clambered out into the light I felt a little foolish about wanting to turn back when we were so close to the exit.
But to their credit, neither the young guide nor Jacq gave me too hard time about it.
Ugly because it seems to be a town built in a style merely to succeed in its two functions, without a thought for aesthetics or decoration.
And its two functions? A) Deliver re-runs of 'Friends TV episodes at full volume to backpackers in the various TV bars around main street and B) send the same backpackers down the Nam Song River in tractor inner tubes and fill them with Beer Lao.
But it's also beautiful. Just 100 metres from the dusty, treeless backpackerland main street is the shaded river bank with its quaint bamboo bridges and small market gardens. A couple of kilometres over the river are the magnificent limestone karst outcrops - home to a natural wonderland of caves, lagoons and streams.Jacq and I turned our back on the town, rented a moto and explored the karsts for a day.
At one cave entrance a young boy greeted us at his stand which featured a row of headlamps attached to bulky battery packs. We paid our 5000kip entrance fee and followed him into the blackness. Apart from exchanging our names, he never spoke during the rest of the adventure.
The first section of the cave was relatively easy. We saw a buddha and marveled at the stalactites. But the deeper we went the more it became a struggle to squeeze through the passages. I had a camera bag and battery pack to balance on different shoulder straps. Jacq had our backpack.
But it got tougher. The shaft became so small even our guide had to crawl on his belly. Jacq took the pack off and pushed it ahead of her. I did the same with my camera bag and watched in horror as it got coated in mud and dust.I also started to get a bit nervy about the small tunnel. With Jacq and the guide ahead of me, and another couple with their guide behind, I was feeling a little hemmed in and quite fucking keen to turn back. A sentiment I shared with Jacq in increasingly urgent whispers in the half-darkness.
But we crawled on. Just when I thought I was at melt down stage somewhere deep underground with thousands of tonnes of rocks above me, Jacq announced "I can see sunlight". And it was true.
We had come full circle and swung back to the cave entrance! As I clambered out into the light I felt a little foolish about wanting to turn back when we were so close to the exit.
But to their credit, neither the young guide nor Jacq gave me too hard time about it.
Labels: Laos
Bus break down somewhere on Route 13, LaosYesterday we left Luang Prabang and travelled south through the mountains to Vang Vieng, a journey of about 180kms that took six long hours.
The Lonely Planet warned that those who suffered motion sickness should take precautions as the route was a winding, bumpy one. I felt a little worried as I sometimes get sea sick, but I was confident that us spending the extra money on the Special VIP bus would pay off.
Not quite. The bus was a very shabby around the edges, the suspension worn and it had an interior fitted out like an Arabian tent. Curtains covered the top half of the windows, including the windscreen.
It meant that as we started to take one lurching hairpin turn after the other through the mountains, all I could see out any window was the green landscape rushing past first one way and then the other. Deep breaths out the open window and a packet of ginger motion sickness tablets were my saviors during the trip. Even then, it was real "please God, if I make it through this I'll do anything" sort of stuff.
Jacq, normally a rock of stability on buses, was also looking a little green.
Queasiness aside, the journey was still interesting. At some points we crested a hill so high it brought us above the other mountain tops. It felt like we were creeping through a thin space between the sky and the mountain ranges.
In the aisle of the bus a young Lao sat on a plastic stool, an AK-47 assault rifle slung over one shoulder. He looked like any other young twenty something bloke. You know, blue jeans, sneakers and a black band t-shirt. He just happened to have a very fucking serious looking weapon on him.
I guessed he was our security detail, hired by the bus company to protect its Western customers who were weighed down by bundles of US dollars and electronic goods. The LP guidebook had warned that banditry was once a problem on Route 13 and I wondered if perhaps it still hadn't been entirely wiped out by the police.
He was diligent, I'll give him that. He only put the rifle down once, and that was when the bus blew a tire and he got out to help the driver's offside change it. He simply stuffed the dull-grey ammunition clip in the back pocket of his jeans and got to work.
Small highland villages dotted the roadside of Route 13. In many places the terrain was so steep the villages were actually inhabiting the small shoulder of dirt beside the road, it being the only piece of flat land for miles. Apparently a metre or two of gravel is enough for a wooden two storey house.
Small, fat pigs snorted around in the dirt under the houses. Chickens, chicks and a surprising number of puppies also foraged around the homes. Dirty faced children stopped playing to watch our bus rumble pass. The adults barely looked up from their work of cutting wood, cooking or arranging bunches of what looked like rushes.
We rounded one tight corner and surprised a young boy squatting on the side of the road, his pants around his ankles. He looked up, saw the bus and barely had time to jump backwards over the drainage ditch and lean against the side of the cliff before the bus shot past. Not even enough time to pull up his pants.
Labels: Laos
Tat Sae waterfall, near Luang PrabangThe five from the northern hemisphere are used to cold weather, hot drinks and maybe a decent dump of snow to make it a proper White Christmas.
Jacq and I, on the other hand, have spent all our Christmases baking in the Australian summer. Swimming. Drinking cold beer and eating cold meats and salad.
But December in Laung Prabang has disappointed everyone, at least weather-wise. The day time temperatures, while warm, aren't quite hot enough to allow me to strip off and paddle about the Mekong with a beer in hand. The nights are bloody freezing, according to Jacq and I. The Euros just shrug and reach for a light jacket and reminisce about spiced wine and roaring fireplaces.
The water was cold, but with a fortifying bottle of Beer Lao in hand, we braved the icy pools and I got my wish to spend Christmas swimming and drinking.
Labels: Laos
Rhys and friend, LP main street baguette stallBut I'd be leaving behind its delicious pho bo and super-cheap bia hoi. Could Laos compete in the culinary stakes?
The initial answer is yes. Yes, yes, yes. On my first morning in Luang Prabang I discovered the Laotians like chicken and salad rolls just as much as I do. Walking through the main street, I passed a dozen stalls set up to fill the stomachs of hungry tourists with bread rolls.
10,000kip (about AUD$1.20) buys an enormous baguette (and solid too, not the airy fairy ones they sell in Vietnam) filled with roast chicken, lettuce, tomato, onion, huge slices of cucumber and a spoon of mayo. On top they pour on two kinds of chilli sauce and a dab of soy. Beautiful. They're so filling I'm doing without lunch right now.
In the evenings Jacq and I make for the night market. Stalls sell whole barbecued fish on bamboo sticks, laap (a traditional Lao dish of minced meat, fresh herbs and lettuce cups) and vegetarian buffets. For 5,000kip they give you a large bowl and you help yourself, loading up on fried rice, noodles, curries, spring rolls and vegetables. Then you simply sit down at one of the communal picnic tables next to other travellers and steam into it.
I've been washing this incredibly cheap and tasty meal down with a bottle of Beer Lao. They weigh in at a whopping 640mL. It feels like drinking out of a wine bottle. No matter how big a drink from these babies I take, or how frequently, they always seem only half empty. Its hard work to get through a couple in one night.
Which is just as well, because at 5% they can do some real damage.
Labels: Laos
Monks in the LP main streetLuang Prabang, Laos - I've yet to meet a person, or read a guidebook, that's got a bad thing to say about Luang Prabang.
Laid back and relaxed is the most common description. And its not hard to see why. After travelling through the kind of busy, batshit crazy cities and towns common in the rest of Asia, LP looks good simply by default.
But it has its own charms to make this a must see stop on the trail. This town of 30,000-odd is dotted with wats and great bakeries. It's provided with flashes of colour by the monks in their orange robes and the colourful hill tribe people.
The options to explore and be active also seem limitless. The tour companies and travellers cafes along the main road offer trips to the waterfalls, mountain biking, climbing, caving and white water rafting.
In the build up to Christmas the boats and buses have been delivering ever increasing numbers of backpackers. Each evening we see them dazed and confused and with their giants packs on, looking for a rare spare room in one of the guesthouses.
Luckily Jacq and I are already set up in a little guesthouse down near the Mekong River. Its located in a quiet lane way in what is already a quiet town. The only problem is the rooster outside our bedroom window. But apparently there is no escaping them in LP. Their strident calls ring out across town every morning from 4am.
Laid back and relaxed is the most common description. And its not hard to see why. After travelling through the kind of busy, batshit crazy cities and towns common in the rest of Asia, LP looks good simply by default.
But it has its own charms to make this a must see stop on the trail. This town of 30,000-odd is dotted with wats and great bakeries. It's provided with flashes of colour by the monks in their orange robes and the colourful hill tribe people.
The options to explore and be active also seem limitless. The tour companies and travellers cafes along the main road offer trips to the waterfalls, mountain biking, climbing, caving and white water rafting.
In the build up to Christmas the boats and buses have been delivering ever increasing numbers of backpackers. Each evening we see them dazed and confused and with their giants packs on, looking for a rare spare room in one of the guesthouses.
Luckily Jacq and I are already set up in a little guesthouse down near the Mekong River. Its located in a quiet lane way in what is already a quiet town. The only problem is the rooster outside our bedroom window. But apparently there is no escaping them in LP. Their strident calls ring out across town every morning from 4am.
Labels: Laos
Peak hour in the Old Quarter, HanoiShort because I've enjoyed it so much. We kept on the move just enough to see a good part of this long, thin country on the South China Sea, but also had enough time to explore the areas we really liked. A visa extension helped as well.
It also feels like we've been in Vietnam for ever, that this is my life. I guess the culture shock of this country, and travel in general, has worn off.
It doesn't feel weird to eat most meals on the street, to cross the road as scooters weave around us, to bargain before every purchase.
But there's some things that I'll never get used to in the Nam:
- Rubbish. Seeing people simply throw wrappers or plastic bags onto the ground, wherever they might be. In Hue, someone simply stopped to take off their plastic poncho and threw it into the river.
- Hawkers. Picking up my laundry in Hanoi yesterday, I fielded three offers in 20 seconds. Walking back to our guesthouse, I was offered books, bananas, lighters and a moto ride, all in the space of 100m.
- Motos. The stuff the Vietnamese are capable of loading onto a moto scooter is unbelieveable. I've seen (on separate occasions) a family of five, three full size pigs, a queen size mattress, a large gas cyclinder (not tied down) and a bundle of barbed wire.
Labels: Vietnam
Near Cat Cat Village, SapaSapa, Vietnam - This morning, despite the poor visibility, we decided to do a mini-trek down the mountain to the village of Cat Cat, about 3kms away.
Sapa is famous for its trekking, but a day-long hike was unappealing in this weather so we decided on quality rather than quantity.
On the slippery, steep walk down the road to the village, we were regularly passed by scooters and motorbikes who silently coasted down the incline with engines off, riding the brakes to slow their descent. The drivers ply this road regularly, gathering in groups at both the top and bottom of the walk and ferrying tourists who are too tired to make the steep walk back up to their hotels in Sapa.
They reminded me a little of birds, circling high in the sky until spotting their prey down below and turning and picking up speed as they swoop down and down.
We made the round trip unassisted, which wasn't too hard on the legs and lungs. However, despite making the walk down wrapped up in jumper, jacket, scarf and a couple of t-shirts, by the time we reached the top three hours later we were stripped to our singlets. Those making their way down looked at us curiously.
Cat Cat village was just below the cloud line and for the first time we could see some of the vistas Sapa is famous for. Whole hillsides, some with inclines of around 40 degrees, were terraced with rice paddies. It appeared harvest had just been completed as pigs and chickens rooted through the dried stalks in the mud.
As usual, the children were cute as buttons. Jacq and I often talk about how Vietnamese babies must be the cutest in the world. It was hard not to blaze away with the camera every time I saw them, but I also felt a little guilty about being just one of many, many tourists who have come through their village just to have a sticky beak.
But there were other scenes that captured my interest. A waterfall at the bottom of the village threw up yet more mist. A farm dog chased a herd of goats along a path towards us, forcing Jacq and I to step to one side to avoid being run over. A deep stream, blue-green in colour, that was so clear I could see each pebble at the bottom. I almost tumbled off the side of the cliff trying to set up a time-exposure photo of that one.
Sapa is famous for its trekking, but a day-long hike was unappealing in this weather so we decided on quality rather than quantity.
On the slippery, steep walk down the road to the village, we were regularly passed by scooters and motorbikes who silently coasted down the incline with engines off, riding the brakes to slow their descent. The drivers ply this road regularly, gathering in groups at both the top and bottom of the walk and ferrying tourists who are too tired to make the steep walk back up to their hotels in Sapa.They reminded me a little of birds, circling high in the sky until spotting their prey down below and turning and picking up speed as they swoop down and down.
We made the round trip unassisted, which wasn't too hard on the legs and lungs. However, despite making the walk down wrapped up in jumper, jacket, scarf and a couple of t-shirts, by the time we reached the top three hours later we were stripped to our singlets. Those making their way down looked at us curiously.
Cat Cat village was just below the cloud line and for the first time we could see some of the vistas Sapa is famous for. Whole hillsides, some with inclines of around 40 degrees, were terraced with rice paddies. It appeared harvest had just been completed as pigs and chickens rooted through the dried stalks in the mud.
As usual, the children were cute as buttons. Jacq and I often talk about how Vietnamese babies must be the cutest in the world. It was hard not to blaze away with the camera every time I saw them, but I also felt a little guilty about being just one of many, many tourists who have come through their village just to have a sticky beak.
But there were other scenes that captured my interest. A waterfall at the bottom of the village threw up yet more mist. A farm dog chased a herd of goats along a path towards us, forcing Jacq and I to step to one side to avoid being run over. A deep stream, blue-green in colour, that was so clear I could see each pebble at the bottom. I almost tumbled off the side of the cliff trying to set up a time-exposure photo of that one.
Labels: Vietnam
Taking the pigs for a walk, downtown SapaSapa, Vietnam - Even after six weeks, this country continues to surprise me.
Before I left Australia for this trip, I thought of Vietnam as a hot, humid country covered in rice paddies and palm trees.
And it is, in some places. It's also been a tropical paradise, a temperate highlands, a neon-lit beachfront, an ancient town and a mean, grey capital city.
And now, here in Sapa, it's a chilly, fog-shrouded village in the sky.
Jacq and arived in Sapa in the early morning after an overnight train journey from Hanoi to Lao Cai in the north-west of Vietnam on the Chinese border. A quick mini van ride up into the mountains brought us to Sapa (elevation 1600m) and into the grey-white mist that has rarely left this town since we arived.
The views from our hotel room at Cat Cat Guesthouse are apparently spectacularly, but we can only see about ten metres in front of us.
The cold is suprising too. It's equal to the coldest I've felt in Australia, which is probably about 10C or 15C during the day. I tried to liken it to Europe in the winter, but Jacq says it gets even colder. I find that hard to believe but I suppose I'll find out in a couple of months.
To keep warm we've reverted to wearing just about everything in our backpacks. Most of the travellers here seem to be doing the same thing, Vietnam not being the sort of country you'd pack a warm jacket or mittens for. Jacq has also had to buy a pair of gum boots and thick woollen socks to keep out the cold and the mud that seems to coat every road and path in Sapa.
But this town is a nice change of pace to Hanoi. We spent last night in our hotel room by the log fire, ordering room service and drinking beers. With no fridge in our room I simply left the two bottles of Tiger beer I bought earlier from a shop out on the front step. They seemed just as cold when I drunk them an hour or two later. Amazing.
Also amazing is the presence of the minority hill tribe, or montagnard, people in town. I'm no expert on them and have trouble distinguishing between the H'mong, Black Thai and Dzao people, but regardless, their dress and customs are fascinating.
While we tramp aound in hiking shoes and jackets, they make do with plastic sandals and leggings. A simple woven basket is their backpack to transport food to and from the Sapa market.
But that's not to say they're traditional or outdated people. They offer their embroideries and bracelts to us with almost as much gusto as any other Vietnamese hawker we've come across.
And they apparently play a mean game of pool. Having a quiet drink in a bar in Sapa last night, I watched as a group of teenage montagnard girls cleaned the table against a couple of Frenchmen. Still wearing their traditional dress (save for sneakers on their feet) and standing no taller than about 5'2", they vigorously accused their opponents of cheating, criticised their lack of skills and generally had a grand old time. After they had soundly beaten the French, they got down to a game of cards and gambled with fistfuls of dong. Very surreal to say the least.
Before I left Australia for this trip, I thought of Vietnam as a hot, humid country covered in rice paddies and palm trees.
And it is, in some places. It's also been a tropical paradise, a temperate highlands, a neon-lit beachfront, an ancient town and a mean, grey capital city.
And now, here in Sapa, it's a chilly, fog-shrouded village in the sky.
Jacq and arived in Sapa in the early morning after an overnight train journey from Hanoi to Lao Cai in the north-west of Vietnam on the Chinese border. A quick mini van ride up into the mountains brought us to Sapa (elevation 1600m) and into the grey-white mist that has rarely left this town since we arived.
The views from our hotel room at Cat Cat Guesthouse are apparently spectacularly, but we can only see about ten metres in front of us.
The cold is suprising too. It's equal to the coldest I've felt in Australia, which is probably about 10C or 15C during the day. I tried to liken it to Europe in the winter, but Jacq says it gets even colder. I find that hard to believe but I suppose I'll find out in a couple of months.
To keep warm we've reverted to wearing just about everything in our backpacks. Most of the travellers here seem to be doing the same thing, Vietnam not being the sort of country you'd pack a warm jacket or mittens for. Jacq has also had to buy a pair of gum boots and thick woollen socks to keep out the cold and the mud that seems to coat every road and path in Sapa.
But this town is a nice change of pace to Hanoi. We spent last night in our hotel room by the log fire, ordering room service and drinking beers. With no fridge in our room I simply left the two bottles of Tiger beer I bought earlier from a shop out on the front step. They seemed just as cold when I drunk them an hour or two later. Amazing.
Also amazing is the presence of the minority hill tribe, or montagnard, people in town. I'm no expert on them and have trouble distinguishing between the H'mong, Black Thai and Dzao people, but regardless, their dress and customs are fascinating.
While we tramp aound in hiking shoes and jackets, they make do with plastic sandals and leggings. A simple woven basket is their backpack to transport food to and from the Sapa market.
But that's not to say they're traditional or outdated people. They offer their embroideries and bracelts to us with almost as much gusto as any other Vietnamese hawker we've come across.
And they apparently play a mean game of pool. Having a quiet drink in a bar in Sapa last night, I watched as a group of teenage montagnard girls cleaned the table against a couple of Frenchmen. Still wearing their traditional dress (save for sneakers on their feet) and standing no taller than about 5'2", they vigorously accused their opponents of cheating, criticised their lack of skills and generally had a grand old time. After they had soundly beaten the French, they got down to a game of cards and gambled with fistfuls of dong. Very surreal to say the least.
Labels: Vietnam
Tourist junks amid the beautiful limestone karsts of Halong BayHalong Bay, Vietnam - Every once in a while on this trip through Asia Jacq and I get to sit back, forget about the traffic, upset stomachs and money and really enjoy what travelling is about.
Visiting Angkor Wat and surfing at China Beach were two such moments. And so was visiting Halong Bay.
Our guide, Tintin, said many Vietnamese believe if you haven't visited Halong while in this country, you haven't really visited Vietnam.
Cruising the 2000-odd limestone karsts on a wooden junk is a far cry from the Vietnam we know of moto scooters, street stalls and incessant noise. But it makes sense to leave all that behind and visit a part of this land that is exciting for its natural rather than man-made attributes.
A highlight of our three day, two night tour of Halong Bay and Cat Ba island was a two-hour kayaking tour of the karsts. With luck the tide was low enough to allow us to scoot under a limestone cliff through a low cave. It opened up into a circular bay bounded by 100m high cliffs, totally cut off from the rest of the world. It was completely silent. Not even a sound from the wind or water.
Sitting there on the double kayak with Jacq, I hoped then that I would remember the moment for the rest of my life.
I better, because for once I didn't have my camera with me.
Visiting Angkor Wat and surfing at China Beach were two such moments. And so was visiting Halong Bay.
Our guide, Tintin, said many Vietnamese believe if you haven't visited Halong while in this country, you haven't really visited Vietnam.
Cruising the 2000-odd limestone karsts on a wooden junk is a far cry from the Vietnam we know of moto scooters, street stalls and incessant noise. But it makes sense to leave all that behind and visit a part of this land that is exciting for its natural rather than man-made attributes.A highlight of our three day, two night tour of Halong Bay and Cat Ba island was a two-hour kayaking tour of the karsts. With luck the tide was low enough to allow us to scoot under a limestone cliff through a low cave. It opened up into a circular bay bounded by 100m high cliffs, totally cut off from the rest of the world. It was completely silent. Not even a sound from the wind or water.
Sitting there on the double kayak with Jacq, I hoped then that I would remember the moment for the rest of my life.
I better, because for once I didn't have my camera with me.
Labels: Vietnam
Hanoi, Vietnam - After two days in a new city in South East Asia I've usually done enough miles on foot to have familiarised myself with the streets and I can put away the Lonely Planet.
Saigon was easy enough and Bangkok not too hard. But Hanoi, which is smaller than both, has proved a real challenge. The Old Quarter where we are staying is a maze of narrow streets. It roughly follows a grid pattern, but there's just enough alley ways and six-street intersections to throw us off balance. More so after half a dozen glasses at Bia Hoi junction!
So we are constantly referring to the Planet, which has a great map of the area. Unfortunately, every tout, cyclo driver and hawker in town knows that the scarlet-red cover of this book means 'tourist' and it's not long before they have us surrounded, trying to sell us things or promising to drive us where we need to go - even if it is just 50m down the street.
The other day we were caught a beauty by a tout. Having checked out of our second hotel in two days (broken toilet, unlockable doors, etc), we were walking through town with our big packs on with the Lonely Planet in hand. I had studied the map before and knew exactly where to go, as long as I concentrated.
But out of a side street came a young Vietnamese bloke in a leather jacket clutching a pamphlet for a hotel. Dspite telling him we had a hotel booked and a deposit paid, he insisted we check his. After the usual "no thank yous" and "kawm gam erns" failed, Jacq and I tried to ignore him. But he was a persistant little bugger and stayed with us for a couple hundred metres, demanding to know why we wouldn't consider his hotel.
He would hassle me and then drop back to get in Jacq's face. A couple of times we tried to force him into a parked scooter as he walked beside us, but to no avail.
Soon I realised I had no idea where we were. Concentrating on ignoring this guy meant I had lost track of the street names. I realised we would have to do what I had tried to avoid in the first place - looking at the Lonely Planet.
Saigon was easy enough and Bangkok not too hard. But Hanoi, which is smaller than both, has proved a real challenge. The Old Quarter where we are staying is a maze of narrow streets. It roughly follows a grid pattern, but there's just enough alley ways and six-street intersections to throw us off balance. More so after half a dozen glasses at Bia Hoi junction!So we are constantly referring to the Planet, which has a great map of the area. Unfortunately, every tout, cyclo driver and hawker in town knows that the scarlet-red cover of this book means 'tourist' and it's not long before they have us surrounded, trying to sell us things or promising to drive us where we need to go - even if it is just 50m down the street.
The other day we were caught a beauty by a tout. Having checked out of our second hotel in two days (broken toilet, unlockable doors, etc), we were walking through town with our big packs on with the Lonely Planet in hand. I had studied the map before and knew exactly where to go, as long as I concentrated.
But out of a side street came a young Vietnamese bloke in a leather jacket clutching a pamphlet for a hotel. Dspite telling him we had a hotel booked and a deposit paid, he insisted we check his. After the usual "no thank yous" and "kawm gam erns" failed, Jacq and I tried to ignore him. But he was a persistant little bugger and stayed with us for a couple hundred metres, demanding to know why we wouldn't consider his hotel.
He would hassle me and then drop back to get in Jacq's face. A couple of times we tried to force him into a parked scooter as he walked beside us, but to no avail.Soon I realised I had no idea where we were. Concentrating on ignoring this guy meant I had lost track of the street names. I realised we would have to do what I had tried to avoid in the first place - looking at the Lonely Planet.
We pulled it out and looked at the map. The tout could smell blood. We were lost. He had us. He tried to get in close to point at the map, no doubt to tell us how far away we were from our hotel. I swung my giant pack at him. Instead I caught Jacq and nearly pushed her over. With two backpacks on her small frame, she'd never have gotten back up if she went down.
When I saw he had his hand resting on one of her packs (a big no no for us, security-wise), I finally snapped. I conjured up my biggest scowl, yelled "hey!" and pushed his hand away. He stepped back a bit. I went back to consulting the Planet.
Perhaps sensing defeat, he stepped towards Jacq one final time. "Fuck to you," he said in a low, very serious voice, and walked off.
Left alone on the street corner, we noticed an old man sitting on a scooter laughing at the scene. We laughed too. I asked him where Ma May street was and he pointed us on our way.
Labels: Vietnam
Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum, HanoiHanoi, Vietnam - I must admit Hanoi met all expectations when we arrived early Friday morning after an overnight journey from Hue on the Reunification Express.
A thick, grey cloud had descended over the city. The black streets were wet from recent rain showers. The buildings a grimy mix of French colonialism, Soviet practicality and Asian ramshackle. Exactly the scene I was expecting after looking at countless images from our Lonely Planet guidebook and other traveller's blogs in researching this trip.
After checking into the first hotel we saw (Thuy Lam Hotel, air conditioning, no window, perpetual darkness), we were straight out onto the street to find the necessities for life: breakfast, coffee and to drop off our laundry.
We soon came face to face with Hanoi's curious Old Quarter and its streets that are home to specific merchants and guilds. We walked through chicken street, past the stationary street and beyond the button street. In total I believe there were 36 different guilds who set up in the Old Quarter, each with their own street.
We found a little pho bo stand tucked in a filthy alley way. Despite the terrifying lumps of meat on display at the stall, the bowl of noodles the old lady served us was among the best we have tasted yet. Coffee was drunk on the sidewalk among a group of elderly Vietnamese men, some wearing berets and sporting goatees.
We spent the morning walking through the city, trying to orientate ourselves in the maze of streets and alley ways. Even Saigon wasn't this difficult. At almost every street corner we had to consult the Lonely Planet's map to find our way - making us prime targets for cyclos and touts wanting to sell us something.
Hanoi is not a city I'm initially enraptured with. A couple of days here to see the sights will be enough for me. However, it'll also be the launching pad for trips to Halong Bay and Sapa, so a few extra days in between these trips will probably be necessary.
A thick, grey cloud had descended over the city. The black streets were wet from recent rain showers. The buildings a grimy mix of French colonialism, Soviet practicality and Asian ramshackle. Exactly the scene I was expecting after looking at countless images from our Lonely Planet guidebook and other traveller's blogs in researching this trip.
After checking into the first hotel we saw (Thuy Lam Hotel, air conditioning, no window, perpetual darkness), we were straight out onto the street to find the necessities for life: breakfast, coffee and to drop off our laundry.
We soon came face to face with Hanoi's curious Old Quarter and its streets that are home to specific merchants and guilds. We walked through chicken street, past the stationary street and beyond the button street. In total I believe there were 36 different guilds who set up in the Old Quarter, each with their own street.
We found a little pho bo stand tucked in a filthy alley way. Despite the terrifying lumps of meat on display at the stall, the bowl of noodles the old lady served us was among the best we have tasted yet. Coffee was drunk on the sidewalk among a group of elderly Vietnamese men, some wearing berets and sporting goatees.
We spent the morning walking through the city, trying to orientate ourselves in the maze of streets and alley ways. Even Saigon wasn't this difficult. At almost every street corner we had to consult the Lonely Planet's map to find our way - making us prime targets for cyclos and touts wanting to sell us something.
Hanoi is not a city I'm initially enraptured with. A couple of days here to see the sights will be enough for me. However, it'll also be the launching pad for trips to Halong Bay and Sapa, so a few extra days in between these trips will probably be necessary.
Labels: Vietnam
17th parallel, Ben Hai RiverQuang Tri province, Vietnam - Thanks to countless movies, TV shows and books, it's easy for the Western world to think of Vietnam simply as a battle ground for a war.
I admit I was a little surprised when I entered the country from Cambodia and couldn't immediately see the remains of tanks on the side of the roads or paddie fields pock marked by bomb explosions.
But after more than 30 years since the last shot was fired, or rather, a B-52 dumped its last cluster bomb, it's ridiculous to think the industrious Vietnamese were going to be still nursing a hang over from the American War.
Tanks and bomb parts were sold off for scrap and fields levelled for rice paddies long ago.
Even a tour of the Demilitarised Zone, as Jacq and I did today, doesn't bring you face to face with much evidence of the war. Looking out of the bus window during a very long day on the road touring the sites around the 17th parallel that divided north from south, I thought it was the subtle things that provided clues to the viciousness of the fighting.
The effect of al that Agent Orange used by the US was evident from the hills and valleys covered not in native trees and vines but imported eucalypts. The landscape had that uniform, sterile look that regenerated forests in south west Western Australia have after the mining and logging companies have come.
I admit I was a little surprised when I entered the country from Cambodia and couldn't immediately see the remains of tanks on the side of the roads or paddie fields pock marked by bomb explosions.
But after more than 30 years since the last shot was fired, or rather, a B-52 dumped its last cluster bomb, it's ridiculous to think the industrious Vietnamese were going to be still nursing a hang over from the American War.
Tanks and bomb parts were sold off for scrap and fields levelled for rice paddies long ago.
Even a tour of the Demilitarised Zone, as Jacq and I did today, doesn't bring you face to face with much evidence of the war. Looking out of the bus window during a very long day on the road touring the sites around the 17th parallel that divided north from south, I thought it was the subtle things that provided clues to the viciousness of the fighting.
The effect of al that Agent Orange used by the US was evident from the hills and valleys covered not in native trees and vines but imported eucalypts. The landscape had that uniform, sterile look that regenerated forests in south west Western Australia have after the mining and logging companies have come.
Evidence of the cluster bombing was also visible if you looked closely enough. Some had been turned into ponds or dams in the paddie fields. Others were sudden holes in the jungle where the land was mostly flat.
Touring the tunnel networks of Vinh Moc was exciting. They were bigger and better ventilated than the sweaty holes at Cu Chi west of Saigon, which meant I could forget about being buried alive and instead enjoy exploring the tunnels.
Crouched in an almost pitch black shaft 15m under the surface, I had a hard time imagining that the bombing got so fierce in the late 1960s that villagers preferred to live underground than in the fresh air. Our guides tried to paint a picture of what the Vinh Moc locals went through, but I think most of us Westerners on the tour struggled to really understand what it would've been like.
Khe Sanh, up in the highlands near the Lao border, was a little underwhelming. Most of the area had been turned into coffee plantations. A small war museum and a collection of US aircraft and bombs in the grounds around it was all that marked what was once the site of some of the fiercest fighting in the American War. Apparently the Americans bombed what was left of it to smithereens in 1968 as they withdrew from the NVA.
And for Barnsey fans, Khe Sanh was pronounced by our local guide as "kay shang". It doesn't quite have the same ring to it, does it?
Labels: Vietnam
Hue, Vietnam - Strengthening rain and wind from Typhoon Durian made our decision to leave Hoi An to continue our travels this week a little easier.
Still, after three weeks we were starting to feel like we belonged in that little town. Navigating the streets on the scooter was a breeze, I had a regular breakfast stall in the paddie fields that did a great banh my and Jacq was happy with plenty of jogging and swimming.
Enjoying a cold Larue and a meal at Treat's Cafe last night, we discussed whether three weeks actually constituted "living" somewhere, or if it was just an extended stop on a trip through SE Asia.
I admit, I had it in the back of my mind that years down the track, I could drop it into a conversation for instant travel cred: "Hoi An? I lived there for a period back in '06. Fantastic town. Of course, it must've changed so much since I was there." That sort of thing.
We convinced ourselves that we did indeed live in Hoi An. We stayed in the same place (Phuong Nam Hotel), interacted with the community (fun run) and worked (I did research and took photos for future travel articles). And the most important point: we unpacked our backpacks.
Today it was back on the Open Tour bus to Hue. It's only 100kms north, but as usual two stops were required and the whole journey took about four hours. Luckily, this is the last time we will be on this tour, and our final dealing with the dreadful TM Brothers buses, as we will book a sleeper cabin on the Reunification Express to take us the 500-odd kilometres from Hue to Hanoi.
First impressions of Hue were positive, despite the incessant rain. As a former capital city for ancient kingdoms, it has a well planned, regal air to it. The broad expanse of the Perfume River separates the shops, hotels and restaurants of the southern side of town from the northern bank, which features the Citadel and the markets.
The Citadel is the main attraction in town, but we're waiting for a break in the rain to check it out. Instead, we went across to the markets and found a seat at a banh xeo (Vietnamese omelette) stall. After a fortnight of lazy breakfast, lunch and dinners in cafes in Hoi An, it was great to get a fresh and fast eat and then get back out there. 8,000VND (aboutAUD$0.75) bought me two omelettes with satay sauce and salad and a tub of yoghurt.
Still, after three weeks we were starting to feel like we belonged in that little town. Navigating the streets on the scooter was a breeze, I had a regular breakfast stall in the paddie fields that did a great banh my and Jacq was happy with plenty of jogging and swimming.
Enjoying a cold Larue and a meal at Treat's Cafe last night, we discussed whether three weeks actually constituted "living" somewhere, or if it was just an extended stop on a trip through SE Asia.
I admit, I had it in the back of my mind that years down the track, I could drop it into a conversation for instant travel cred: "Hoi An? I lived there for a period back in '06. Fantastic town. Of course, it must've changed so much since I was there." That sort of thing.
We convinced ourselves that we did indeed live in Hoi An. We stayed in the same place (Phuong Nam Hotel), interacted with the community (fun run) and worked (I did research and took photos for future travel articles). And the most important point: we unpacked our backpacks.
Today it was back on the Open Tour bus to Hue. It's only 100kms north, but as usual two stops were required and the whole journey took about four hours. Luckily, this is the last time we will be on this tour, and our final dealing with the dreadful TM Brothers buses, as we will book a sleeper cabin on the Reunification Express to take us the 500-odd kilometres from Hue to Hanoi.
First impressions of Hue were positive, despite the incessant rain. As a former capital city for ancient kingdoms, it has a well planned, regal air to it. The broad expanse of the Perfume River separates the shops, hotels and restaurants of the southern side of town from the northern bank, which features the Citadel and the markets.
The Citadel is the main attraction in town, but we're waiting for a break in the rain to check it out. Instead, we went across to the markets and found a seat at a banh xeo (Vietnamese omelette) stall. After a fortnight of lazy breakfast, lunch and dinners in cafes in Hoi An, it was great to get a fresh and fast eat and then get back out there. 8,000VND (aboutAUD$0.75) bought me two omelettes with satay sauce and salad and a tub of yoghurt.
Labels: Vietnam
Hoi An as seen from Tan Ky housePurchasing a ticket for 75,000VND gave us access to a choice of historic sites, including museums, assembly halls and several houses dating back to the early 19th century.
While the halls and museums were interesting, it was the houses, which looked almost as they had two hundred years ago, that I got the biggest kick out of. At Tan Ky house, descendants of the original family of Chinese merchants sat us down, offered Jacq and I tea and explained the confucian significance of everything from the yin and yang roof tiles to the worn floor pavers imported from Hanoi.
I noticed that family members still lived in the house, as evidenced by the beds tucked away next to the fully functional kitchen.
Touring the town with an historical purpose was a great way to spend our last afternoon in Hoi An. Thoroughly recommended.
Labels: Vietnam
Fidel (Holland), Daniel (Sweden) and Rhys (Australia) brave the typhoon surf.
Chris (UK) on a long rare Non Nuoc left.
Rhys at Non Nuoc
Frankie (France) brought his own mini mal with him through India and VietnamNon Nuoc, Vietnam - The desperate surfers at Hoa's must have made the internet cafe owners up the road a millionaire a couple of times over in the run up to this new swell.
Each evening we'd speculate on the arrival of waves above the two foot mark, which is what we've been surfing for the past three days.
Fun, but we wanted more. Finally, this morning delivered in the form of offshore waves around three feet, dropping as the tide moved out. My little 6'0, rented from Gunnar's, was actually a really good surfboard and I had a great time trading waves with the other blokes from the guesthouse.
After four years of crowded surf on the Gold Coast, it was nice to actually want to surf with other people.
Postscript: In the afternoon the effects of Typhoon Durian, which had killed more than a thousand people in The Philippines and sent this advance swell to the Vietnamese coastline, arrived in the form of heavy rain and onshore winds. I was able to squeeze in another two surfs before we left Non Nuoc. The waves reached the five foot mark, however, they weren't as powerful as I expected and the sandbanks didn't handle the swell that well.
