Hanoi haven

NINH BINH: There comes a point when you can hit a wall whilst travelling. I have felt it before, when you get to the stage when you think "that is enough, and why are we still going?". This was certainly the feeling a week ago when we walked around the dusty frontier town of Lao Cai.

On the border with China, Lao Cai is about as fun as all border towns can be - not very. Though there should be, there is no romance in these towns; they are just a place where day trippers from across the border come to spend their money on goods they can't get at home.

The place was hot. Extremely hot. And we made the mistake of arriving in town in the morning and then having a whole day to fill before departing on the overnight train to Hanoi. This was a disaster. We walked around and sweated buckets - literally buckets. I haven't experienced a place this hot since Cambodia.

To add to the heat and make us feel sick of the travel, we were scammed into overpaying for train tickets. In our desperation to get out of the place, we went to a travel agent and not the official train ticket office. (The train office was shut for lunch - for 4 hours.) The agent promised only first class was available - but for the A+ price we got the C- seats. Getting ripped off puts you in bad mood.

Then there were the couple of weeks of hard travel getting to Lao Cai. Coming across the mountains of Northern Laos was slow work. After making it to Vietnam there was Dien Bien Phu another boring border town. Then there were more mountain roads to negotiate - including another stint at pushing a bus through mud - to get to the touristy Sapa. And then whilst in Sapa all we seemed to get was hassled by the local hill tribe women throughout the town. After Laos, we had forgotten what the Vietnamese hard sell was like.

Hanoi was a haven. Another holiday from our holiday. but with more things to do than read books.

A lethargic pace descended on us during the five nights there. A couple of sightseeing activities during the day, and the rest of the time rambling about the brilliant Old Quarter - poking our noses into the little cafes, bars and restaurants - was how we spent our time. It was a great break.

A ritual developed while we were there. Although you have best intentions to check out all the good spots, you invariably find a few brilliant places initially and then the other spots don't quite compare later.

For breakfast it was a baguette and omelette combination for a miserly (or masterly) 40 cents from a little woman whipping up these fantastic delicious morsels from a gas burner on the footpath. A nearby tin oven warmed the bread while we munched through them sitting on plastic stools not a hand span high.


Street side dining

An iced coffee sweetened with condensed milk – a Hanoi institution it seemed - was followed after from another little plastic stool place around the corner. These street side cafes do one item, for a pittance, and do it well. We loved Hanoi.

There were of course the restaurants. We didn't even make a dent in the listings of high class, cheap eateries. Thankfully we are going back in a week for some more. Have I mentioned that Hanoi is cosmopolitan? I guess we can thank the French for that. So chic, so Frenchy.

In between eating our way around the city there were things to see. The Museum of Ethnology was high class and could have been found in any western city. The indoor very informative exhibits on the various races to be found in Vietnam were supremely complimented by short docos and, outside, full scale reconstructions of traditional houses which you could wander through.

We also paid our respects to Uncle Ho in his big ugly concrete bunker. Soldiers in full white dress uniform didn't let us linger as we, and a whole bunch of Vietnamese, filed past waxen old Ho Chi Minh lying stately in his glass case. I missed seeing Lenin and Mao when passing through Moscow and Beijing respectively, so it was about time I saw one of the triumvirate. (As a side thought I guess when old Fidel finally passes on there could have a forth Madame Tussuad's contract being worked on in Havana).


Uncle Ho in da bunker

So we now have moved on from Hanoi, but like I said we will be back – we do have a plane to catch from there in a little over a week. In the meantime there are a few sites to see in the vicinity, including a(nother) world heritage natural wonder. Till next time, with batteries recharged and the travel zest back...

Golden Triangle traipsing

DIEN BIEN PHU: The Akha hill-tribe woman approached as we sat eating breakfast. They had approached before and always waved them away with a "no thank you" and a smile to their offer of handicrafts. This old woman in her traditional dress with her hat adorned with bright and shiny objects proceeded to place all her items on the table anyway.

After refusing all the small bags and bracelets she finally came close to me and whispering through her betel nut stained teeth said "Opium?". Excuse me, what did she say? "Opium?" she whispered again, closer this time.

We were in the notorious Golden Triangle. The loose area surrounding the point where the borders of Thailand, Laos and Burma intersect. The area is a bit of fable now. All the countries have tightened up their drug control but obviously poppy is still being cultivated.

There is no discernible sign announcing that you have entered the triangle, although at some point we must have. I guess we passed into the general area as we travelled up the Mekong on our slow boat and landed at the border town of Huay Xai.

In the town itself they were offering day trips to the actual point of intersect and promoting it as "The Golden Triangle". We didn't take the trip but I am betting there would be no opium there though. About as adventurous as we became during our rest day in Huay Xai, where we recuperated from the long days on the boat, was to go and visit the local Red Cross sauna and massage.

For some strange reason spending 10 minutes inside a tiny herbal steam filled room and sweating the last drop out of you is quite invigorating. And sweating is what we did but in a different way when we did a two day trek from Muang Sing to overnight in an Akha village.

Muang Sing is closer to other triangle, the one where China, Burma and Laos meet, than the Golden one to the south. The Akha had originally come across from China and in fact, as we discovered in a leisurely bike ride, the border is only 10km away.

Our trek had been organised through the local provincial government tourist agency. Apparently this is the only legitimate way to do it and in my eyes this can only be a good thing. So unlike similar "treks" that I have seen in northern Thailand and heard about in northern Vietnam, these treks in Laos are less of a tourist circus and more of a this is how we are, like it or not. There were no "long neck village - bamboo rafting trek" here.

A Belgium couple and us were the only ones in the group. Our guide was from the local area and we were joined by another guide who could speak Akha. After a short tuk-tuk ride to an accessible Akha village we set off.

On the way to our overnight stay we were told and shown the culture of Akha. They are Animists and have a strong sense of the spirits that surround them. At the edge of their villages they construct spirit gates to allow spirits and only spirits to pass. We walked around them. They are usually also adorned with items to warn the spirits not to mess with the village.

We were also told how the Akha have their own style of massage. And this later became a blessing after the 7 hours of trekking through rain and personally having to remove two bloated leeches from my legs. We were in need of some pummeling and pummeling is what we got. It seemed Akha style was more rough than gentle. It was intense but felt good afterwards.

A night with the cocks crowing in the darkness and then we said our goodbyes and trekked back to town. We were both struck by how similar Laos, in its ethnic cultures, terrain and landscape, is and yet very different to Papua New Guinea. One thing is for sure PNG just dreams about getting the sort of tourists that visit Laos.


Our guesthouse and resident pigs in the village

From Muang Sing our plan was to move across the north of the country on roads less travelled and enter into Vietnam via a newly opened border near the town of Dien Bien Phu. For history lovers DBP is better known as the location where in 1954 the French suffered its catastrophic loss against the Ho Chi Minh led communists. This eventually led to the creation of North Vietnam.

To pass this way we finally experienced what we had read and heard about the bus trips of Laos. How bad they can be. The prelude to the ultimate bus adventure was when we were leaving Luang Nam Tha to get to Oudomxay, the major junction town of the north. The bus was full and my seat had had its padding replaced with a plank, which would have been fine expect the roads were some the most potholed in Laos.

On top of that the bus's front right brake decided to lock up and numerous stops were made to bash and convert water into clouds of steam by pouring it on the hot brake pad. But this was only the precursor to a real adventure ahead.

It came after we made it from Oudomxay to little Muang Khou where we had to spend two nights on the banks of the Nam Ou river – the bus for our final leg in Laos through to Dien Bien Phu only runs every second day. To kill time in this small town I had sat and watched the passing of people back and forth over the Nam Ou via little ferry boats or more riveting when two large coal trucks had to be shunted over on a barge.

It seemed that not much traffic actually passed this way - and we were to find out later why. To get the heavy coal trucks over the river involved the use of not only the small tug attached to the barge but five small river boats all attached to one end heaving and straining to push the barge across the fast flowing Nam Ou. It was a sight.


Pushing the coal truck across the Nam Ou

The next day it was our turn to cross over at a very early hour and stake our seat on the bus. After delaying for an hour or so we departed and all was well on the road for a while. True the road was more goat track than autobahn but we were steadily moving.

It was only when there was another bus broken down on an incline in the middle of a very muddy section that there were thoughts as to whether we would get there. It took over an hour to negotiate the stuck bus with everyone involved pulling on ropes. It didn't take long heaving to get a muddy ourselves. The wet season had after all now started.


Passing the broken down bus on the muddy road

This was only the beginning, around the next corner was one of the coal trucks that crossed the river the previous morning parked in the middle of the road and not going anywhere. A drop off into the steep valley below was perilously close. I have forgotten to mention that this is rugged but very beautiful country and we were driving up the side of a mountain.

After getting the truck to back up we managed to pass it with more rope pulling. But of course around the next corner was other coal truck, and more pulling. By this time I was covered in mud and sweating profusely along with the rest of the bus. Did we get a discount for this? No.

In the end a journey that should have taken 3-4 hours over a 90km stretch of road from town to town, took a total of 9 hours from start to finish. An average of 10km an hour, you could almost walk it. Needless to say we were stuffed and tired by the time Dien Bien Phu arrived.

Our trip through wonderful Laos is now finished, and it is a little bit saddening. Laos is a brilliant country and the people are wonderful. It is developing but hopefully not too much. Oh and if you are wondering we didn't touch the opium.

Strangers on the Mekong

HUAY XAI: The woman in the flowing yellow skirt strode up and down the steps, striking a pose to aim her oversized camera up the river or down. She took what seemed hundreds of photos at all different angles and directions. Aiming the paparazzi long lens at the boats lining the river bank, shooting at children leaning out of windows or boatmen maneuvering their craft.

She was joined by a Japanese couple who almost seemed to be in camera competition with her. They pulled out a large Pentax and an even larger Canon and together with the woman ridiculously posed with their photographic equipment on the steps above the boat for a group shot.

The engine started and all three reboarded the slow boat to take up their claimed seats. The woman had got on earlier and managed to claim a soft seat, the Japanese couple had to contend with a hard wooden seat covered with a cushion.

The boat was a long and narrow steel hulled vessel with a decking and roof constructed of timber on top. At the front on top of the prow the captain sat himself at the wheel. He wasn't tucked away in a special cabin just up the front with all luggage and cargo stacked behind him. The passengers lined up behind this, with the comfortable seats first and then wooden benches and then just decking up behind. At the stern the engine roared next to the bucket and scoop toilet and the small area reserved for the owner and family to live.



It wasn't just the Japanese couple who had to settle for wooden benches. A group of three Canadians jocks arrived late. It must have been their partying the night before. They initially sat around chatting but not long after launch two of them were intent to set up their hammocks. Their idea would have blocked the access to the back, so the matriarch selling the snacks and drink told them to take it down.

During the voyage one of the jocks got it in his head to try and erect his hammock up the front. Rearranging the luggage he succeeded in doing so and even lying down before the owners tried to persuade him to take it down for his safety. It was only after his pillow fell in the murky water and floated by out of reach that he gave up.

The river flowed on down past green jungly slopes. At regular intervals large grey black rocks protruded at sharp angles which the vessel proceed to navigate around. The rocks sped up the water and caused eddies and whirlpools to form, fighting against these the boat's engine roared as the propeller briefly churned in nothing but air.

The passengers made the most of each of their locations. The wooden benches were rearranged, and cushions put on the deck. After her initial camera obsession the yellow skirt woman was found lying down with her back on some luggage leaving her comfortable seat. The Japanese couple had rigged up a bed using two benches facing each other and the jocks settled for the deck floor.

An aging hippy with long grey dreadlocks and a threadbare shirt was originally content to just gaze at the scene flowing past him. He took it all in through old eyes framed by thick glasses. Only rising occasionally to go to the toilet and never once speaking. During the middle of day he made himself a bed with a single cushion and laid down to sleep rising after a couple of hours to resume his watchfulness.



In contrast four Irish girls made their home on a bunch of comfortable seats. They all had an identical uniform of short shorts and singlets. They were looking forward to Thailand's beaches. Their bare legs caused one villager, who boarded halfway along the river, to gawp incessantly like he had never (and he probably hadn't) seen such a thing before.

For two days the boat languidly chugged against the current. Villages dependent on the river for their transport and protein slipped on by. Gardens were carved into the hillside in close proximity to these villages. Buffalos grazing on the banks or cooling off in calmer waters docilely watched the uninteresting boat pass. Boys playing in the water or throwing nets had seen these types of craft before. Occasionally they would wave. Some passengers might wave back.

The first night the boat stopped at Pak Beng, 10 hours after leaving Luang Prabang. Everyone wandered up the slope to get accommodation. Some following touts offering better rooms than they had, others shrugging them off and searching for their own room. The greying hippy slipped from view and didn't return for the second day. The other westerners all returned.

The second day the scenes of the first were repeated. Yellow skirt took so many photos that she held up the boat from leaving. The Japanese couple fussed about their seating arrangements, hung out their hand washed laundry on some wooden benches and took photos of each other with their own big camera.

A Yunnanese business man decided the best way to travel two full days was to be drunk. He proceeded to knock back Beer Lao on the first day, but on the second he came armed with a bottle of cheap whiskey to attack his liver with from eight AM onwards. He found people to play cards with before making a bed.

The landscape was flatter than the previous day. Not as many rocks were needed to be avoided. Once the Thai border was alongside the river was as wide as it would be further south near Vientiane or Savannakhet.

The Irish girls were bored. Even a copy of The Da Vinci Code failed to keep one interested. By the time another 10 hours was up by reaching the end point of Huay Xai they were jumping at the chance to get off. Thailand would have though to wait as the boat arrived too late for a border crossing this day.

The approach of Huay Xai prompted yellow skirt into action after hours of playing solitaire on her iPod. She shot off megabytes worth of worthless photos, pointing it in everyones face before finally packing it away in the jumbo sized bag she was lugging.

Everyone disembarked and slowly wandered up the slope and dispersed their own separate ways. The muddy brown Mekong had been slowly traversed and had thrown together these strangers and was now throwing them apart.

Up and around and down northern Laos

LUANG PRABANG: "I'll be there for yooou ...". Welcome to the strangest town in Asia. The surreal Vang Vieng where walking the streets you will bombarded, at any time of day, with the sounds of Friends blasting out from TVs in the lounge restaurants scattered amongst this small town.

I am not sure if the producers of Friends realise, but there is a spot on earth where their show is still being watched 16 hours a day, 7 days a week. Backpackers lying up on cushion covered plinths in a small town in Laos glued to a TV showed that ended years ago. I counted over six of these restaurants all loudly playing various repeats over and over. Bizarre.

We had come to Vang Vieng from Vientiane. It was the logical next step north on highway 13, the only real way to get to the northern provinces. For us the attraction of the place wasn't crap TV, but a beautiful surrounding countryside and yes yet more caves to explore.

Over the two days which we were there we headed off on bikes to stop and be amateur spelunkers. Some of these caves extended some distance into the hills and with the caverns opening up it was hard not to see similiarities to childhood weekend matinee watchings of Journey to the centre of the earth. Except there were no claymation dinosaurs in these journeys, just a stillness and the drip drip dripping of water.


Cave exploration

Venturing further north on route 13 we got our first taste of the roads of Laos to come. Up until this point our journey was along realatively flat countryside, following the Mekong valley. Now, however, we got to experience some of the windiest roads I have ever encounted. For our 7 hour road trip to Phonsavan, covering only 200 odd kms, we twisted and turned up and down and up and down endlessly through the mountainside. There was never more than 100 metres of straight road and more hair pin turns than I could possibly count.

We eventually made it into Phonsavan, though it was in the dark, and more 5 hours later than we thought – our first bus choice was full, so it was a 5 hour wait until the next one. The town is nondescript, but it wasn't the town we came for, instead the ancient attractions nearby. The Plain of Jars.

A day trip tour was needed to get out to these mysterious relics. The reason these jars of stone and ceramics were made and then scattered across the hillsides of this region is still a mystery. Were they, as local legend suggests, made for making whiskey? If so, the more than 500 littering the area and their giant size means that those ancients were having one hell of a party at some stage. More likely is that they were made as burial urns which were subsquently looted in their 2000 year history. One thing is for sure is that they are an amazing sight and it is a crime that there aren't more - 30% were destroyed by American bombs.


A few of the Jars

Phonsavan is a nondescript town now because in the 1960s and 70s this region was the scene of some of the heaviest bombing in the history of the world. An average of one plane load of bombs was dropped on Laos every eight minutes, 24 hours a day, for 9 years. And nobody outside the country knew.

We stuck our noses into the Mines Advisory Group (MAG) exhibition to see the good work they are doing in removing the bombs that didn't blow up. The entire countryside is still littered with unexploded bombs and it's taking years to remove them. In all the guesthouses in Phonsavan there are large collections of bomb bits lining the walls. In one cafe they have even turned small cluster bombs or bombies into ash trays. Deadly souvenirs of a past most are trying to forget.

From Phonsavan we had to backtrack for 4 hours back up and down and around the mountains to get to route 13 and then more around and up and down for another 4 hours as the road north of the turnoff junction became yet more curvaceous. Hill tribe villagers build their grass huts right alongside the roadside. These roads really are quite incredible - 8 hours of travelling for 220kms. But again the travel was worth it, as it landed us in Luang Prabang.

This town is a UNESCO world hertiage site and a damn fine nice little place. It was the seat of Lao royalty – in days prior to the communist takeover. And it has the old world feel, which Hoi An in Vietnam had. A feeling of this is the way old Asia was. It is the premier tourist destination in Laos and deservedly so.

We have spent our time here in relaxation mode. There are sights to see, more so than there have been in other parts of Laos, but we are more in a mode of soaking it up. The days have been revolving around the weather as well. Now is the rainy season and there has certainly been more of it than before. But with all the cafes, wats, markets and cheap eats, it is easy to forget about the rain.

And so from here on for the next while the trip is possibliy more about the journey than the destination. We have two days slow boating up the mighty Mekong, then go up close to the Burmese border. And there will be a hell of a lot more rough roads in the back of beaten up trucks over mountain passes to experience. Eventually, before our Lao visa expires, the goal is to get back into northern Vietnam. Somehow I think the least of our worries on this trip will be having to watch crap TV repeats.

Back along the Mekong

VIENTIANE: The little red vespa gleamed in the hot tropical sun. I kept walking on by but just knew that I would have to come back. With the "Jules Classic Rentals" sign hanging above it was just too much of a temptation. How much would cost to fulfill a dream was what I needed answering.

The next day the classic 1967 Italian beauty was still there and so was Jules. $10 for the day Jules told me in a heavy French accent (I guess he is one of those "lotus eaters", that the old French colonialist called the foreigners who stayed on in Laos). And half a day? Enough time for me to cruise with my girl around the streets of Vientiane. Only $5. Sold.

Saddled up and we cruised Vientiane until lunch. Much like our trip through Laos it was at a leisurely pace and (mostly) with a grin. And like learning how to handle the old girl and its quirks (clutch and gears on the left handlebar) our Lao adventure didn't kick off that great. A bit of a stalled start.


Living the dream

The nine hour bus trip from Hue to Savannakhet in Laos was quite hellish. Once again the bus was completely packed. But at least we managed to get a proper seat and not like the Japanese tourists who had to sit on the small red plastic seats in the aisle. The major problem for me was that I felt quite nauseous at the end. This was later compounded – although I am unsure if linked – by getting a dose of the ol' gastro in Savannaket. Instead of two nights there originally planned we spent an extra one due to one completely lost to no sleep and rushing to the bucket and scoop toilet. Fun.

Savannakhet itself was a bit a tad boring or "quiet" - it is after all a commercial centre and that's it really - so it was good to keep heading north. We found Tha Khaek, our next stop, was a good place to chill and check out the brilliant karst peak countryside. A day of exploring was required to see some of the very cool caves dotted around in them.

There was an amazing story of how, not far from Tha Khaek, a villager was chasing bats into a cave – a local delicacy apparently – 15 metres up the side of a cliff and as he crawled through the small opening he looked down into a cavern below him he was shocked to see a large Buddha statue inside.

As the villager went to inspect he discovered that there were more than 200 bronze Buddhas littering the cavern floor, varying in size from quite large to small, seated amongst the stalagmites. He didn't breathe a word of his discovery for a few days before finally informing the rest of the village and taking back some others.

It so happens that the Buddhas are believed to have been left untouched in the cave for over 600 years. What is more remarkable is that this amazing discovery by the villager only happened four years ago. I had to see this. Who left them behind I wanted to know and why?

Well my questions are still unanswered, but I have climbed through the small opening and into the cavern. The Buddhas are all still there but of course the locals have turned it into a small tourist attraction. They are at least very reverent in their approach to looking after the site.

Rob was required to don a traditional Lao skirt before entering. We had to remove hats and shoes and adhere to a whole host of other regulations including "no gambling inside". There is now a concrete staircase all the way to the cave entrance and once inside, the cavern has been divided into two with the Buddhas displayed in one half and mats for sitting on in the other. Some old caretakers were there looking after the objects and eager to give us a blessing and tie another coloured string to our wrists.


The pool underneath the Buddha cave

We ventured into other caves, some also devoted to Buddha and some not, before cruising along up the Mekong to the capital where we are now. Vientiane it turns out is one of the most laid back cities I have ever been too. Not much happens quickly here, which is a shock after being in Vietnam for a while. Whereas things start happening before six in the neighbouring country, you are lucky to see cafes with "all day breakfas" signs open up until after 8 in Laos.

So all this means we are loving Laos. Laid back is for us. Though like my vespa ride it will have to come to end some stage but at least that wont be for another few weeks. There are adventures to be had in the north yet.

Confucius says no more caves

HUE: The bus from Hoi An to Hue hadn't been going more than 20 minutes before they dropped us at the touristy Marble Mountains. Right in front of the bus was a large cave entrance. We had 30 minutes there even though we were just keen to get going. I decided to venture into the cave though Rob opted to stay put. I bought a ticket (nothing is for free here, but it was only $1) for this cave experience and ventured on in.

It turns out that it was just me and the bats. I could hear them above me as I climbed the steps further into the dimly lit interior. Perhaps no one else went in because it was crap? There was a certain Buddhist or Taoist or the hybrid version people subscribe to here slant about the place with statues of deities peeping out from niches. The further in I went, the darker it got. The cave opened into chamber and a fetid smell around me grew stronger; bat shit.

Steps led down on the opposite side of the cavern. Horrible scenes were depicted on either side and I realised that this represented a path to hell. What have I got myself in to here I thought. I was by myself in the semi dark, with scenes showing torture by demons, and I was having second thoughts. As I paused on the steps to contemplate this I realised that less than a foot from me in the gloomy light there was something worse than the concrete demons. A spindly legged spider bigger than my hand.


The spider next to my gingerly placed lens cap

This was almost too much. I took a few photos and after a bit further got out. Fortunately the rest of the trip has been nothing as bad my cave experience. And apart from a few crap bus trips it has been an amazing time in central Vietnam. There have been boat trips, bike riding, old world heritage towns to roam, ancient temple ruins to explore and vibrant cities built in a medieval style citadel to see.

Hoi An had been the perfect place to slow down after the journey to get there. We were squished into buses on the journey to and from Buon Ma Thuot, as we made our way along the Ho Chi Minh Road. Along the HCM road (which is named after one of the many routes that guns and supplies were smuggled south during the Vietnam war), we broke the trip at Kon Tum.

Kon Tum is a small town surrounded by various hill tribe groups. Unfortunately, even though Lonely Planet waxed lyrical over the town and said it was the "friendliest in Vietnam", as Rob's sister pointed out that is like the travel of real estate jargon, meaning boring and uninteresting. And she was right - apart from a couple of nice cafes and the chance to wander around hill tribe settlements (not villages) on the edge of town, there was nothing to do. Nasty touts at the bus station weren't so "friendly" either. Instead of two nights there it was hastily rearranged and we were back on a cramped bus the day after arrival.

We were two of five people squeezed into four seats at the back of the bus - but the trip down to Danang, en route to Hoi An, could have been worse. The bus took us through stunning scenery - following the HCM trail, the road wove with a river up and down through mountainous jungle, sparsely inhabited. We also survived the local bus from Danang to Hoi An grinding slowly along and making us pay double - a popular local scam apparently. Finally arriving at our destination was a bit of an anticlimax: we wandered around the wrong part of town in the heat of the day with our packs on looking fruitlessly for a hotel.


Lanterns in Hoi An

But that was the worst of it over. We spent four nights in Hoi An, just relaxing and enjoying a place where there were real French style pastries. We also took a day trip out to My Son, a world heritage site of temples built by the Chams in a pre Angkor period. I ventured off also to have a look at the southern end of China Beach to bring back memories of the 80s TV show.

Now in Hue we have been venturing out on bikes through more world heritage sites in and around the city; the tombs are of emperors from the Nguyen Dynasty. The citadel surrounding the city itself has keep us busy.


Girls playing in Hue

So even though we have a 9 hour bus trip tomorrow to Laos, we are currently pacing our trip like the Confucian bowl: in a traditional merchant's house we visited in old Hoi An, a Vietnamese lady explained the meaning behind this bowl, which has a hole in its base. If you fill it 3/4 full with water, the water stays in the bowl. If you try and fill it 100%, the water drains away through the hole. If you are too greedy and overfill your bowl, you will end up losing the lot. The good with the bad. The caves, and long buses, with bikes, new foods and cheap beers.

Tourism Vietnam

BUON MA THUOT: The Vietnamese man smiled and posed for his friend with a camera. It was a bizarre scene. He was wearing a cowboy hat and sitting on the back of a white horse which had black zebra stripes painted all over it. His friend took the picture and he got off the back of the mournful looking creature and handed the hat to another friend for his turn for the camera. Welcome to tourism Vietnam style.

The location was at the bottom of a mountain. Tourist buses were unloading masses of domestic tourists who then proceeded to jump into the back of a jeep to be transferred up to the top of the mountain. Zebras and Montagnards, or "hill-tribe people", selling handicraps completed the circus that was this place. This place was Dalat - Vietnam's version of a ski resort, minus any snow.


The "Zebra" of Dalat

Dalat, with an altitude of 1500m, is nice and cool and has a spring climate year round - a lot like Goroka in PNG, but without the dusty streets and frontier feel. Local Vietnamese flock here now for the same reason as the French who originally came and built the place in the 20s - for the nice climate. What that means is that the sights to see in the town itself are a bit minimal, unless you like looking at old French villas or nice lake. The only thing left to do is the kitsch touristy day trips around the town.

The climes were a bonus for us as well after the month long sticky heat we have wadded through in the Mekong and Cambodia. It was fantastic to be able to get back under the covers of a blanket without needing a fan whirring overhead all night. But all good things must come to an end and we have ventured back into the heat now.

Getting out of Dalat showed another side of Vietnam's tourism, the one geared towards foreigners. You can hardly walk around Dalat without bumping into an "Easy Rider". These are a band of initiative local guys that offer customised multi-day tours on the back of a motorbike. We were given the hard sell on a few occasions, being shown former testimonials from tourists of all nationalities and photo albums. Even a pair of Kiwis came up and sat down opposite us in a cafe to extol how wonderful their trip with a couple of the guys were. The Easy Riders are the "real deal" apparently.

And while getting shown the countryside on the back of a motorbike sounds appealing, unfortunately the guys have realised they can charge a good deal more than any other tourist activity in the country. After travelling for month averaging $25 a day each for everything; accommodation, food, transport and sightseeing activities - the $60 per day sans food or accommodation is why most of the Easy Rider guys can afford to live it up in the cafes and bars in Dalat - drinking and smoking.

So we decided to have our own real deal Vietnam trip and got the $5 bus out town north to Buon Ma Thuot. It was on this that we saw a new side of tourism in Vietnam - and it wasn't the shite bus that was worse than a Lae to Mt Hagen one. It was Dzung, a student from Hanoi, who was travelling independently around his own country using the English language Lonely Planet because there is no equivalent written in Vietnamese.

Meeting Dzung, we jumped off the bus, not a moment too soon (it was one of those trips where they have 20 seats and they pack in 30 people), 50km before Buon Ma Thuot and wandered around a natural lake in called Lak Lake. Dzung became our own little free guide - although it was the first time he had been there as well, but at least he could speak the language in a place not so used to tourists yet. After lunch and a few hours at the lake we headed into BMT on a local bus, and were sad to say goodbye to our new friend as he had to hightail it back to Hanoi for the start of his semester at RMIT (needless to say when Rob gave him one of her old cards from RMIT he was pretty impressed). He has promised to take us out to the student bars in Hanoi when we get there - student price in a country where beers are 75cents!

So Buon Ma Thuot is the heat again, previously before Dalat we had managed to survive it at the coast for the first time on the trip. It was our holiday from our holiday. A little bungalow 20 paces from the white sandy beach was a tough gig. Every morning I got up and wandered down to jump into the warm surf and watch the locals fish from their strange round boats. Afternoons were reading books and napping. Luckily I picked up a battered copy of War and Peace from a guesthouse in Phomn Penh and am currently making good headway through it.

In between the beach and the Angkor temples there was some backtracking through PP and Saigon. I am loathe to backtrack but this did enable us to visit a couple of places which we had missed in these cities. The Cambodian National Museum with its vast Angkor period artifacts could be appreciated more since we had been to the temples and the Chinese district in Saigon, Cholon, was interesting to visit with its numerous pagodas.


Smelling the incense in Cholon

But back to the circus mountain. After purchasing tickets to enter this place, we were not sure if the jeep ride to the top was included, so we jumped in the back of one and then discovered that you actually had to pay extra. Being the tight-arses that we are we said bugger that and decided to hike up to the top of a peak away from the rest of the hoards. After a certainly more sweaty ascent than the other tourists in their jeaps, we descended three hours later and the buses were all gone. The zebra was still there though, tied up to a post, looking mournfully at the ground.

Ruins and red dust

SIEM REAP: The old man called out to me from inner sanctum of the temple "come sit down here". I knew that he would just be wanting me to make a "donation", but he intrigued me nonetheless. We were out at an isolated Angkor temple, Banteay Samre, and for the first time there was almost no one else here. Rob was off walking around taking pictures so it was just me and the old guy and a statue of Buddha. I was compelled to sit down, he was certainly different from the women I had seen wanting “donations” for Buddha at other sites.

So I sat and he handed me a burning incense stick. I put it between my palms and he proceeded to recant his good luck chant. Here I was, almost alone with 800 year old walls surrounding me, being blessed in Khmer whilst sitting cross legged. and I was feeling positive. The chanting stopped after a minute and we stuck our incense sticks in the pot under Buddha. Then he tied some red wool around my wrist. I felt good, and for once and didn't mind handing over a small donation.

The Angkor temples have been special. Even when you add in the kids asking “cold drink, you buy, one dollar, when you come back you buy from me” in a strange American accent every time you try to enter one. Or the tour buses full of Japanese or Taiwanese tourists who strangely seemed to turn up just at the same time as you get to a different site. Wandering around the temples, in many places without barriers, is a fantastic experience. There are certainly older sites to visit in the world, and I have seen some, but the sheer scale of the structures and added ambiance which the harsh climate here has brought means Angkor, for me, is right up things to behold.

Now when most people think of Angkor, it is always of Angkor Wat. But that is just the start. So far for me the pick of the bunch has been Bayon. With many towers of huge faces peering down at you from all angles it really is amazing. What seems like just a jumble of rock from a distance is in fact a maze of galleries, steep stairs, alcoves and towers when you get inside.


Angkorian temple, just as imagined

So the last part of the week has been clambering over ruined temples, down dark ancient corridors, around tree root encased stone walls, past glorious carvings, but originally we landed in the capital of Cambodia, Phnom Penh. I was a tad dismissive of PP before. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so hasty. After all I had been in the country less than 24 hours. The capital has its charms, you just have to look past some of the, literally, poorer aspects – rubbish, shanty lined streets, traffic congestion. Once you do you realise and remember what this city has been through, there is much more to be gained from it.

There are a whole bunch of great people there. Whether they be in restaurants employing former street kids and giving them a chance or our fantastic tuk tuk driver Mr Lim with his own difficult past losing, like most people, family members. (Tuk tuk's here by the way are a little different than the Bangkok ones, they are just a motorbike with a trailer attached to the back. I call them chariots).

The positive progress that can be seen in PP now stems obviously from the horrors of the past when the Khmer Rouge ran the place in maniacal way from 1975 to 1979. As with any place that seems to have a torturous time a museum pops up to highlight it. Sometimes I feel I am just touring places with grisly ghosts in the cupboard (Auschwitz, Bosnia, East Timor before and now Saigon and PP here). But it is important to see these places of atrocities so we can hope this sort of thing never happens again.

First there was the Genocide Museum in the former interrogation prison, where you can walk around the actual beds used to strap people down and torture them with electric whips. Just in case you don't get the raw meaning, there are picture on the wall taken when the place was liberated showing decomposing bodies still strapped down. Wandering through the rooms full of photos of the prisoners when only 7 people survived or rows of cells not even big enough to lay down in was in the end just too much. But to top it off we visited the pock marked field outside of town where over 10,000 prisoners were brought, forced to kneel and then clubbed into a pit to save bullets before having their throats slit and buried.


A torture cell at the Genocide Museum

It hasn't been all such a doom and gloom trip though. After leaving PP and heading 300km west to the country's second city, Battambang, we had a fantastic afternoon giving our time to converse in English at a village school. We met Narath by chance on a corner and he told us about his project and asked if we would like to volunteer our time. The idea is if the village children can speak English they are more likely to be employable. I am not sure how much the kids gained from it as our conversations in the end mostly involved “How are you?”, “What is your name?”, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”, but it was still a great experience for us at least.

To get out to some of the sites near Battambang we had to get covered in what the locals call Cambodian snow. The fine red dust this country seems built on. Who would have thought that Cambodia is so flat? I didn't know what to expect but nothing like driving through countryside similar to western New South Wales. And yet they have really bad roads. PNG bad.

We bounced through on these to reach the treasures the Khmers left the world. Angkorian temples. Firstly there was our afternoon getting a motorbike tour to visit two hilltop temples south of Battambang. By the time we had made it back to our cheap hotel, we were covered in the ochre and had sea legs from rolling up and down the Luna landscape roads. To reach Siam Reap, we had what should be a 3 hour trip become a 5 hour bounce-a-thon. But it has been worth it.

Next up, like the wool around tied around my wrist we are looping back to Phnom Penh. I would ideally like to get up to some of the places to the north of here, but it is just too difficult without being on some serious (read: expensive) 4WD tour. So Phnom Penh is next and then we are unsure. Like the Buddhist say, live in the moment.

Mekong Meandering

PHNOM PENH: I caused a small ruckus on the international border yesterday. A major tension between rival parties. A couple of primary school aged siblings raging over who would sell me a bottle of water.

Originally the boy would not drop his price for a can of soft drink from 15000 dong, even though I continued to offer 10000 for it. A price for which you could buy one anywhere else in Vietnam. I kept offering, even showing him the note. He wouldn't budge. His sister was cluey. She offered me a large bottle of water for 10000. Water was fine and we needed it, so off she raced to get one. The brother saw and raced off as well. The brother was quicker returning, and without thinking I gave him the note and took the bottle. The sister was furious as she caught up, bottle in hand, and screamed obscenities at me and then her brother.

We had made it to the border via a fibreglass river boat. The six hour fast boat was more than twice as expensive as the 10 hour slow boat, but at least it didn't involve a change of boat at the border and then a bus, or a lifetime on those hard wooden benches. The fast boat was for us, and we zoomed up the mighty Mekong calling in at the Vietnamese border checkpoint and soon after the Cambodian equivalent to formally enter the country.

Welcome to Cambodia. That was yesterday and in the meantime we have been wandering around this hard to love capital. On first glance the city is not quite up to Vietnamese cleanliness, but perhaps the country is yet to fully warm to us. Not like the weather though. From noon to about 4, escape from the suffocating heat is needed. Dry season still. Although back in the delta there were signs of it breaking.

Can Tho was the first instance when the heavens opened. Having just sat down to an evening meal the rain started to sheet down with a force I haven't seen since living in Lae. We watched the locals scatter to any sort of shelter available and a poor street vendor try and sit through it with the cover of a tiny umbrella while the gutter in front of her overflowed. Cracks of lightning filled the sky and massive claps of thunder boomed close by and the vendor eventually left her post drenched. More of these sights will no doubt occur as the wet begins over the next few months.

We had come south to Can Tho from HCMC as part of our Mekong Delta meanderings. Floating markets were a hot ticket item and so they proved to be. We had signed up for an early, 5.30am departure, for a long day touring the canals and waterways around the city.


Our old man river

Come morning we were met at the guesthouse by our wizened old boatman. He set off in the half light leading us towards the wharf, through an amazingly already bustling city, at a pace which deceived his bent frame. His little boat was on par with its owner - possibly on the way out. It was just wide enough to seat both of us and long enough to lay down in. If only it deceived in speed as well. Old man river knew how to handle it though, and with his stoop, he stood on the small stern and guided us down the river. Putt putt went the adapted lawnmower motor ... for the next 7 hours.

After coursing down the river, guiding up and down wakes of larger craft, the small size of the boat did benefit getting up close and personal with the floating markets. One in particular was full of similar sized boats. So with the lawnmower silent we bumped and squeezed our way through conical hat donned women haggling over the price of a bag of mangoes or buying noodle dishes off vendors. The vendors targeted us as well. A drink seller rocking up next to us with the gift of the gab was quite amusing, he made me buy a coffee and can of drink for our driver.

The water world of the Mekong Delta hasn't all been floating around. There have been sights to see on land as well. For a change from footing it we hired bikes in the border town of Chau Doc to see a local holy mountain (I am guessing it is holy because it is only bump in the flat landscape for miles around) called Mount Sam. Vietnamese bikes are something different. Mine had forgoed the chain and instead had something akin to a fan belt.

With much a-squeaking our bikes did do the trick and we made it out to the bottom of the mountain at around breakfast time, aka 6.30. I should have had some food, but instead we parked the bikes in the Vietnamese equivalent of a valet service and wandered off past the motorbike riders offering a lift (for a price) to the top.

The start of the track led through a Buddhist cemetery. It wasn't long after the graves before it was huff and puff time as we climbed past numerous places to stop and rest. Not for us, as it was only a small mountain (200 odd metres) and eventually it took only half an hour or so to reach the top. But the sweat glands had worked profusely in the early tropical humidity and I was wetter than kids at a Wet'n'Wild themepark. The breakfast situation wasn't that great either and I was feeling mildly faint. This was easily remedied on top after a hearty meal of packet noodle soup from a kiosk.


Hammock adorned rest stops on Mount Sam

Overall the food had been excellent in Vietnam. I am a big fan of cheap eats anywhere, but especially so when it is really cheap and extremely tasty like Vietnam is (the delta is by the way the origin of fish sauce). So far Phnom Penh has been more expensive than across the border but hopefully once we escape to rural Cambodia it will be similar. As long as I am more careful not to cause any more international incidents between rival siblings.

Back in the drift

HO CHI MINH CITY: Time to revamp this byline. It has been in hiatus for quite long enough. The reason to bring it out of its slumber is that I am actually currently somewhere different.

Saigon, or as the Communist leaders like to call it Ho Chi Minh, after the country's favourite son, is as far remove from Melbourne in feel and lifestyle as almost possible. Living on the street takes new meaning across Asia and Saigon is a perfect example. Little pots cook at your footsteps while washing swings above your head.

Into this city me and Rob stepped the other day. Day 1 on possibly my longest trip yet. There is no fixed return ticket. So far it is just been the cheap flight from Sydney with JetScar International .. you'll remember the boredom (actually it was ok .. take your own entertainment and pack sandwiches like the tight arses we are).

So what to make of my first few days in Vietnam. So far a couple of things leap out at you like a Saigon motorbike. Firstly there's .. well .. those bloody motorbikes. Apparently 3 million are in the city, but it seems they are all on the road you are trying to cross. Just be brave, wait for some sort of a gap, step out and walk in a steady manner, no lurches or lunges, make sure no unexpected cars or buses approach and those two-wheelers should all flow around you like detritus in the Saigon river.


Up a natural canal

Speaking of the river, I was keen to take a boat trip on it. But here is a tip for any prospective tourists. Don't bother. Previously you were able to travel up a major canal of the old part of the city. Nowadays it is currently a massive construction site as it is being filled in. The little boats will still take you on a trip. To the far more boring otherside of the river and up a "natural" canal, as far as natural goes on a filthy looking river.

Secondly, the other thing that hits you is the heat and humidity. The sluice gates have opened up on the sweat glands. We took the obligatory trip out to the war tunnels to see what life was like for the VC fighting the yanks, and after 5 minutes and roughly 90 metres down in the tunnels, crawling and crouching through until your thighs think you are a sadist, you pop out exhausted and drenched. The guerrillas lived down in them for up to a month. Respect.


A busted yank tank at the Cu Chi tunnels

The war certainly was a horrible event and it is hard to escape .. from a tourist's point of view. Checking out the War Remnants Museum made your stomach turn at the graffic images displayed. It is hard to shake the mental image of a GI picking up what was left of a boy blown apart by a grenade. It makes me angry and sad at the same time that war is still being justified. Images from 1965 Vietnam could just as easily read 2005 Iraq.

Tomorrow we escape the traffic, the war, the noise, the big city and drift on south to hopefully quieter realms of the Mekong Delta. We go our own way and are avoiding the numerous 2, 3 or 4 day tours being touted, and see where and when we end up. We do know that Cambodia will be there to drift into after we navigate the delta waterways. See you in a while.