AUSTRALIA - Sydney, 25th June
Wearing a jacket and tottering along, wincing from blisters induced by feet unaccustomed to shoes after 4 months, I walked through Hyde Park and down Oxford Street trying to shake the sensation that after my 4 months of adventures I was right back where I'd started: London. Then I'd turn a corner and be greeted by the stunning sparkling blue water of the harbour, the Opera House twinkling at me in the wintry sun light, a group of cockatoos strutting about, and be reassured that I was, in fact, on the other side of the world from home, although Australians have done their damdest to feverishly imitate it.
I was met at the airport and swept on a whistle-stop tour of the sites of Sydney by Roger and James, who were kind enough to wake up at 5am on a Friday morning to come and pick me up. I cruised in luxury through a beautiful, icy, winter morning thankful for comfortable seat and heating that was keeping my still flip-flopped toes warm.
In Sydney you get the impression that Australian has been chopped up and served to you in appealing bite-sized pieces, infused with longing references to Europe, particularly England. But Sydney remains its own city too. The Ozzy fashion is so cutting edge that my wallet has begun to bleed as I enthusiastically charge around glittering department stores 'cityfying' myself: Boots, hats, trousers and jackets replace flip-flops and Thai Fisherman Pants.
Asia is fading fast, alarmingly so, as I have plunged head first into the Sydney 'scene' laid open to me by obliging friends who 'know people' about town.
In the midst of the whirlwind, however, I have managed to find time to be reunited with my parents. In the reception of their very swanky hotel we bounced excitedly up and down, marvelling at the miles we have all travelled to enable this reunion on the other side of the world.
We had a happy few days together exploring Sydney, riding about on ferry boats, examining Australian Art at the Gallery of New South Wales and (in total abandonment of my backpacker status) an evening at the Opera House, where we saw a wonderful production of The Barber of Seville.
Yesterday, after yet another night on ze town, my parents tore me away from Sydney and marched me off to Brisbane for some hardcore family time and a bit of a detox...
I now find myself deep in the suburbs of Queensland. We are lodged in some 'serviced apartments' just opposite the Centenary Shopping Centre and I am once again reeling from culture shock. Some exploration of the coast to follow I think. I'm rather enjoying just going where I'm told...
Monday, June 25, 2007
Sunday, June 24, 2007
THAILAND - Bangkok & Sukhothai Historical Park (16th - 20th June)
No one could be quite certain how long the bus from Khao Sok to Surat Thani would be, we were told anything from 1 1/2 hours to 4. Hmmm so we picked a time somewhere in the middle and still arrived with 6 hours to kill before our train to Bangkok. We passed it merrily enough by finding something that most resembled a bar and settling in. The our over-night train, with its dubious smells, and extremely welcome dining car, brought us into Bangkok where we dusted ourselves off, had breakfast and then left Kao San to the hippies and set off to see some more of the city, showing each other parts that the other hadn't explored yet. I showed Charley the spectacle of Lumpini Park at dusk, when they offer free aerobics classes to anyone and everyone. People come straight from work, solemnly set down their hand bags and proceed to have a coordinated seisure while trying to keep up with the lithe young instructor bouncing around on the stage. Cruelly we sat giggling by the sidelines taking photos.
By this time we had wandered, half intentionally, into Silom and towards Patpong, the famous Red Light District. It was time for a drink so we took a plunge, each of us emboldened by having the other as a body guard (Charley's need for one outweighing mine considerably). So in we went and did not re-emerge until we'd witnessed bored-looking girls doing rather alarming things with various props, had in-depth chats with pretty girls in bikinis with numbers stuck on their chest (I had a nice little dance with them) and it was 3am and enough was quite clearly enough. So we hailed an over-priced tuk-tuk and scampered back to the safety of Kao San content that we had 'done' that side of the Bangkok 'experience'.
By then we both felt that we'd exhausted Bangkok's attractions, I still had a few days before my flight to Sydney and so we decided to head up north to Sukhothai Historical Park, Central Thailand. A 7 hour bus journey through flat landscape and paddy fields and we were in the friendly but rather plain town of Sukhothai where we checked into a pretty little bungalow (Charley was relieved to find that the prices take a dramatic nose dive as you head up north).
Sukhothai was recognized as the first Thai kingdom and gained prominence and independence in 1238. Today all that remains of the city are the crumbling Wats and Buddhas that survived the fire that the Burmese used to destroy it. Now it is a picturesque woodland through which paths wind around trees and alongside lakes and moats with cows grazing around the ruins. Rather sad but very beautiful. We hired bikes and pottered around in the dripping heat trying to take interesting photos which did the old city justice.
Another night in our laid-back guesthouse and it was time to bid farewell to Charley as he took a bus up north to Chang Mai and I headed back down south to Bangkok and Kao San Road, for the last time, in readiness for my flight the following day to Sydney.
Farewell Asia! Rather sad to leave, it is the most crazy, beautiful, smelly, exhasperating, bewitching place and I have had an amazing 4 months.
Onwards now to the controlled order of Australia and a considerable drop in temperature...
No one could be quite certain how long the bus from Khao Sok to Surat Thani would be, we were told anything from 1 1/2 hours to 4. Hmmm so we picked a time somewhere in the middle and still arrived with 6 hours to kill before our train to Bangkok. We passed it merrily enough by finding something that most resembled a bar and settling in. The our over-night train, with its dubious smells, and extremely welcome dining car, brought us into Bangkok where we dusted ourselves off, had breakfast and then left Kao San to the hippies and set off to see some more of the city, showing each other parts that the other hadn't explored yet. I showed Charley the spectacle of Lumpini Park at dusk, when they offer free aerobics classes to anyone and everyone. People come straight from work, solemnly set down their hand bags and proceed to have a coordinated seisure while trying to keep up with the lithe young instructor bouncing around on the stage. Cruelly we sat giggling by the sidelines taking photos.
By this time we had wandered, half intentionally, into Silom and towards Patpong, the famous Red Light District. It was time for a drink so we took a plunge, each of us emboldened by having the other as a body guard (Charley's need for one outweighing mine considerably). So in we went and did not re-emerge until we'd witnessed bored-looking girls doing rather alarming things with various props, had in-depth chats with pretty girls in bikinis with numbers stuck on their chest (I had a nice little dance with them) and it was 3am and enough was quite clearly enough. So we hailed an over-priced tuk-tuk and scampered back to the safety of Kao San content that we had 'done' that side of the Bangkok 'experience'.
By then we both felt that we'd exhausted Bangkok's attractions, I still had a few days before my flight to Sydney and so we decided to head up north to Sukhothai Historical Park, Central Thailand. A 7 hour bus journey through flat landscape and paddy fields and we were in the friendly but rather plain town of Sukhothai where we checked into a pretty little bungalow (Charley was relieved to find that the prices take a dramatic nose dive as you head up north).
Sukhothai was recognized as the first Thai kingdom and gained prominence and independence in 1238. Today all that remains of the city are the crumbling Wats and Buddhas that survived the fire that the Burmese used to destroy it. Now it is a picturesque woodland through which paths wind around trees and alongside lakes and moats with cows grazing around the ruins. Rather sad but very beautiful. We hired bikes and pottered around in the dripping heat trying to take interesting photos which did the old city justice.
Another night in our laid-back guesthouse and it was time to bid farewell to Charley as he took a bus up north to Chang Mai and I headed back down south to Bangkok and Kao San Road, for the last time, in readiness for my flight the following day to Sydney.
Farewell Asia! Rather sad to leave, it is the most crazy, beautiful, smelly, exhasperating, bewitching place and I have had an amazing 4 months.
Onwards now to the controlled order of Australia and a considerable drop in temperature...
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
THAILAND - Khao Sok National Park (written from Bangkok, 20th June)
"The most beautiful National Park in Thailand" promised one website. Not much written about and rarely visited by the convoy of tourists that pass through it on route to Phuket and the islands, hard to resist really, especially with the promise of afore mentioned leeches. An adventure.
After consuming plenty of beer to ensure sleep, we hopped on the night ferry, an overloaded, rickety vessel that had us lying next to each other packed in tightly like sardines with a ceiling so low that you had to negotiate your way to the toilet on your hands and knees. Still, quite fun, or perhaps that was the beer. Apparently the boat went through a terrific storm in the night, the driver going at full pelt, the boat bouncing off huge waves. I say apparently because I slept soundly through the whole thing happily oblivious. Charley wasn't so lucky.
At 5.00am we staggered off the boat spent a few mysterious hours being shuffled on and off buses, driven in circles very slowly while being played loud pop music to stop us from nodding off until we were finally allowed onto the bus to Khao Sok.
After 2 weeks of beach life, the dense tangle of jungle, out of which rose high, craggy limestone cliffs, was so refreshing that we were not long installed in our pretty little jungle cabin (checked thoroughly by Charley of evidence of bugs or any other jungle life that might have crept in) before I was itching to explore. I dragged him, exhausted but good natured, into the jungle with those fatal words: "Let’s find that waterfall."
Any of you who might have read my previous entries might remember my other futile attempts at finding evasive waterfalls in South East Asia. My track record ain't great. With this in mind a 4km trek through thick and rather wild jungle might seem a little ambitious. But the path seemed sturdy enough and I was so exhilarated to be in a noisy, drippy rain forest (what is the difference between a rainforest and a jungle?) that we set off feeling optimistic, well I did, any misgivings that Charley had about the venture he kept to himself. 4km isn't that far after all...
No not that far, but baring in mind that it is 4km of track that became increasingly narrow and took us up and down into rivers, along deep ravines and through the undergrowth, stopping every few minutes to pick leeches off our unprotected flip-flop clad feet, you can see how it was slow going. We met some fellow jungle explorers coming the other way clad in the full regalia: Kaki shorts, long socks, walking sticks and thick boots. They eyed us with pitying contempt as we passed and revealed with some pride their blood-covered legs from giant leeches that they had had to burn off. Still, never to be defeated, even by darkening skies, rumbles of thunder and the threat that it wasn't that long before the sun would think about setting and we only had one liter of water between us that was running low, we pushed on. Dripping and exhausted we finally stumbled across the waterfall and had a well deserved dip in the icy water. We did not have long, however, because we still had the 4km trek back again. By now we were seasoned jungalists (not in the music sense) and made our way back to base without incident, our mutual leech checking becoming rather efficient. We stumbled into the open air gasping, gulped down bottles of water and collapsed exhausted, unused to such activity after the sleepiness of the islands. It had been a long day.
The following day we took things a little easier and followed nice wide tracks to the waterfalls and swimming holes closer to home. In the evening we sat by the fire in a deserted guest house talking to a chatting young guy who proudly told us that his jungle held tigers, wild elephants and bears. We were wondering what had left that alarmingly large pile of dung... We left him happily hunting frogs with a pitch fork and retired exhausted again and ready for another day of traveling.
"The most beautiful National Park in Thailand" promised one website. Not much written about and rarely visited by the convoy of tourists that pass through it on route to Phuket and the islands, hard to resist really, especially with the promise of afore mentioned leeches. An adventure.
After consuming plenty of beer to ensure sleep, we hopped on the night ferry, an overloaded, rickety vessel that had us lying next to each other packed in tightly like sardines with a ceiling so low that you had to negotiate your way to the toilet on your hands and knees. Still, quite fun, or perhaps that was the beer. Apparently the boat went through a terrific storm in the night, the driver going at full pelt, the boat bouncing off huge waves. I say apparently because I slept soundly through the whole thing happily oblivious. Charley wasn't so lucky.
At 5.00am we staggered off the boat spent a few mysterious hours being shuffled on and off buses, driven in circles very slowly while being played loud pop music to stop us from nodding off until we were finally allowed onto the bus to Khao Sok.
After 2 weeks of beach life, the dense tangle of jungle, out of which rose high, craggy limestone cliffs, was so refreshing that we were not long installed in our pretty little jungle cabin (checked thoroughly by Charley of evidence of bugs or any other jungle life that might have crept in) before I was itching to explore. I dragged him, exhausted but good natured, into the jungle with those fatal words: "Let’s find that waterfall."
Any of you who might have read my previous entries might remember my other futile attempts at finding evasive waterfalls in South East Asia. My track record ain't great. With this in mind a 4km trek through thick and rather wild jungle might seem a little ambitious. But the path seemed sturdy enough and I was so exhilarated to be in a noisy, drippy rain forest (what is the difference between a rainforest and a jungle?) that we set off feeling optimistic, well I did, any misgivings that Charley had about the venture he kept to himself. 4km isn't that far after all...
No not that far, but baring in mind that it is 4km of track that became increasingly narrow and took us up and down into rivers, along deep ravines and through the undergrowth, stopping every few minutes to pick leeches off our unprotected flip-flop clad feet, you can see how it was slow going. We met some fellow jungle explorers coming the other way clad in the full regalia: Kaki shorts, long socks, walking sticks and thick boots. They eyed us with pitying contempt as we passed and revealed with some pride their blood-covered legs from giant leeches that they had had to burn off. Still, never to be defeated, even by darkening skies, rumbles of thunder and the threat that it wasn't that long before the sun would think about setting and we only had one liter of water between us that was running low, we pushed on. Dripping and exhausted we finally stumbled across the waterfall and had a well deserved dip in the icy water. We did not have long, however, because we still had the 4km trek back again. By now we were seasoned jungalists (not in the music sense) and made our way back to base without incident, our mutual leech checking becoming rather efficient. We stumbled into the open air gasping, gulped down bottles of water and collapsed exhausted, unused to such activity after the sleepiness of the islands. It had been a long day.
The following day we took things a little easier and followed nice wide tracks to the waterfalls and swimming holes closer to home. In the evening we sat by the fire in a deserted guest house talking to a chatting young guy who proudly told us that his jungle held tigers, wild elephants and bears. We were wondering what had left that alarmingly large pile of dung... We left him happily hunting frogs with a pitch fork and retired exhausted again and ready for another day of traveling.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
THAILAND - Ko Pang Nang & Koh Tao, Monday 11th June
As no doubt most of you will have guessed, no news is generally good news, which would account for my silence over the last week or so. My silence can also be attributed to the general laid-backness of island life. One day blends into another with very little distiction and consequently not much to tell.
However, Jazz and I had a very happy time on Ko Pang Nang, sunning ourselves on the beach and bouncing around until the early hours as the season of Full Moon dictated. The only real shadow cast over our enjoyment was, I am ashamed to say, due to the conduct of my fellow countrymen. There is no escaping the fact that Ko Pang Nang is densly populated with highlighted and bronzed British rich-kids, somewhere between school and university. This wouldn't be so much of a problem if they weren't all behaving so badly.
My natural habitat lies dangerously close to the Kings Road and so I am more accustomed to the ways of some of these kids: Their cheerful oblivion to any outside influences and their stubborn determination to keep it just so. Jazz, however, was unprepared and consequently mortified at the obvious snub that we recieved every time we attempted civilities. As she became increasingly upset, I became increasingly embarassed and endeveoured to try and redeam Britishness to this characteristically friendly Australian who was rapidly going off and entire nation. I did my best.
The best way to discribe the Full Moon Party is to resort back to my university analogy which is appropriate, especially if you take in mind the age group of my fellow islanders.
From Fresher's Week to the Freshers Ball. People and drinks being distributed with equal freeness, casualties of over-indulgence strewn about and naked flesh cavorting in merky swimming pools in the early hours. Amidst the chaos is Jazz and me dancing on a table with Borat and 4 ladyboys dressed as sailors. I am also told that there is video footage of us on a blacony dancing up the sunrise. I would have expected nothing less.
So all lots of good fun and general silliness. Our week on Ko Pang Nang passed in a leisurly blur of parties and sunbathing. We were more than ready to hop over to Koh Tao for some less nocturnal activities and a spot of snorkelling. Koh Tao is a beautiful island with palm tree-covered peaks sloping down to white sands and tourquise waters. We spent a rather exhilerating couple of days clinging on to the back of dirt bikes while our drivers (two obliging essex boys) navigated us off-road to remote beaches and view points, which were beautiful - when I could bring myself to open my eyes, my driver could be a little over zealous with the throttle and seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much.
On Wednesday I turned 25 and am less than impressed by my alarming marching of years. My day was chirped up however by an early start and trip to the ferry port to greet a long awaited and very familiar face. Charley arrived on Koh Tao exhausted after a nightmare journey and smarting slightly from the sever ripping off that he'd undergone on Kao San Road but happy to be on a remote island where everything is calmer. By this point we had gathered quite a little possie so I had a great birthday party.
Jazz and the boys left on Friday as the days are slipping by, I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that island life can be somewhat limited. Every self-indulgent whim is catered for, the setting is idylic but after my adventures over the last few months I find myself hankering for more. Fortunately Charley is about ready to leave the islands now too (with a little nudge). I fly to Sydney in just over a week which leaves me time for a few more adventures before I bid farewell to Asia...
We are heading over night back to the mainland where we make our way to Khoa Sok National Park for a couple of days (I could not resist the lure of waterfalls, lime stone cliffs and the promise of blood sucking leeches - Charley has his reservations). We then head up, through Bangkok again, to Sukhothai Historical Park where I shall ponder a few temples and a few last Wats before decending back to Bangkok and onwards to Oz.
I'll be busier so I promise I'll keep you updated.
As no doubt most of you will have guessed, no news is generally good news, which would account for my silence over the last week or so. My silence can also be attributed to the general laid-backness of island life. One day blends into another with very little distiction and consequently not much to tell.
However, Jazz and I had a very happy time on Ko Pang Nang, sunning ourselves on the beach and bouncing around until the early hours as the season of Full Moon dictated. The only real shadow cast over our enjoyment was, I am ashamed to say, due to the conduct of my fellow countrymen. There is no escaping the fact that Ko Pang Nang is densly populated with highlighted and bronzed British rich-kids, somewhere between school and university. This wouldn't be so much of a problem if they weren't all behaving so badly.
My natural habitat lies dangerously close to the Kings Road and so I am more accustomed to the ways of some of these kids: Their cheerful oblivion to any outside influences and their stubborn determination to keep it just so. Jazz, however, was unprepared and consequently mortified at the obvious snub that we recieved every time we attempted civilities. As she became increasingly upset, I became increasingly embarassed and endeveoured to try and redeam Britishness to this characteristically friendly Australian who was rapidly going off and entire nation. I did my best.
The best way to discribe the Full Moon Party is to resort back to my university analogy which is appropriate, especially if you take in mind the age group of my fellow islanders.
From Fresher's Week to the Freshers Ball. People and drinks being distributed with equal freeness, casualties of over-indulgence strewn about and naked flesh cavorting in merky swimming pools in the early hours. Amidst the chaos is Jazz and me dancing on a table with Borat and 4 ladyboys dressed as sailors. I am also told that there is video footage of us on a blacony dancing up the sunrise. I would have expected nothing less.
So all lots of good fun and general silliness. Our week on Ko Pang Nang passed in a leisurly blur of parties and sunbathing. We were more than ready to hop over to Koh Tao for some less nocturnal activities and a spot of snorkelling. Koh Tao is a beautiful island with palm tree-covered peaks sloping down to white sands and tourquise waters. We spent a rather exhilerating couple of days clinging on to the back of dirt bikes while our drivers (two obliging essex boys) navigated us off-road to remote beaches and view points, which were beautiful - when I could bring myself to open my eyes, my driver could be a little over zealous with the throttle and seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much.
On Wednesday I turned 25 and am less than impressed by my alarming marching of years. My day was chirped up however by an early start and trip to the ferry port to greet a long awaited and very familiar face. Charley arrived on Koh Tao exhausted after a nightmare journey and smarting slightly from the sever ripping off that he'd undergone on Kao San Road but happy to be on a remote island where everything is calmer. By this point we had gathered quite a little possie so I had a great birthday party.
Jazz and the boys left on Friday as the days are slipping by, I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that island life can be somewhat limited. Every self-indulgent whim is catered for, the setting is idylic but after my adventures over the last few months I find myself hankering for more. Fortunately Charley is about ready to leave the islands now too (with a little nudge). I fly to Sydney in just over a week which leaves me time for a few more adventures before I bid farewell to Asia...
We are heading over night back to the mainland where we make our way to Khoa Sok National Park for a couple of days (I could not resist the lure of waterfalls, lime stone cliffs and the promise of blood sucking leeches - Charley has his reservations). We then head up, through Bangkok again, to Sukhothai Historical Park where I shall ponder a few temples and a few last Wats before decending back to Bangkok and onwards to Oz.
I'll be busier so I promise I'll keep you updated.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
THAILAND - Bangkok, Thursday 4th May
Wow. I'm suffering from an acute, reverse culture shock. Yesterday a hair-raising taxi ride (mainly in the wrong lane, towards oncoming traffic) brought me to Hanoi airport, where a smooth Air Asia flight swept me off to Thailand. I glimpsed Bangkok, while crawling through heavy traffic in an air conditioned shuttle bus, and was deposited at The Kao San Road.
Alex Garland, author of 'The Beach', describes the the Kao San Road as a sort of decompression chamber between East and West. It is a jumping off point from which to explore South East Asia and is consequently full of beaded, dreaded Travellers (yes, with a capital 'T') shuffling around looking bleary and bewildered. There are the aging hippies, who seem to be stuck here, the fresh-from-school kids, who travel in packs, delirious with excitement (and too much Sang Som), and the rest of us South East Asia trampers milling about from bar to clothes shop to Internet cafe, trying to figure out how to get to our next destination and having to pinch ourselves to remind ourselves where we are.
Jazz and I, happily reunited, wandered around the neon-lit, thumping streets feeling like two out-of-towners, marvelling at the bright lights, pounding western music and abundance of (tanned) white faces.
Travelling has come to remind me of university: Starting impromptu conversations with strangers, forming brief but significant friendships and loosing track of week days. If that is so, the The Kao San Road is the culmination of Fresher's Week. Everything is arranged for our entertainment with the sole aim of parting us with our baht. Movies play on loop in cafes with sofas, tour offices sell trips to the islands, bars churn out cheap, lethal cocktails and tattoo parlours are literally a-buzz, taking advantage of travellers' sense of abandonment which comes from being so far from home.
After my last few months in Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam I find this jolt back to 'the West' a little unnerving and I'm feeling a little misplaced. It is also rather exhilarating. I can see how easy it is to get swept up in this surreal bubble but it is disconcerting when you can so easily forget where you are.
I'd better get used to it, however, there is a definite Full Moon Party buzz about the place at the moment so I suspect I've just found my travel companions for the next week or so...
Still, if you can't beat em, join em.
Wow. I'm suffering from an acute, reverse culture shock. Yesterday a hair-raising taxi ride (mainly in the wrong lane, towards oncoming traffic) brought me to Hanoi airport, where a smooth Air Asia flight swept me off to Thailand. I glimpsed Bangkok, while crawling through heavy traffic in an air conditioned shuttle bus, and was deposited at The Kao San Road.
Alex Garland, author of 'The Beach', describes the the Kao San Road as a sort of decompression chamber between East and West. It is a jumping off point from which to explore South East Asia and is consequently full of beaded, dreaded Travellers (yes, with a capital 'T') shuffling around looking bleary and bewildered. There are the aging hippies, who seem to be stuck here, the fresh-from-school kids, who travel in packs, delirious with excitement (and too much Sang Som), and the rest of us South East Asia trampers milling about from bar to clothes shop to Internet cafe, trying to figure out how to get to our next destination and having to pinch ourselves to remind ourselves where we are.
Jazz and I, happily reunited, wandered around the neon-lit, thumping streets feeling like two out-of-towners, marvelling at the bright lights, pounding western music and abundance of (tanned) white faces.
Travelling has come to remind me of university: Starting impromptu conversations with strangers, forming brief but significant friendships and loosing track of week days. If that is so, the The Kao San Road is the culmination of Fresher's Week. Everything is arranged for our entertainment with the sole aim of parting us with our baht. Movies play on loop in cafes with sofas, tour offices sell trips to the islands, bars churn out cheap, lethal cocktails and tattoo parlours are literally a-buzz, taking advantage of travellers' sense of abandonment which comes from being so far from home.
After my last few months in Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam I find this jolt back to 'the West' a little unnerving and I'm feeling a little misplaced. It is also rather exhilarating. I can see how easy it is to get swept up in this surreal bubble but it is disconcerting when you can so easily forget where you are.
I'd better get used to it, however, there is a definite Full Moon Party buzz about the place at the moment so I suspect I've just found my travel companions for the next week or so...
Still, if you can't beat em, join em.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
VIETNAM - Hanoi, Tuesday 22nd May
I awoke yesterday morning to a cheery wave from the little girl in the bunk opposite me as we rattled through lime green rice fields, tinny musac being piped at me from hidden speakers. It was 6.00am, but at least I'd had some sleep. The evening before, my fellow travellers and I journey down the train, past increasing uncomfortable-looking seats, stepping over bodies, to the 'dining car' (a couple of tables and some boxes) for some beers. It was soon bedtime for the staff though so we crept back to our compritively luxurious quaters and retired.
We arrived at Hanoi at around 11.30 and were swept into town by a hopeful hotelier. Slightly guiltily, I accepted a very smart room complete with shiny bathroom (the irony of the 'American Standard' wash basin, juxtaposed with the red flags a fluttering outside made me smile) and cable TV. Still, for the equivalent of 4 pounds, I thought I could manage it.
We spent the afternoon exploring the Old Quater: Narrow streets packed with motor bikes and shops spilling out onto the pavement. Each street has a theme, be it sunglasses, shoes or toys, and is named accordingly. Frustrating when you are looking for sunglasses but all you can find is pipe cleaners. In the evening we sat out on the street on little plastic stools and sipped very cheap beer from a keg and watched Hanoi bustle past. When in Rome...
Today my friends departed for Halong Bay, I had to forgo the trip as I'm running out of time - always a problem - and so I set solo off to see some of the sights. My trusty Lonely Planet firmly pointed me in the direction of the Museum of Ethnology and so I dutifully headed out of town to see what it was all about.
Aside from offering a welcome sanctury from the growlings of a dissappointed moto driver, who was determined to over charge me, it was rather wonderful. A huge modern building divided into sections dedicated to the different ethnic groups that make up South East Asia and the history of their migration from different parts of the world. Outside there sprawled several examples of different villages, packed full of artifacts. They must have invested a huge amount into the museum, you could spend days there.
I departed, however, to have another argument with a moto and headed to the Ho Chi Minh Museum. A massive Art Decco pile of concrete and marble containging an imposing hall with a gold Ho Chi Minh saluting me as I climbed the stairs. There were some bizzare, stylised displays of ideology, most of which, being in Vietnamese, was lost on me, but I got the jist.
The Old Quater is built around a lake. Futher inspection of the lake I found myself at this afternoon after being dumped by another moto (grrr) revealed that it was infact the wrong one. Still, it was very pretty and surrounded by little cafes so I explored the leafy streets of this more affluent area for a short while before taking my final moto back to the Old Quater for a cup of coffee and spot of re-grouping.
As I was on my way to visit a restored Chiese-style house I heard my name and turned to see some people that I met in my last night in Hoi An. So that is my how-shall-I-kill-this-evening problem sorted.
Tomorrow I fly to Bangkok to be reunited with one of my fellow volunteers and head south to the Islands for some Full Mooning. At this rate I'm going to be Oz before I know it...
I awoke yesterday morning to a cheery wave from the little girl in the bunk opposite me as we rattled through lime green rice fields, tinny musac being piped at me from hidden speakers. It was 6.00am, but at least I'd had some sleep. The evening before, my fellow travellers and I journey down the train, past increasing uncomfortable-looking seats, stepping over bodies, to the 'dining car' (a couple of tables and some boxes) for some beers. It was soon bedtime for the staff though so we crept back to our compritively luxurious quaters and retired.
We arrived at Hanoi at around 11.30 and were swept into town by a hopeful hotelier. Slightly guiltily, I accepted a very smart room complete with shiny bathroom (the irony of the 'American Standard' wash basin, juxtaposed with the red flags a fluttering outside made me smile) and cable TV. Still, for the equivalent of 4 pounds, I thought I could manage it.
We spent the afternoon exploring the Old Quater: Narrow streets packed with motor bikes and shops spilling out onto the pavement. Each street has a theme, be it sunglasses, shoes or toys, and is named accordingly. Frustrating when you are looking for sunglasses but all you can find is pipe cleaners. In the evening we sat out on the street on little plastic stools and sipped very cheap beer from a keg and watched Hanoi bustle past. When in Rome...
Today my friends departed for Halong Bay, I had to forgo the trip as I'm running out of time - always a problem - and so I set solo off to see some of the sights. My trusty Lonely Planet firmly pointed me in the direction of the Museum of Ethnology and so I dutifully headed out of town to see what it was all about.
Aside from offering a welcome sanctury from the growlings of a dissappointed moto driver, who was determined to over charge me, it was rather wonderful. A huge modern building divided into sections dedicated to the different ethnic groups that make up South East Asia and the history of their migration from different parts of the world. Outside there sprawled several examples of different villages, packed full of artifacts. They must have invested a huge amount into the museum, you could spend days there.
I departed, however, to have another argument with a moto and headed to the Ho Chi Minh Museum. A massive Art Decco pile of concrete and marble containging an imposing hall with a gold Ho Chi Minh saluting me as I climbed the stairs. There were some bizzare, stylised displays of ideology, most of which, being in Vietnamese, was lost on me, but I got the jist.
The Old Quater is built around a lake. Futher inspection of the lake I found myself at this afternoon after being dumped by another moto (grrr) revealed that it was infact the wrong one. Still, it was very pretty and surrounded by little cafes so I explored the leafy streets of this more affluent area for a short while before taking my final moto back to the Old Quater for a cup of coffee and spot of re-grouping.
As I was on my way to visit a restored Chiese-style house I heard my name and turned to see some people that I met in my last night in Hoi An. So that is my how-shall-I-kill-this-evening problem sorted.
Tomorrow I fly to Bangkok to be reunited with one of my fellow volunteers and head south to the Islands for some Full Mooning. At this rate I'm going to be Oz before I know it...
Monday, May 21, 2007
VIETNAM - Hue (written from Hanoi) Monday 21st May
Although somewhat forgotten, the central coastal city of Hue served as the nation's capital for over a century. It has sprawled over to the South of Song Huong (Perfume River) but its key attraction is its 19th Century Citadel, which houses the Imperial Enclosure and Forbidden Purple City, used during the Nguyen Dynasty. Since then it has been left to crumble somewhat and took a sever battering from those pesky Americans. But it remains, historically, the cultural centre of Vietnam and, consequently, worth a butchers.
So, after another brief night's sleep (Hoi An seemed able to produce a couple of late night hot-spots after all) I took the 3 hour bus ride up north to Hue.
After a brief, much needed, power nap, I set off on foot in the direction of the Citadel. I was enjoying a nice amble along the river front through neat little gardens when my flip-flop broke. There is something totally absolute about a broken flip-flop. You can't hobble anywhere holding it on with your toe. No, one minute you are comfortably, and airily, shod, the next you are not. A cafe of locals witnessed my misfortune with characteristic giggles and sympathetic cluckings. As I stood there grinning awkwardly, a woman emerged with another pair and gave them to me. I love this country. Fortunately I found a cobbler and was able to return them on route to my destination.
The old city is walled and contains the Imperial Enclosure. Feeling lazy (and not trusting my footwear) I allowed myself to be pushed around the city in a cyclo. The afternoon was approaching evening and thunder clouds grumbled around the Citadel which, aside from the impressive walls and gate ways, spattering of American army tanks and guns and a big lilly pad-filled moat, did little to capture my imagination. The Imperial Enclosure itself was a little haphazard too. Due to the election the following day (May 20th), some event was being set up so I was a little distracted by rolls of cable, trestle tables and plastic dragons.
I wandered around deserted, over-grown gardens and ceremonial halls but felt rather unmoved and in the way, so I bid a retreat and returned to my hotel to see about a trip down the Perfume River to the tombs, the 'must do' of Hue.
That evening, while I was busy getting lost, I came across a rally. Red flags everywhere, hoards of people milling and 3 men in tuxedos on a big stage, bedecked with red banners, stood warbling "Vietnam! Vietnam" What I assumed to be there national anthem. People were wandering about looking mildly interested. I was relived, however, to not detect any inclinations to start throwing their arms in the air or hunting any 'suspect capitalists' to lynch...
The next morning I was up early and on a boat with fellow sight seers and a sweet, shy Vietnamese guide, and off down the Perfume River in hunt of tombs.
The tombs of the Nguyen Emperors are set along the banks of the river and are made more impressive by their setting amongst pine trees, surrounded by beautiful lakes. The solemn, over-sized tombs themselves have the customary air of being absurdly disproportionate to their content - the withered remains of a human being. I often stand at tombs and try and summon a sensation other than that but I am usually unsuccessful. Granted, I am yet to go to Egypt.
I happily contented myself with wandering around the lakes and through the pines, which gave the place a Mediterranean feel.
I returned to the hotel in time to find Cli and the other 2 Irish girls getting off the bus from Hoi An, laden with purchases. So we had an early dinner before I set off to the station, bumping into some people from my river trip on route. I have travel companions to Hanoi. Funny how it works out.
Although somewhat forgotten, the central coastal city of Hue served as the nation's capital for over a century. It has sprawled over to the South of Song Huong (Perfume River) but its key attraction is its 19th Century Citadel, which houses the Imperial Enclosure and Forbidden Purple City, used during the Nguyen Dynasty. Since then it has been left to crumble somewhat and took a sever battering from those pesky Americans. But it remains, historically, the cultural centre of Vietnam and, consequently, worth a butchers.
So, after another brief night's sleep (Hoi An seemed able to produce a couple of late night hot-spots after all) I took the 3 hour bus ride up north to Hue.
After a brief, much needed, power nap, I set off on foot in the direction of the Citadel. I was enjoying a nice amble along the river front through neat little gardens when my flip-flop broke. There is something totally absolute about a broken flip-flop. You can't hobble anywhere holding it on with your toe. No, one minute you are comfortably, and airily, shod, the next you are not. A cafe of locals witnessed my misfortune with characteristic giggles and sympathetic cluckings. As I stood there grinning awkwardly, a woman emerged with another pair and gave them to me. I love this country. Fortunately I found a cobbler and was able to return them on route to my destination.
The old city is walled and contains the Imperial Enclosure. Feeling lazy (and not trusting my footwear) I allowed myself to be pushed around the city in a cyclo. The afternoon was approaching evening and thunder clouds grumbled around the Citadel which, aside from the impressive walls and gate ways, spattering of American army tanks and guns and a big lilly pad-filled moat, did little to capture my imagination. The Imperial Enclosure itself was a little haphazard too. Due to the election the following day (May 20th), some event was being set up so I was a little distracted by rolls of cable, trestle tables and plastic dragons.
I wandered around deserted, over-grown gardens and ceremonial halls but felt rather unmoved and in the way, so I bid a retreat and returned to my hotel to see about a trip down the Perfume River to the tombs, the 'must do' of Hue.
That evening, while I was busy getting lost, I came across a rally. Red flags everywhere, hoards of people milling and 3 men in tuxedos on a big stage, bedecked with red banners, stood warbling "Vietnam! Vietnam" What I assumed to be there national anthem. People were wandering about looking mildly interested. I was relived, however, to not detect any inclinations to start throwing their arms in the air or hunting any 'suspect capitalists' to lynch...
The next morning I was up early and on a boat with fellow sight seers and a sweet, shy Vietnamese guide, and off down the Perfume River in hunt of tombs.
The tombs of the Nguyen Emperors are set along the banks of the river and are made more impressive by their setting amongst pine trees, surrounded by beautiful lakes. The solemn, over-sized tombs themselves have the customary air of being absurdly disproportionate to their content - the withered remains of a human being. I often stand at tombs and try and summon a sensation other than that but I am usually unsuccessful. Granted, I am yet to go to Egypt.
I happily contented myself with wandering around the lakes and through the pines, which gave the place a Mediterranean feel.
I returned to the hotel in time to find Cli and the other 2 Irish girls getting off the bus from Hoi An, laden with purchases. So we had an early dinner before I set off to the station, bumping into some people from my river trip on route. I have travel companions to Hanoi. Funny how it works out.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Boots, shoes, jackets, trousers, dresses...
I've been scampering around Hoi An like a kid in a sweet shop (or a woman in a town where clothes and shoes are tailor made, in abundance and dirt cheap). The magnetic lure of such a place could be fatal. It is not helped by the fact that Hoi An is a really beautiful little town: Narrow streets lined with crumbling French villas and Chinese Silk Merchants' houses, with thick, dark wooden balconies; little lantern adorned river-front restaurants twinkling appealingly and offering Hoi An culinary treats; A beautiful palm-treed, white sand beach just up the road... It would be easy to get stuck here.
Yesterday we hired bikes and pottered around the Old Town poking about in Pagodas, some of the old houses open to the public and little art galleries before returning to our friendly tailors and shoe makers to inspect our purchases.
Today we went to the beach and finally collected our booty, which is now strewn about all over the room. We are wondering how we are ever going to fit it all in our bags and how much we will get charged for being over weight. Time to leave I think.
So tonight we gather up some more Irish girls and some British boys and check out a few Hoi An 'hotspots' and then bright and early tomorrow I'm off to Hue and what I am told is the far from enchanting North. People I meet coming up from the South are, like us, full of praise for the beauty of the country and the friendliness of its people. Those coming down from the North, however, have a very different story to tell and are generally disenchanted with the place. It gets better for them and worse for us. But I remain optimistic. Watch this space...
I've been scampering around Hoi An like a kid in a sweet shop (or a woman in a town where clothes and shoes are tailor made, in abundance and dirt cheap). The magnetic lure of such a place could be fatal. It is not helped by the fact that Hoi An is a really beautiful little town: Narrow streets lined with crumbling French villas and Chinese Silk Merchants' houses, with thick, dark wooden balconies; little lantern adorned river-front restaurants twinkling appealingly and offering Hoi An culinary treats; A beautiful palm-treed, white sand beach just up the road... It would be easy to get stuck here.
Yesterday we hired bikes and pottered around the Old Town poking about in Pagodas, some of the old houses open to the public and little art galleries before returning to our friendly tailors and shoe makers to inspect our purchases.
Today we went to the beach and finally collected our booty, which is now strewn about all over the room. We are wondering how we are ever going to fit it all in our bags and how much we will get charged for being over weight. Time to leave I think.
So tonight we gather up some more Irish girls and some British boys and check out a few Hoi An 'hotspots' and then bright and early tomorrow I'm off to Hue and what I am told is the far from enchanting North. People I meet coming up from the South are, like us, full of praise for the beauty of the country and the friendliness of its people. Those coming down from the North, however, have a very different story to tell and are generally disenchanted with the place. It gets better for them and worse for us. But I remain optimistic. Watch this space...
Monday, May 14, 2007
Half a day on a bus, or 2 days on the back of a Honda with a night in a highland village drinking rice wine with the village chief... A bit of a no-brainer really. Not only did I have a chance to indulge my recently-discovered fondness for riding around on the back of motorbikes, but also a chance to some more remote parts of the highlands with a guide called Monkey. Hard to resist.
So bright and early on Sunday morning, Clio and I saddled up and vroom vroomed off into the mountains. We were amazingly lucky with the weather. After the torrential rain of the previous day, we expected it be rather damp going, but the sun shone brightly as we pootled down mountains and into valleys, stopping every so often to peer at a cinnamon tree, visit a silk factory, scramble down waterfalls or simply just to walk for a bit and regain the feeling in our legs.
Monkey and his mate Buffalo proved to be excellent guides. A real double act who teased us, told funny stories and giggle heartily at our attempts to learn Vietnamese.
We arrived at a pretty little farming village, tucked in a valley on a lake and surrounded by green rice fields, just in time to grab a beer, wade out to an upturned boat and sit and watch a beautiful sunset while the villagers fished, played football or just pottered around, smiling cheerily at us in greeting.
We had a hilarious evening together, joined by the village chief, a crazy little guy who knocked back rice whiskey, chatted away to us in Vietnamese and finally challenged Clio to a wrestling match (which she won). We then went outside to play Keepy-Uppy with everyone, we lost so bought them all ice creams. The young girls were shy but friendly and soon giggling at us two over-sized, clumsy westerners trying to play their game.
Abruptly (as it seems to happen in these remote spots) it turned 11.00pm and the power went out. Bed time. We slept on the floor of a bungalow on stilts, pigs rooting around in the mud beneath us.
Up bright and early yesterday morning for a truly beautiful ride down to Nah Trang, through green paddy fields with grazing buffalo and farmers in straw hats, up into mountains through wisps of cloud and, for a short time, along the Ho Chi Minh Trail and war-scarred hillsides. I can't really do it justice, I know my photos won't either but it was wonderful riding through the countryside in the open air, with the wind in our faces surrounded by such beauty. It will be one of my highlights of South East Asia.
We bid a sad farewell to Monkey and Buffalo when they dropped us at our guest house, we had such a good time together.
Nah Trang is a fairly major coastal town and quite a contrast to the little village of the previous night. We sampled the nightlife last night and then lay on the beach for most of today feeling sorry for ourselves. Tonight we are taking the 12 hour bus to Hoi An for a spot of shopping. Onwards and upwards.
So bright and early on Sunday morning, Clio and I saddled up and vroom vroomed off into the mountains. We were amazingly lucky with the weather. After the torrential rain of the previous day, we expected it be rather damp going, but the sun shone brightly as we pootled down mountains and into valleys, stopping every so often to peer at a cinnamon tree, visit a silk factory, scramble down waterfalls or simply just to walk for a bit and regain the feeling in our legs.
Monkey and his mate Buffalo proved to be excellent guides. A real double act who teased us, told funny stories and giggle heartily at our attempts to learn Vietnamese.
We arrived at a pretty little farming village, tucked in a valley on a lake and surrounded by green rice fields, just in time to grab a beer, wade out to an upturned boat and sit and watch a beautiful sunset while the villagers fished, played football or just pottered around, smiling cheerily at us in greeting.
We had a hilarious evening together, joined by the village chief, a crazy little guy who knocked back rice whiskey, chatted away to us in Vietnamese and finally challenged Clio to a wrestling match (which she won). We then went outside to play Keepy-Uppy with everyone, we lost so bought them all ice creams. The young girls were shy but friendly and soon giggling at us two over-sized, clumsy westerners trying to play their game.
Abruptly (as it seems to happen in these remote spots) it turned 11.00pm and the power went out. Bed time. We slept on the floor of a bungalow on stilts, pigs rooting around in the mud beneath us.
Up bright and early yesterday morning for a truly beautiful ride down to Nah Trang, through green paddy fields with grazing buffalo and farmers in straw hats, up into mountains through wisps of cloud and, for a short time, along the Ho Chi Minh Trail and war-scarred hillsides. I can't really do it justice, I know my photos won't either but it was wonderful riding through the countryside in the open air, with the wind in our faces surrounded by such beauty. It will be one of my highlights of South East Asia.
We bid a sad farewell to Monkey and Buffalo when they dropped us at our guest house, we had such a good time together.
Nah Trang is a fairly major coastal town and quite a contrast to the little village of the previous night. We sampled the nightlife last night and then lay on the beach for most of today feeling sorry for ourselves. Tonight we are taking the 12 hour bus to Hoi An for a spot of shopping. Onwards and upwards.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
VIETNAM - Da Lat (see below for cockroach whimper)
Bidding a cheery farewell to Mui Ne and its insect-life, I hopped on a bus to Da Lat; a town up in the mountains, the principle honeymoon destination in Vietnam and rather eccentric.
The drive was a beautiful, steep climb into lush mountains, the green trees set off nicely against the red earth. The air grew cooler and fresher, for which (after the pungent stench of Mui Ne that is famous for its fish sauce - and smells accordingly) I was extremely thankful. We vanished into the clouds and arrived in Da Lat in a torrential rain storm. The bus dropped us at a hotel (of course) and the friendly, chatty hotelier cheerfully showed us rooms, knowing that the rain was in his favour. Once again the rooms were a good size, clean and cheap and I was very excited to discover blankets on the beds and hot water in the taps. So we settled.
I have picked up (or was picked up by, I'm never sure how it works) by a nice Irish girl who is travelling the same route as me, which brings the living cost down significantly.
To make up for it we spent last night in a bar in the basement of a swish hotel. An amazing place, no doubt built for the homesick French. It was low ceilinged and cosy with thick stone walls and wooden beams, playing sentimental, warbling French music. Totally out of place and yet rather fitting in this chilly town up in the mountains.
Today looked promising weather-wise so we decided to hire a motor bike (Cliomadh being designated driver, me ineffective designated navigator). By the guidance of the handy landmark, a mini Eiffel Tower (yes really) we found and wandered around Boa Dai's Summer Palace, a 1930s pile of concrete that seemed to be designed with Function (with a capital 'F') in mind. More entertaining were the Vietnamese tourists who were dressing up in fancy costumes and solomly posing next to plastic elephants and horse-drawn buggies. Kitch (with a capital 'K'). Emboldened by our success, we set off in search of a waterfall. Halfway there, however, the clouds descended and the rain started pelting, so we about turned and opted for drier diversions such as the insane Hang Nga Art Gallery & Guesthouse and the local museum.
Dripping wet, despite our fetching plastic macs, we poked around the crazy Alice in Wonderland-style Hang Nga, up wonky stairs and stooping down higgldy piggldy passageways into bedrooms complete with leering animal models (some with disturbingly illuminated eyes) and mirrors on the ceiling. Rather warming to Obscure Kitch theme, we had lunch in similarly adorned cafe before heading through the relentless rain to the local museum.
The museum is in another old French Villa and contains various artifacts from local ethnic tribes. More entertaining, however, was the proprietor: A friendly Vietnamese woman with Cleopatra hair, a lot of eye make up and drawn-on eye brows. She welcomed us, introduced herself and became our self-appointed guide. After pointing out various pots and jugs she turned to me, surveyed me thoughtfully and said: "Slim, nice form. Like Asian."
"Thank you."
"Not like other English and Americans. Fat. You are beautiful."
I took and immediate liking to her but still winced at the perceived image of the west. We are so big and clumsy compared to their delicacy.
By now it was cold, we were wet and I'd lost the feeling in my fingers so we've returned to our guesthouse to dry off and discuss the various, exciting ways we can make our way to Nang Trang tomorrow...
Bidding a cheery farewell to Mui Ne and its insect-life, I hopped on a bus to Da Lat; a town up in the mountains, the principle honeymoon destination in Vietnam and rather eccentric.
The drive was a beautiful, steep climb into lush mountains, the green trees set off nicely against the red earth. The air grew cooler and fresher, for which (after the pungent stench of Mui Ne that is famous for its fish sauce - and smells accordingly) I was extremely thankful. We vanished into the clouds and arrived in Da Lat in a torrential rain storm. The bus dropped us at a hotel (of course) and the friendly, chatty hotelier cheerfully showed us rooms, knowing that the rain was in his favour. Once again the rooms were a good size, clean and cheap and I was very excited to discover blankets on the beds and hot water in the taps. So we settled.
I have picked up (or was picked up by, I'm never sure how it works) by a nice Irish girl who is travelling the same route as me, which brings the living cost down significantly.
To make up for it we spent last night in a bar in the basement of a swish hotel. An amazing place, no doubt built for the homesick French. It was low ceilinged and cosy with thick stone walls and wooden beams, playing sentimental, warbling French music. Totally out of place and yet rather fitting in this chilly town up in the mountains.
Today looked promising weather-wise so we decided to hire a motor bike (Cliomadh being designated driver, me ineffective designated navigator). By the guidance of the handy landmark, a mini Eiffel Tower (yes really) we found and wandered around Boa Dai's Summer Palace, a 1930s pile of concrete that seemed to be designed with Function (with a capital 'F') in mind. More entertaining were the Vietnamese tourists who were dressing up in fancy costumes and solomly posing next to plastic elephants and horse-drawn buggies. Kitch (with a capital 'K'). Emboldened by our success, we set off in search of a waterfall. Halfway there, however, the clouds descended and the rain started pelting, so we about turned and opted for drier diversions such as the insane Hang Nga Art Gallery & Guesthouse and the local museum.
Dripping wet, despite our fetching plastic macs, we poked around the crazy Alice in Wonderland-style Hang Nga, up wonky stairs and stooping down higgldy piggldy passageways into bedrooms complete with leering animal models (some with disturbingly illuminated eyes) and mirrors on the ceiling. Rather warming to Obscure Kitch theme, we had lunch in similarly adorned cafe before heading through the relentless rain to the local museum.
The museum is in another old French Villa and contains various artifacts from local ethnic tribes. More entertaining, however, was the proprietor: A friendly Vietnamese woman with Cleopatra hair, a lot of eye make up and drawn-on eye brows. She welcomed us, introduced herself and became our self-appointed guide. After pointing out various pots and jugs she turned to me, surveyed me thoughtfully and said: "Slim, nice form. Like Asian."
"Thank you."
"Not like other English and Americans. Fat. You are beautiful."
I took and immediate liking to her but still winced at the perceived image of the west. We are so big and clumsy compared to their delicacy.
By now it was cold, we were wet and I'd lost the feeling in my fingers so we've returned to our guesthouse to dry off and discuss the various, exciting ways we can make our way to Nang Trang tomorrow...
If someone was to grant one of our earth's more disgusting creatures the power of flight, I fail to see why they neglected to give them any navigational skills to boot. There is something quite mesmerising about the incompetence of a cockroach in flight. It sits very still for a long time and then some impulse hurls it into the air , as if by accident. Seemingly surprised, and unsettled, to find itself air-born, it crashes about noisily banging into things before settling, dazed once more to recover itself, before repeating the whole business again. When you know full well that your face could easily be the next impact spot, you find yourself watching this giant tumbling insect with trance-like terror. This was exactly what I was doing while I finished blogging the other day, when I finally lost my nerve, hurridly paid up and scuttled past the offending bug (now come to rest on the floor) and made my exit before he once more resumed flight. I do not posses the presence of mind, or inclination, of the Vietnamese to simply pick them up and throw them outside. I am pathetic I know, but really, you should see them, they are huge.
Until now I had got off rather lightly on the insect front. Creepy crawlies did not show themselves in the abundance I had expected from South East Asia. But the rainy season has been established for a couple of months in Vietnam and I suspect that has something to do with it.
Sandflies too have launched a major offensive and I have watched with a mixture of awe and alarm as the unsightly blotches on my legs, as a result of constant nibbling, have swollen up, joined together and thrown a party which no amount of Witch Hazel can subdue. This leads to frantic midnight fidgeting. Far from pleasant.
So, with this in mind, I left the sultry, muggy coast and headed for the breezy relief of the highlands...
Until now I had got off rather lightly on the insect front. Creepy crawlies did not show themselves in the abundance I had expected from South East Asia. But the rainy season has been established for a couple of months in Vietnam and I suspect that has something to do with it.
Sandflies too have launched a major offensive and I have watched with a mixture of awe and alarm as the unsightly blotches on my legs, as a result of constant nibbling, have swollen up, joined together and thrown a party which no amount of Witch Hazel can subdue. This leads to frantic midnight fidgeting. Far from pleasant.
So, with this in mind, I left the sultry, muggy coast and headed for the breezy relief of the highlands...
Thursday, May 10, 2007
VIETNAM - Mui Ne (Second Saigon post just below)
Mui Ne is a beach resort town, popular due to its convienient distance from Ho Chi Minh and note-worthy because of its expansive sand dunes which span the indland side of the town. Aside from that it is unremarkable. The long, narrow town lies along 9kms of beach and seems to be entirly made up of beach resorts, souvenir shops and restaurants, all of which seem spookily empty.
We were tipped off the bus straight into one of the resorts (owned by the bus company of course) and we were surprised to find it rather pretty, right on the beach, clean and cheap. So we settled in and spent the rest of the afternoon on the quite-nice beach and swimming i the less-than-clean water - too many plastic bags for my liking. The evening failed to produce much in the way of entertainment, aside from a hair-raising, near-death experience on the back of a moto, so we sipped beer on our little balcony and had an early night.
Seeing as sand dunes seemed to be what Mui Ne is all about, we decided that we'd better go and look at them. So we stumbled, bleerily out into the darkness and into a waiting jeep at 5.00am this morning to bounce our way, gears screaching, to the White Sand dune to observe an overcast sunrise. Despite the uncertain weather, it was very beautiful. We sat perched on a dune overlooking a lake that was lined with what looked oddly like pine trees and watched a family of dogs scamper busily in the foreground while the sun did its best.
We were then rattled off to the Red Canyon, a bizarre little canyon made from bright red sand, which formed shapes very much like those of melting candels in Chianti bottles. I discoverd that, only being made of compressed sand, parts of the canyon could be snapped off and disintergrated in your hand, which lead to a brief moment of gleefull meaningless demolition of parts of the 'mountain' making us feel like giants. Fun.
At the Yellow Dune we were accosted by small boys commaning us to "Slide down, slide down' on thier offered boards. This quickly became simply: "Give money, give money" when they saw we weren't inclined to strap ourselves to sheets of plastic and hurl ourselves off dunes (tempting though) and finally "F**k you, f**k you when they realised that we weren't adherring to any of their requests. Nice. So we scampered from there and took refuge in the insanely picturesque fishing village all a-bob with little painted boats, the locals obligingly wearing triangular straw hats and scurrying around, oblivious to us, the only westerners. We were only noticed by 2 children selling sea shells. They smiled broadly at me, gave me one as a present and waved cheerly as our driver drove us, gawping in amazement, away.
Back for a wade in the Fairy Stream, why it is named that I don't know but it was nice nonetheless. And then it was breakfast time so we returned to our guest house, by now only 8.00am. Few!
We got a bit of sunning in on the beach before the heavens opened and, dodging between rain drops, Philp bid me farewell and got the bus back to Ho Chi Minh leaving me scribbling my diary.
Now, as I write this, the rain thumps down still and I am watching with mounting alarm as a huge flying cockroach is banging its way into the wall towards me...
Off into the highlands tomorrow and more bugs no doubt.
Mui Ne is a beach resort town, popular due to its convienient distance from Ho Chi Minh and note-worthy because of its expansive sand dunes which span the indland side of the town. Aside from that it is unremarkable. The long, narrow town lies along 9kms of beach and seems to be entirly made up of beach resorts, souvenir shops and restaurants, all of which seem spookily empty.
We were tipped off the bus straight into one of the resorts (owned by the bus company of course) and we were surprised to find it rather pretty, right on the beach, clean and cheap. So we settled in and spent the rest of the afternoon on the quite-nice beach and swimming i the less-than-clean water - too many plastic bags for my liking. The evening failed to produce much in the way of entertainment, aside from a hair-raising, near-death experience on the back of a moto, so we sipped beer on our little balcony and had an early night.
Seeing as sand dunes seemed to be what Mui Ne is all about, we decided that we'd better go and look at them. So we stumbled, bleerily out into the darkness and into a waiting jeep at 5.00am this morning to bounce our way, gears screaching, to the White Sand dune to observe an overcast sunrise. Despite the uncertain weather, it was very beautiful. We sat perched on a dune overlooking a lake that was lined with what looked oddly like pine trees and watched a family of dogs scamper busily in the foreground while the sun did its best.
We were then rattled off to the Red Canyon, a bizarre little canyon made from bright red sand, which formed shapes very much like those of melting candels in Chianti bottles. I discoverd that, only being made of compressed sand, parts of the canyon could be snapped off and disintergrated in your hand, which lead to a brief moment of gleefull meaningless demolition of parts of the 'mountain' making us feel like giants. Fun.
At the Yellow Dune we were accosted by small boys commaning us to "Slide down, slide down' on thier offered boards. This quickly became simply: "Give money, give money" when they saw we weren't inclined to strap ourselves to sheets of plastic and hurl ourselves off dunes (tempting though) and finally "F**k you, f**k you when they realised that we weren't adherring to any of their requests. Nice. So we scampered from there and took refuge in the insanely picturesque fishing village all a-bob with little painted boats, the locals obligingly wearing triangular straw hats and scurrying around, oblivious to us, the only westerners. We were only noticed by 2 children selling sea shells. They smiled broadly at me, gave me one as a present and waved cheerly as our driver drove us, gawping in amazement, away.
Back for a wade in the Fairy Stream, why it is named that I don't know but it was nice nonetheless. And then it was breakfast time so we returned to our guest house, by now only 8.00am. Few!
We got a bit of sunning in on the beach before the heavens opened and, dodging between rain drops, Philp bid me farewell and got the bus back to Ho Chi Minh leaving me scribbling my diary.
Now, as I write this, the rain thumps down still and I am watching with mounting alarm as a huge flying cockroach is banging its way into the wall towards me...
Off into the highlands tomorrow and more bugs no doubt.
VIETNAM - Ho Chi Minh (Saigon)
"Bullshit Mister! Why are you such a bad man?" This remark was directed with some venom at Philip. Adult eyes glared out of the face of a 12 year old boy as he spat the words. He'd approached us as we sat outside a bar and had been much miffed by the fact that the cheap, illeagle copy of 'Lonely Planet: Vietnam' that Philip had bought in Thailand, was a more recent copy that the pirate copy that he was peddling. He wanted to borrow the copy to copy it again and Philip was understandably reluctant to hand it over. Finally, for a quiet life, he agreed to do so, on the condition that the boy left all of his other books with us. It just goes to show that if you give an inch... Poor Philip was accosted by the same boy the night after who was just looking for a fight. These kids can be pretty grating on the patience but they seem to grow out of it, if the older hawkers are anything to go by.
But that aside I enjoyed my short stint in Ho Chi Minh. On Monday I happily surrendoured all map reading responsibilities and trotted around after Philip as he lead us around the city taking in the major sites: The covered Ben Thanh Market, where you are practically rugby tackled by merchants trying to sell you trousers as you pass; the Fine Arts Museum, sadly closed on Mondays but in a beautiful colonial villa so I stared longingly at the awening, my thirst for some art remaining un-quenched; the Ho Chi Minh City Museum; the rather depressing War Remnants Museum that offers a rather one-sided account of the 'American War' and holds some unbelievably grusome reminders of the brutality of mankind; past the Natre Dame Cathedral - very incongruous - and then back to the Pham Ngu Lao area where we are staying, diving out of the way of motor cycles and saying a silent prayer every time we crossed the road.
On Tuesday we boarded a large tourist bus and were packed off to suffle obidiently around Cu Chi (a district 60km out of the city) and marvel at the remarkable system okf tunnels winding for some 200kms around Ho Chi Minh. The Viet Cong lived in these tunnels whilst fighting the Americans and they have now become a symbol of 'Vietnamese Revolutionary Herosim'.
Our cheerful, toothless guide showed us a 1960s propaganda 'documentory' about the tunnels commending the Viet Cong as "American killing heros." When you see the ingenious ways in which they disguised the tunnels and numerous ways they found for giving American soldiers long and painful deaths as they fell into traps all over the jungle, recycling weapons used on them, you wonder how the Americans ever thought they stood a chance. The Viet Cong were totally relentless in their determination and, unlike the Americans, where never struck with the moral crushing feelings of futility. Consequently, they won.
On my last evening in Saigon, I went for a wander in the little park near our guest house and cused myself immediately for not bringing a camera. The park itself is fairly conventional, but pleasing, with tarmac for jogging and ball games, punctuated with neat walled patches of grass with an occasional palm tree plonked fetchingly in the middle. The earlier rain had cleared for a pretty mauve sunset that sat reflected in the puddles. People strolled, stretched, jogged and played impressive games of keepy-uppy - popular in South East Asia. I was politely offered a "Good evening" by a beautiful girl dressed in the silk trousers and high necked tunics - slit to the waist - that you see so many elegant girls wearing here (which causes the most amusing effect on Philip). The setting sun danced off the shiny windows of a glitzy office building and the motor horns tooted in approval. I wished I could have stayed longer.
"Bullshit Mister! Why are you such a bad man?" This remark was directed with some venom at Philip. Adult eyes glared out of the face of a 12 year old boy as he spat the words. He'd approached us as we sat outside a bar and had been much miffed by the fact that the cheap, illeagle copy of 'Lonely Planet: Vietnam' that Philip had bought in Thailand, was a more recent copy that the pirate copy that he was peddling. He wanted to borrow the copy to copy it again and Philip was understandably reluctant to hand it over. Finally, for a quiet life, he agreed to do so, on the condition that the boy left all of his other books with us. It just goes to show that if you give an inch... Poor Philip was accosted by the same boy the night after who was just looking for a fight. These kids can be pretty grating on the patience but they seem to grow out of it, if the older hawkers are anything to go by.
But that aside I enjoyed my short stint in Ho Chi Minh. On Monday I happily surrendoured all map reading responsibilities and trotted around after Philip as he lead us around the city taking in the major sites: The covered Ben Thanh Market, where you are practically rugby tackled by merchants trying to sell you trousers as you pass; the Fine Arts Museum, sadly closed on Mondays but in a beautiful colonial villa so I stared longingly at the awening, my thirst for some art remaining un-quenched; the Ho Chi Minh City Museum; the rather depressing War Remnants Museum that offers a rather one-sided account of the 'American War' and holds some unbelievably grusome reminders of the brutality of mankind; past the Natre Dame Cathedral - very incongruous - and then back to the Pham Ngu Lao area where we are staying, diving out of the way of motor cycles and saying a silent prayer every time we crossed the road.
On Tuesday we boarded a large tourist bus and were packed off to suffle obidiently around Cu Chi (a district 60km out of the city) and marvel at the remarkable system okf tunnels winding for some 200kms around Ho Chi Minh. The Viet Cong lived in these tunnels whilst fighting the Americans and they have now become a symbol of 'Vietnamese Revolutionary Herosim'.
Our cheerful, toothless guide showed us a 1960s propaganda 'documentory' about the tunnels commending the Viet Cong as "American killing heros." When you see the ingenious ways in which they disguised the tunnels and numerous ways they found for giving American soldiers long and painful deaths as they fell into traps all over the jungle, recycling weapons used on them, you wonder how the Americans ever thought they stood a chance. The Viet Cong were totally relentless in their determination and, unlike the Americans, where never struck with the moral crushing feelings of futility. Consequently, they won.
On my last evening in Saigon, I went for a wander in the little park near our guest house and cused myself immediately for not bringing a camera. The park itself is fairly conventional, but pleasing, with tarmac for jogging and ball games, punctuated with neat walled patches of grass with an occasional palm tree plonked fetchingly in the middle. The earlier rain had cleared for a pretty mauve sunset that sat reflected in the puddles. People strolled, stretched, jogged and played impressive games of keepy-uppy - popular in South East Asia. I was politely offered a "Good evening" by a beautiful girl dressed in the silk trousers and high necked tunics - slit to the waist - that you see so many elegant girls wearing here (which causes the most amusing effect on Philip). The setting sun danced off the shiny windows of a glitzy office building and the motor horns tooted in approval. I wished I could have stayed longer.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
CAMBODIA TO VIETNAM, Sunday 6th May
And back on the road again.
It was sad to say goodbye to Cambodia, it has been a wonderful month. It is a complicated country undergoing a fairly major identity crisis. On one hand, the Khmer are fiercely proud of their heritage, Angkor, but on the other they still struggle under the shadow of more recent events. From what Muoy has said, the Cambodians have developed a distaste for all things Khmer in favour of things west instead, which is sad.
But, as I have said before, the people I have met here have been some of the most friendly that I have met in South East Asia and seem, for the most part, to be always smiling and friendly. The children I have worked with have been good-natured, happy and full of curiosity. It was hard to say goodbye to them, I've grown quite attached and I have now have a bag full of little farewell pictures from them all. Muoy is right, they are the generation that will be able to bring Cambodia forward. The country is still very poor but there is a glimmer of light at the end of a long tunnel.
So, after an hour's sleep (our leaving party being a rather drawn out affair) my alarm dragged me out of my slumber and Philip and I crept out of Seametrey, bidding a sleepy Channit (one of our students) farewell as he had woken up specially to see us off. We boarded a sweltering 'air con' bus that took us along a painfully bumpy road for a few hours to the boat. A few more hours down the Mekong, very wide at this point and lined with paddy fields, and we were at the boarder.
My visa had expired the day before but as it was only $5 a day for an over stay I had not bothered to extend it. I had not, however, read the small print which talks about the $30 penalty for overstaying at all. Ouch. So $35 poorer, I crossed over the boarder to Vietnam and we were scooped up by a friendly, efficient Vietnamese woman who swept us onto another boat for the remainder of the journey.
The 2 1/2 hour journey to Cau Doc was really beautiful. We made our way down a narrow fork of the river, lined on both sides by little basic corrugated iron huts on stilts. While the Khmers are farmers, the Vietnamese are fishing people and rather than stretches of farm land there were little communities of people bathing, fishing and waving cheerfully to us as we passed, looking very picturesque in pointed straw hats. A lovely welcome to Vietnam.
We were totally exhausted by the time we arrived at the busy little town of Cau Doc on the Mekong Delta. There was just enough energy to wander around the buzzy market place, dodging motors and bicycles, have and early dinner and then pass out.
We were up early again this morning but feeling much more human. We had a quick tour of the floating fishing villages on the Delta before we were on a bus to Ho Chi Minh (Saigon).
So far, Philip and I have been rather unlucky with our fellow travelers. Yesterday it was a middle-aged American gentleman from Boston who was intent on drawing a less-than-responsive me into a discussion about the War On Terror and religious fanatics, today it was a Frenchman who was demanding to know what I was proposing to do about oil shortages and my troublesome government. Quite a character, he has moved to Vietnam to be with his Vietnamese girlfriend but is so exasperated at her refusal to learn French (him speaking no Vietnamese) that he is threatening to go back to France in a huff. There are many like him out here I fear. And I have never seen anyone sweat so much.
From now on Philip and I operate a strict 'earphones in at all times' policy on long bus journeys. Although this might also have something to do with my insistence to sing snippets of songs from Miss Saigon increasingly as we drew near the city...
So here we are, safe and sound. So far Ho Chi Minh looks very much like other Asian cities: Straight, grid-system roads, three story balconied concrete buildings and an endless honking stream of motor bikes, driven by people in baseball caps and face masks. I look forward to exploring more tomorrow.
In the mean time, we have found a guest house in a sort of mini Khao San Road and are about ready to sample a Vietnamese beer...
And back on the road again.
It was sad to say goodbye to Cambodia, it has been a wonderful month. It is a complicated country undergoing a fairly major identity crisis. On one hand, the Khmer are fiercely proud of their heritage, Angkor, but on the other they still struggle under the shadow of more recent events. From what Muoy has said, the Cambodians have developed a distaste for all things Khmer in favour of things west instead, which is sad.
But, as I have said before, the people I have met here have been some of the most friendly that I have met in South East Asia and seem, for the most part, to be always smiling and friendly. The children I have worked with have been good-natured, happy and full of curiosity. It was hard to say goodbye to them, I've grown quite attached and I have now have a bag full of little farewell pictures from them all. Muoy is right, they are the generation that will be able to bring Cambodia forward. The country is still very poor but there is a glimmer of light at the end of a long tunnel.
So, after an hour's sleep (our leaving party being a rather drawn out affair) my alarm dragged me out of my slumber and Philip and I crept out of Seametrey, bidding a sleepy Channit (one of our students) farewell as he had woken up specially to see us off. We boarded a sweltering 'air con' bus that took us along a painfully bumpy road for a few hours to the boat. A few more hours down the Mekong, very wide at this point and lined with paddy fields, and we were at the boarder.
My visa had expired the day before but as it was only $5 a day for an over stay I had not bothered to extend it. I had not, however, read the small print which talks about the $30 penalty for overstaying at all. Ouch. So $35 poorer, I crossed over the boarder to Vietnam and we were scooped up by a friendly, efficient Vietnamese woman who swept us onto another boat for the remainder of the journey.
The 2 1/2 hour journey to Cau Doc was really beautiful. We made our way down a narrow fork of the river, lined on both sides by little basic corrugated iron huts on stilts. While the Khmers are farmers, the Vietnamese are fishing people and rather than stretches of farm land there were little communities of people bathing, fishing and waving cheerfully to us as we passed, looking very picturesque in pointed straw hats. A lovely welcome to Vietnam.
We were totally exhausted by the time we arrived at the busy little town of Cau Doc on the Mekong Delta. There was just enough energy to wander around the buzzy market place, dodging motors and bicycles, have and early dinner and then pass out.
We were up early again this morning but feeling much more human. We had a quick tour of the floating fishing villages on the Delta before we were on a bus to Ho Chi Minh (Saigon).
So far, Philip and I have been rather unlucky with our fellow travelers. Yesterday it was a middle-aged American gentleman from Boston who was intent on drawing a less-than-responsive me into a discussion about the War On Terror and religious fanatics, today it was a Frenchman who was demanding to know what I was proposing to do about oil shortages and my troublesome government. Quite a character, he has moved to Vietnam to be with his Vietnamese girlfriend but is so exasperated at her refusal to learn French (him speaking no Vietnamese) that he is threatening to go back to France in a huff. There are many like him out here I fear. And I have never seen anyone sweat so much.
From now on Philip and I operate a strict 'earphones in at all times' policy on long bus journeys. Although this might also have something to do with my insistence to sing snippets of songs from Miss Saigon increasingly as we drew near the city...
So here we are, safe and sound. So far Ho Chi Minh looks very much like other Asian cities: Straight, grid-system roads, three story balconied concrete buildings and an endless honking stream of motor bikes, driven by people in baseball caps and face masks. I look forward to exploring more tomorrow.
In the mean time, we have found a guest house in a sort of mini Khao San Road and are about ready to sample a Vietnamese beer...
Monday, April 30, 2007
SIHANOUKVILLE
The weekend, it would seem, has finished off the volunteers. Halfway through: "Now how do you think you spell it? 'Th' 'th', what two letters make a 'th' sound?" I had to go off and find reinforcements from the volunteers who lay sprawled out on their beds. A weekend of buckets (as it sounds: buckets filled with whiskey, red bull and coke) has diminished motivation somewhat...
We left school on Friday lunch time and took the 4 hour bus south to the coastal town of Sihanoukville. The town itself is rather non-descript but the beach, scattered with guesthouses and bars is quite nice. Not a patch on Thailand, I am told, and we were unlucky with the weather but a good time was had by all, as is often the case when the company perhaps makes up for what was lacking in the scenery.
We arrived to an overcast afternoon, booked ourselves onto an island tour for the following day, and said a prayer, before heading out to celebrate our arrival... Why is it always hard to resist plunging into the sea at stupid o'clock in the morning when it is pouring with rain?
The following morning we crept tentatively out of bed and onto the boat, some looking a bit green, and eyed the sky hopefully for patches of blue. For the most part of the day we were fortunate. We snorkeled in the sunshine and peered at rather unimpressive coral (Belize is a hard act to follow) and then sat and sipped Beer Lao (hair of the dog) on a white sanded island surrounded by turquoise water and watched the dramatic storm clouds gather on the horizon.
We chased the storm home again and only once we were safely stowed back in our rooms for 'nap time' did the heavens open and the thunder had our windows rattling. In between rain bursts we dashed out to the bar for round 2.
Sihanoukville is as famous for hawkers pushing souvenirs as Siem Reap and, once again, I marvelled at the level of English and salesman banter possessed by these miniature adults.
A little girl, who looked about 8, squatted next to me sucking thoughtfully on a straw and pointed to my legs. "I do for you, no problem." I guessed she meant hair removal of some kind so politely declined, slightly resenting her rather impertinent observation. "You want bracelet? I make for you?" I showed her my wrists and ankles, already adorned with trinkets from previous adorable children.
"I have no money" I told her. She studied me suspiciously and smiled slyly.
"If you have no money, how did you get here?" Ok, she had me. I have become all to familiar with these kind of conversations and persuaded her that nowhere within my towel or bikini was there any cash. She relaxed and settled down for a chat anyway. She was 12 and spoke Thai, Vietnamese, English, French and Swedish and had an extensive knowledge of their vital statistics such as populations and capital cities. I tested her for a while, finally decided that she was much better informed than me and we both bid each other "Good luck to you." This was one of the more pleasant experiences. Some of the kids are aggressive and can get nasty. "Vietnamese" the Khmer confide to me with a knowing nod. Funny how neighbours always hate each other. The Cambodians and Vietnamese are still at daggers.
We returned to Phnom Penh last night. For me and Philip, another volunteer, it is our last week before we head off to Vietnam. 4 more days of "No, that's not a preposition is it? That's a noun. Spell it out." And I think I'll miss it. Time is going fast!
The weekend, it would seem, has finished off the volunteers. Halfway through: "Now how do you think you spell it? 'Th' 'th', what two letters make a 'th' sound?" I had to go off and find reinforcements from the volunteers who lay sprawled out on their beds. A weekend of buckets (as it sounds: buckets filled with whiskey, red bull and coke) has diminished motivation somewhat...
We left school on Friday lunch time and took the 4 hour bus south to the coastal town of Sihanoukville. The town itself is rather non-descript but the beach, scattered with guesthouses and bars is quite nice. Not a patch on Thailand, I am told, and we were unlucky with the weather but a good time was had by all, as is often the case when the company perhaps makes up for what was lacking in the scenery.
We arrived to an overcast afternoon, booked ourselves onto an island tour for the following day, and said a prayer, before heading out to celebrate our arrival... Why is it always hard to resist plunging into the sea at stupid o'clock in the morning when it is pouring with rain?
The following morning we crept tentatively out of bed and onto the boat, some looking a bit green, and eyed the sky hopefully for patches of blue. For the most part of the day we were fortunate. We snorkeled in the sunshine and peered at rather unimpressive coral (Belize is a hard act to follow) and then sat and sipped Beer Lao (hair of the dog) on a white sanded island surrounded by turquoise water and watched the dramatic storm clouds gather on the horizon.
We chased the storm home again and only once we were safely stowed back in our rooms for 'nap time' did the heavens open and the thunder had our windows rattling. In between rain bursts we dashed out to the bar for round 2.
Sihanoukville is as famous for hawkers pushing souvenirs as Siem Reap and, once again, I marvelled at the level of English and salesman banter possessed by these miniature adults.
A little girl, who looked about 8, squatted next to me sucking thoughtfully on a straw and pointed to my legs. "I do for you, no problem." I guessed she meant hair removal of some kind so politely declined, slightly resenting her rather impertinent observation. "You want bracelet? I make for you?" I showed her my wrists and ankles, already adorned with trinkets from previous adorable children.
"I have no money" I told her. She studied me suspiciously and smiled slyly.
"If you have no money, how did you get here?" Ok, she had me. I have become all to familiar with these kind of conversations and persuaded her that nowhere within my towel or bikini was there any cash. She relaxed and settled down for a chat anyway. She was 12 and spoke Thai, Vietnamese, English, French and Swedish and had an extensive knowledge of their vital statistics such as populations and capital cities. I tested her for a while, finally decided that she was much better informed than me and we both bid each other "Good luck to you." This was one of the more pleasant experiences. Some of the kids are aggressive and can get nasty. "Vietnamese" the Khmer confide to me with a knowing nod. Funny how neighbours always hate each other. The Cambodians and Vietnamese are still at daggers.
We returned to Phnom Penh last night. For me and Philip, another volunteer, it is our last week before we head off to Vietnam. 4 more days of "No, that's not a preposition is it? That's a noun. Spell it out." And I think I'll miss it. Time is going fast!
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
"Erm, Teacher Jasmine? Maybe you could help with this?" I knew my long division gremlin would come back and haunt me at some point and here it was leering up at me from the page of an exercise book and the expectant turned up face of a 12 year old boy. Teacher Katie slunk away to help the younger kids with nice friendly things like adding up and taking away. My mental arithmetic and spelling is being dug out from somewhere deep in the back of my mind and I'm rather enjoying it.
The school is made up of children from very different backgrouds. Muoy's aim being to train children in social interaction not limited to economic circumstances. She is a fiercely intelligent Khmer woman with a PHD in French, who returned to Cambodia for her retirement and opened the school with the mind to change the Khmer attitude to education and work. She believes that, despite all the wonderful elements of the Khmer mentality (if indeed such a mentality can be assigned to an entire nation) there lie some serious flaws. The kind of flaws that allow horrific atrocities to take place. She wants to set about moulding the young mailable minds of "our future" to see if she can produce the kind of people who might lead Cambodia into the 21st Century and out of the 3rd World. I admire her drive, she is single minded and very stubborn but she gets things done. Us volunteers scamper about under her watchful eye and hope that we live up to expectations.
There are 7 of us now. Socially, of course, this leads to much merriment although getting us all organised is quite a feat and transport is often tricky: 7 in a tuk-tuk or 3 on the back of a moto (impressive and amazingly not impossible). We are heading off to Sihanoukville on the coast this weekend with another house of volunteers which, I have no doubt, will be a lot of fun, if chaotic...
We have all been feeling a little guilty, the comfortable house, the swimming pool... not really the 'roughing it' volunteer 'experience' we expected but we bare the disappointment as best we can.
The teaching is demanding, however, and very rewarding, the children are fantastic, so bright and hungry for knowledge. It is a full time job though. Some of the children live at the school which can be a little unsettling when creeping out of your room on a Sunday morning, feeling a little fragile, to be greeted with a cheery chorus of "Good morning Teacher Katie!" But I think I might actually miss it.
It is the end of another excuciatingly hot day - April being the hottest month of the year - and I think it might be time for another little dip in that pool...
The school is made up of children from very different backgrouds. Muoy's aim being to train children in social interaction not limited to economic circumstances. She is a fiercely intelligent Khmer woman with a PHD in French, who returned to Cambodia for her retirement and opened the school with the mind to change the Khmer attitude to education and work. She believes that, despite all the wonderful elements of the Khmer mentality (if indeed such a mentality can be assigned to an entire nation) there lie some serious flaws. The kind of flaws that allow horrific atrocities to take place. She wants to set about moulding the young mailable minds of "our future" to see if she can produce the kind of people who might lead Cambodia into the 21st Century and out of the 3rd World. I admire her drive, she is single minded and very stubborn but she gets things done. Us volunteers scamper about under her watchful eye and hope that we live up to expectations.
There are 7 of us now. Socially, of course, this leads to much merriment although getting us all organised is quite a feat and transport is often tricky: 7 in a tuk-tuk or 3 on the back of a moto (impressive and amazingly not impossible). We are heading off to Sihanoukville on the coast this weekend with another house of volunteers which, I have no doubt, will be a lot of fun, if chaotic...
We have all been feeling a little guilty, the comfortable house, the swimming pool... not really the 'roughing it' volunteer 'experience' we expected but we bare the disappointment as best we can.
The teaching is demanding, however, and very rewarding, the children are fantastic, so bright and hungry for knowledge. It is a full time job though. Some of the children live at the school which can be a little unsettling when creeping out of your room on a Sunday morning, feeling a little fragile, to be greeted with a cheery chorus of "Good morning Teacher Katie!" But I think I might actually miss it.
It is the end of another excuciatingly hot day - April being the hottest month of the year - and I think it might be time for another little dip in that pool...
Friday, April 20, 2007
"Teacher Katie, teacher Katie!" (Said with varying degrees of command as the children tramp expectantly up the stairs in the morning) "What shall we do?"
Seeing as the school follows the unstructured Montessori method of teaching, that is often a very good question. Thankfully, I have been landed with the older children (between 8 and 13 years old) who not only have very good English, but a remarkable enthusiasm for learning. I have the comparatively easy task of nudging them along and trying to keep the Creative Corner from looking like a bomb's hit it. I find myself chanting "Now who used the glitter glue?" whilst pointing, with attempted severity at the offending splodge on the table. "Who will clean it up?" Unless you are Mary Poppins, which I'm not, it is impossible to get children to tidy up. I'm not very fond of doing so myself.
The two hour lunch break is a God send, as you can imagine, and I thoroughly appreciate 'nap time.'
But two days down and no dramas so far. I am enjoying That Friday Feeling for the first time for a long time and there is much talk of Happy Hour for which I feel more than ready.
I am enjoying staying put in one place for a little while too. You get a better sense of a place if you attempt daily life and I am getting to know Phnom Penh. I am still, however, to master sitting 3 on a moto when 2 of you are side saddle, only then, when I can do so and sit with my ankles crossed, my arms folded neatly in my lap and bounce serenely through the crazy streets without flinching, THEN I shall be at home here...
Tomorrow we shall have a full house as the final volunteers arrive and we are celebrating that with another jaunt to the Heart of Darkness. I have a sneaking suspicion that I shall be on that stage a lot in the next few weeks, watch out prostitutes, here I come again...
Seeing as the school follows the unstructured Montessori method of teaching, that is often a very good question. Thankfully, I have been landed with the older children (between 8 and 13 years old) who not only have very good English, but a remarkable enthusiasm for learning. I have the comparatively easy task of nudging them along and trying to keep the Creative Corner from looking like a bomb's hit it. I find myself chanting "Now who used the glitter glue?" whilst pointing, with attempted severity at the offending splodge on the table. "Who will clean it up?" Unless you are Mary Poppins, which I'm not, it is impossible to get children to tidy up. I'm not very fond of doing so myself.
The two hour lunch break is a God send, as you can imagine, and I thoroughly appreciate 'nap time.'
But two days down and no dramas so far. I am enjoying That Friday Feeling for the first time for a long time and there is much talk of Happy Hour for which I feel more than ready.
I am enjoying staying put in one place for a little while too. You get a better sense of a place if you attempt daily life and I am getting to know Phnom Penh. I am still, however, to master sitting 3 on a moto when 2 of you are side saddle, only then, when I can do so and sit with my ankles crossed, my arms folded neatly in my lap and bounce serenely through the crazy streets without flinching, THEN I shall be at home here...
Tomorrow we shall have a full house as the final volunteers arrive and we are celebrating that with another jaunt to the Heart of Darkness. I have a sneaking suspicion that I shall be on that stage a lot in the next few weeks, watch out prostitutes, here I come again...
Sunday, April 15, 2007
CAMBODIA, Phnom Penh Monday 16th April
Well I saw my second New Year in dancing on a stage with 2 excitable Birmingham chaps, being rather fiercely upstaged by painfully thin prostitutes, while scantily clad farang writhed in the smoky pit below us in a club rather aptly named The Heart of Darkness.
Happy New Year South East Asia style! Hmmm. It is sad, the irresistible magnetism that draws the western men and the prostitutes together. It turns bars and nightclubs into seedy fleshy affairs; the girls jostling for attention while the red faced men paw at them with pudgy hands.
I'm not sure what's worse, seeing these young beautiful girls sitting looking bored with fat, balding, middle aged white men, or listening to the young westerners boasting about their conquests and the irresistibly they seem to have in a country where their money is everything. Its all rather gross.
New Year in Phnom Penh was similar to Holi. The streets were full of people throwing water and flour at each other and everyone saw fit to charge me much more money than usual in the spirit of festivity. "Two dollar? (Happy New Year?)"
I thought I'd celebrate the fact that I'd seen in 2 New Years in 5 months and phone home for the 1st time... guilt.
As I was having a good old catch up with Mummie, one of the other volunteers arrived so hurrah! The school is filling up and will be kicking into action any day now. So we can shape and bend the mailable young minds to form the leaders of tomorrow. This is Muoy's dream anyway. I myself will be happy if I managed to sort out and categorise 'Spot the Dog' into appropriate reading levels as requested... One thing at a time.
Well I saw my second New Year in dancing on a stage with 2 excitable Birmingham chaps, being rather fiercely upstaged by painfully thin prostitutes, while scantily clad farang writhed in the smoky pit below us in a club rather aptly named The Heart of Darkness.
Happy New Year South East Asia style! Hmmm. It is sad, the irresistible magnetism that draws the western men and the prostitutes together. It turns bars and nightclubs into seedy fleshy affairs; the girls jostling for attention while the red faced men paw at them with pudgy hands.
I'm not sure what's worse, seeing these young beautiful girls sitting looking bored with fat, balding, middle aged white men, or listening to the young westerners boasting about their conquests and the irresistibly they seem to have in a country where their money is everything. Its all rather gross.
New Year in Phnom Penh was similar to Holi. The streets were full of people throwing water and flour at each other and everyone saw fit to charge me much more money than usual in the spirit of festivity. "Two dollar? (Happy New Year?)"
I thought I'd celebrate the fact that I'd seen in 2 New Years in 5 months and phone home for the 1st time... guilt.
As I was having a good old catch up with Mummie, one of the other volunteers arrived so hurrah! The school is filling up and will be kicking into action any day now. So we can shape and bend the mailable young minds to form the leaders of tomorrow. This is Muoy's dream anyway. I myself will be happy if I managed to sort out and categorise 'Spot the Dog' into appropriate reading levels as requested... One thing at a time.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Siem Reap and Angkor Wat (written from Phnom Penh, Saturday 14th April)
From ruthless destruction to inspired creation...
Bright and early on Tuesday morning (5am to be precise) I crept out of my guesthouse into the dark streets of Siem Reap where my motor driver was waiting for me.
He'd managed to secure my business the day before on our way from the bus station when he stopped suddenly in the middle of no where and tried to wheedle a job for the following day. For God's sake. "Guest house, now!" I stormed, I won't talk about it until you we get there." But he had such a sweet smile that I forgave him and agreed to take him on.
When arrived at Angkor it was still dark. Unable to see a thing, I followed the shuffling feet of other die-hards, and we felt our way up some steps and settled ourselves down in front of a big black mass and waited. Gradually, as the sun crept up, the outline of Angkor Wat began to emerge. It is supposed to be the largest religious monument in the world and it really was quite staggering as it loomed up in the early morning light, robust and imposing.
I left the crowd and climbed up to the top, watching the stone begin to glow in the warming light. I entertained myself for an hour or so scrambling in and out of a labyrinth of stone corridors and crumbling courtyards before I rejoined my motor driver and went off to Wat Thom where Bayon, the temple bedecked with enigmatic smiling faces, baring a strong resemblance to King Suryavarman II peer out of the jungle. Then on to Ta Phrom, a temple deeply embedded in the jungle. So deep in fact, that the jungle has taken over and the entanglement of of tree roots and crumbling stone are so inter weaved that it is hard to see where the jungle stops and man begins. This wonderful fusion made it the most impressive of all.
After scrambling up and down a few more temples and getting trapped between tree roots by several bus loads of French and Japanese tourists, I decided that I was watted out for the day and motored back to Siem Ream for a snooze and reflect.
The following day, feeling a little fragile after a night of sampling the Siem Reap night life, I took a tuk-tuk to Banteay Srei, 35km out of Siem Reap. Its name means "Women's Temple" because it was believed that the exquisite stone carvings were too delicate to have been done by a man. My good friend the Lonely Planet informs me that they might be the finest in the world. Quite a claim! But they really are beautiful.
And so I had a happy few days in Siem Reap, which is a nice town although, like Angkor, is not improved by the hoards of travellers. Noisy bars and restaurants offer happy hours and thump merrily into the early morning. I found myself sipping as elegantly as you can out of a bucket at 5am having a heated discussion about the demise of places that pander to the whims of the fun loving travellers and tried not to feel like too much of a hypocrite, which, of course, I was. Again.
Today is Khmer New Year and I am back in Phnom Penh and getting myself ready for some festive cheer...
From ruthless destruction to inspired creation...
Bright and early on Tuesday morning (5am to be precise) I crept out of my guesthouse into the dark streets of Siem Reap where my motor driver was waiting for me.
He'd managed to secure my business the day before on our way from the bus station when he stopped suddenly in the middle of no where and tried to wheedle a job for the following day. For God's sake. "Guest house, now!" I stormed, I won't talk about it until you we get there." But he had such a sweet smile that I forgave him and agreed to take him on.
When arrived at Angkor it was still dark. Unable to see a thing, I followed the shuffling feet of other die-hards, and we felt our way up some steps and settled ourselves down in front of a big black mass and waited. Gradually, as the sun crept up, the outline of Angkor Wat began to emerge. It is supposed to be the largest religious monument in the world and it really was quite staggering as it loomed up in the early morning light, robust and imposing.
I left the crowd and climbed up to the top, watching the stone begin to glow in the warming light. I entertained myself for an hour or so scrambling in and out of a labyrinth of stone corridors and crumbling courtyards before I rejoined my motor driver and went off to Wat Thom where Bayon, the temple bedecked with enigmatic smiling faces, baring a strong resemblance to King Suryavarman II peer out of the jungle. Then on to Ta Phrom, a temple deeply embedded in the jungle. So deep in fact, that the jungle has taken over and the entanglement of of tree roots and crumbling stone are so inter weaved that it is hard to see where the jungle stops and man begins. This wonderful fusion made it the most impressive of all.
After scrambling up and down a few more temples and getting trapped between tree roots by several bus loads of French and Japanese tourists, I decided that I was watted out for the day and motored back to Siem Ream for a snooze and reflect.
The following day, feeling a little fragile after a night of sampling the Siem Reap night life, I took a tuk-tuk to Banteay Srei, 35km out of Siem Reap. Its name means "Women's Temple" because it was believed that the exquisite stone carvings were too delicate to have been done by a man. My good friend the Lonely Planet informs me that they might be the finest in the world. Quite a claim! But they really are beautiful.
And so I had a happy few days in Siem Reap, which is a nice town although, like Angkor, is not improved by the hoards of travellers. Noisy bars and restaurants offer happy hours and thump merrily into the early morning. I found myself sipping as elegantly as you can out of a bucket at 5am having a heated discussion about the demise of places that pander to the whims of the fun loving travellers and tried not to feel like too much of a hypocrite, which, of course, I was. Again.
Today is Khmer New Year and I am back in Phnom Penh and getting myself ready for some festive cheer...
Saturday, April 07, 2007
CAMBODIA - Phnom Penh, the Killing Fields (Saturday 7th April 6.30pm)
I've just posted my story of arrival in Phnom Penh so start from the post below and work up to this one (which is depressing).
Phnom Penh replaced Angkor as the capital in the 1430s. The move was lemented as symbol of decline and really, given its history since, perhaps the foreboding was not far off the mark. It has been dragged through the mud. The mid 17th Century saw it robbed of its access to the sea by the Vietnamese and it became a buffer zone for Vietnam and Thailand. In 1772 Thais burned it to the ground. The arrival of the French brought comparative calm but the city really began to develop in the 50s once Prince Sinhanouk managed to negotiate a peaceful independence. In the years of the Vietnam War and right wing dictator Lon Nol, the city was full to bursting with refugees and a booming middle class getting fat off a corrupted system of capitalism.
On the 17th of April 1975, however, everything changed. The Communist fanatics, Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge, stormed in and forced the entire population out into the countryside, separated them from their families and forced them to labour in the fields like 'honest peasants.' For 4 years they enslaved Cambodia, working its people to the bone, many starving to death, on inefficient, hair brained projects, spurred on by their fierce and pig headed ideology.
They butchered teachers, doctors, monks, women, children and even each other as they struggled to 'purge' the country of those 'anti the regime' and relinquish their own paranoia.
Tuol Sleng, or S-21, and the Killing Fields still stand as a grim testimony of humanity at its worst. The old school buildings of Tuol Sleng became prisons and torture chambers. In the playground stands the graves of the last 14 victims who lay decomposing, still strapped to their iron beds, the photos of whom remain on the walls of their cells.
Like the Nazis, the Khmer Rouge were meticulous in documenting their brutality and you can see wall after wall of mug-shots of men, women and children, hands tied behind their backs, each pair of eyes a haunting accusation of a crime to which we are all answerable as it lies within us all.
On other walls hang the photos of the Khmer Rouge 'Combatants'. Dressed in Maoist uniforms, carrying Chinese guns and glaring with arrogant insolence into the camera, some of them can not be more than 10 years old.
15km out of town lie the Killing Fields where S-21 prisoners were executed. You can still see the mass graves, bones and bits of cloth strewn everywhere. A monument has been built and is stuffed full of skeletons of the victims. With cows grazing in the field beyond and children merrily chasing 'farang' asking to have their photos taken and for "1000 ril for a school pen" it is hard to get your head round what was happening on that very spot only 30 years ago.
But time moves on. Phnom Penh is a busy, lively city. Due to the extermination of such a huge proportion of Cambodia's population, there is a great number of young people around. Cambodia has had to start all over again and the post Khmer Rouge generation are rushing around on motorcycles and desperately trying to learn English. For such horrific past, the place does not seem gloomy but hopeful and eager to join the rest of the world. S-21 and the Killing Fields still cast a terrible shadow, in which, I'm sure, the older generation will always remain.
Given the significance of today for Westerners, the day after Good Friday and before the hope granted by the celebrations of Easter Sunday, it seemed a fitting day for me to explore the darker sides of the human character. Tomorrow I shall reconcile myself with the chirpier sights of Phnom Penh.
Now I think I've earned a beer...
Happy Easter!
I've just posted my story of arrival in Phnom Penh so start from the post below and work up to this one (which is depressing).
Phnom Penh replaced Angkor as the capital in the 1430s. The move was lemented as symbol of decline and really, given its history since, perhaps the foreboding was not far off the mark. It has been dragged through the mud. The mid 17th Century saw it robbed of its access to the sea by the Vietnamese and it became a buffer zone for Vietnam and Thailand. In 1772 Thais burned it to the ground. The arrival of the French brought comparative calm but the city really began to develop in the 50s once Prince Sinhanouk managed to negotiate a peaceful independence. In the years of the Vietnam War and right wing dictator Lon Nol, the city was full to bursting with refugees and a booming middle class getting fat off a corrupted system of capitalism.
On the 17th of April 1975, however, everything changed. The Communist fanatics, Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge, stormed in and forced the entire population out into the countryside, separated them from their families and forced them to labour in the fields like 'honest peasants.' For 4 years they enslaved Cambodia, working its people to the bone, many starving to death, on inefficient, hair brained projects, spurred on by their fierce and pig headed ideology.
They butchered teachers, doctors, monks, women, children and even each other as they struggled to 'purge' the country of those 'anti the regime' and relinquish their own paranoia.
Tuol Sleng, or S-21, and the Killing Fields still stand as a grim testimony of humanity at its worst. The old school buildings of Tuol Sleng became prisons and torture chambers. In the playground stands the graves of the last 14 victims who lay decomposing, still strapped to their iron beds, the photos of whom remain on the walls of their cells.
Like the Nazis, the Khmer Rouge were meticulous in documenting their brutality and you can see wall after wall of mug-shots of men, women and children, hands tied behind their backs, each pair of eyes a haunting accusation of a crime to which we are all answerable as it lies within us all.
On other walls hang the photos of the Khmer Rouge 'Combatants'. Dressed in Maoist uniforms, carrying Chinese guns and glaring with arrogant insolence into the camera, some of them can not be more than 10 years old.
15km out of town lie the Killing Fields where S-21 prisoners were executed. You can still see the mass graves, bones and bits of cloth strewn everywhere. A monument has been built and is stuffed full of skeletons of the victims. With cows grazing in the field beyond and children merrily chasing 'farang' asking to have their photos taken and for "1000 ril for a school pen" it is hard to get your head round what was happening on that very spot only 30 years ago.
But time moves on. Phnom Penh is a busy, lively city. Due to the extermination of such a huge proportion of Cambodia's population, there is a great number of young people around. Cambodia has had to start all over again and the post Khmer Rouge generation are rushing around on motorcycles and desperately trying to learn English. For such horrific past, the place does not seem gloomy but hopeful and eager to join the rest of the world. S-21 and the Killing Fields still cast a terrible shadow, in which, I'm sure, the older generation will always remain.
Given the significance of today for Westerners, the day after Good Friday and before the hope granted by the celebrations of Easter Sunday, it seemed a fitting day for me to explore the darker sides of the human character. Tomorrow I shall reconcile myself with the chirpier sights of Phnom Penh.
Now I think I've earned a beer...
Happy Easter!
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