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We finished off our time in Vietnam with Dalat and Mui Ne. Dalat has pine trees and cool evenings, vineyards and fields of strawberries and artichokes, all much like California. Beach town Mui Ne is the windsurfing capital of the world, surrounded by dramatic sand dunes.
We visited both on borrowed time as we'd just gotten our one month visas extended. This was our fifth week in Vietnam. The country was so familiar at that point, I finally felt comfortable with my various Vietnamese phrases. I'd even begun to understand the responses to “Bow neo dien?” (the phonetic spelling for “How much is it?”). However, here were two parts of the country totally unlike anywhere we'd been before.
Dalat marked an important first for us as independent travellers. It was the first time either of us had driven a motorbike. We hired our wheels for US$6 a day plus $3 in petrol. Peter drove and I sat on the back, attempting to navigate. We had only the most basic map and the roadsigns didn't correspond to places we wanted to go. “Biological Institute: 3km” “Sewage Treatment Plant: 5km” Still we managed to find some real gems.
There were more staff than visitors in the sprawling park with a stone “Great Wall of China” and a petting zoo for animal freaks. The six-legged cow was reasonably friendly and Peter was taken with the little bird that said, “Sin chao!” (“Hello”). But it was the three-legged dog that completely won our hearts. It was all we could do not to try and take her home. Next we drove to a waterfall which is surely far more impressive in the rainy season. But we were pleased to have found it and enjoyed a quiet moment by the slow river.
The following day we hired the motorbike again. On an empty mountain road I had my first go driving the bike myself with Peter on the back. I was supremely focused as I got a feel for it. We rode past a huge lake and semi-wild horses. We received smiles and waves from the Vietnamese people we passed. Living the dream I tell you. Living the dream!
On a motorbike, we found half the fun is the adventure of getting to the destination. Tourist minibuses are convenient, but mean seeing the same places as every other visitor to the country. Chartering a tuk tuk or taxi gives you more control, but haggling over the price is tiresome. A trip to the waterfall in the dry season would not have been worth a $10 tuk tuk drive. We never would have gone to the kitsch Vietnamese park with the animals if we hadn't stumbled on it ourselves.
Next we went to Mui Ne, a windy beach town which has experienced something of a tourist boom in the past several years. It has rapidly transformed from a sleepy fishing village and fish sauce producer, to a premiere kite surfing destination with a growing number of four star resorts. Our modern bungalow at “Small Gardens” could hardly be considered luxury, but it was right by the beach and for $27 a night it included free breakfast. The delicate crepes with fresh mango were excellent.
Not ones for lazing about roasting on the beach, we kept busy with morning litter pickup, swimming in the ocean, drawing animals in the sand and playing frisbee. Unfortunately, with the tourist boom and increased town population came a lot of garbage. Indeed the amount of trash on the beach was a bit hard for me to fathom. Some had washed up from the sea, but there were plenty of food wrappers and plastic bottles which were newly dropped each day. Most of the big resorts carefully raked and cleaned “their” patch of the sand immediately in front of the hotel, but simply left the trash closer to the shore.
Every morning before it got too hot, we set off along the beach, each with an empty black garbage bag. We picked up large pieces of styrofoam, sandy bags and a multitude of straws. It took us an hour to fill our black bags so full of trash that it became hard to lift them. We then dropped them off at the nearest resort to be disposed of with their own trash.
Naturally most people ignored us, but some of the Vietnamese beach vendors tried to discourage us from our daily litter picking. They didn't see the point as the beach only gets messy again. Also perhaps judging from the way refuse is handled in Vietnam (and much of the developing world) it simply isn't an eyesore to them as it is to us.
However, we persisted and our efforts started to make a noticeable difference. Day after day we removed two large bags of rubbish from the beach. True, each day more trash was dropped and every night more washed up. But we were able to remove it faster than it accumulated, so little by little, the beach became discernibly cleaner. Very occasionally people stopped to talk to us. A middle aged Australian woman expressed her appreciation. Another day a Muslim Vietnamese man thanked us. Throughout the day, we greatly enjoyed strolling down the beach in areas which were previously marred by trash. Travelling long term with no job, sometimes leaves us feeling a bit aimless and undirected. Our litter pickup gave me real sense of purpose, a feeling I would like to replicate elsewhere on our journey.
Mui Ne is famed for its kite surfing so we decided to test the wind for ourselves. We bought a phoenix kite, an important creature in Vietnamese mythology. Peter and I had a stunt kite in London, but unfortunately the double strings made it tricky to fly and the wind was never quite right. This time, we sat down on the sand and tentatively released the phoenix. Immediately it took to the air. Letting the string out, we watched as it flew high into the sky. It's a beautiful kite, bright orange with nylon feathers on the long tail. Keeping a firm grip on the spool, we relaxed on the sand and watched our phoenix soar.
- Phnom Penh, Cambodia
We’ve had chance meetings on freezing sawngthaews, struck up conversations with folks at the next table over and on the slow boat down the Mekong. Often, we’re on the same route (Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia…) which means we keep bumping into the same lovely people.
What gets a bit tiresome however is constantly having to ask and answer the same questions all the time.
“Where are you from?”
“Where are you going?”
“Where have you been so far?”
“How long are you travelling for?”
Sometimes we feel it’d be great to just hang out with people without first having to wade through the same tedious Travel Small Talk. Enter my brother Ezra and his girlfriend Sarah. Having just graduated from university, both are currently living in Malaysia, teaching English this year. Malaysia is just a hop skip and a jump away from Vietnam (or two hours if you’re flying rather than jumping). So when Ez and Sarah had a week off from work, they came out to see us.
What a treat to see familiar faces out here. How fun to spend a full week travelling with people we already know and love. Peter and Ez went for a beer in Saigon. Sarah and I scoped out a good tailor to make her an Ao Dai (a traditional Vietnamese tunic which women still wear in the south). We were off to a good start.
The four of us decided to explore the Mekong Delta region by hiring a driver named Minh and tour guide, Chanh for a three day trip. A private tour meant we’d have more control over where we went and have as much time as we wanted at each place. Particularly appealing it meant not stopping at the “handicraft” factories which serve as regular pit stops on many group tours. (“Mother of pearl inlay coffee table not your thing? How about a crushed eggshell lacquered ashtray?”)
A stop where we weren’t expected to buy anything but did, was on an early morning boat ride through the floating market at Can 
Tho. In a dense, patch of the river, larger vendor boats advertised their wares by attaching them directly to a long wooden pole. Imagine a sort of bendy flagpole on each vessel, with carrots, pineapples and mangoes flying in the wind. Meanwhile smaller boats moved between the vendor boats, buying bags of cabbages and papayas. Our little group chugged in on a small motorboat and we were the first tourists to visit the market that morning. We bought a kilo of sweet mangos and took photos to our hearts content without any westerners sneaking into the frame. Breakfast was delicious, savoury rice porridge, served up by a woman who rowed over to us. Not so tasty was Sarah’s winter melon juice. Ezra thought it tasted like the sweetened milk at the bottom of a bowl of cereal.
Living in Malaysia, Ez and Sarah have incorporated some Malay idioms into their speech which we’ve been quick to pick up as well. As in Chinese, in Malay if you ask someone if they can do something, the answer isn’t “yes” but “can”. The four of us found ourselves saying this all the time.
One evening, Peter ordered the snake set menu. Naturally this consisted of snake spring rolls as a started followed by snake curry. Interestingly there were no stand-alone snake dishes on offer. Either you got the full, snake set menu or no snake at all. The meat was cut into thin, ribbed strips.
“Can I try some snake?” Sarah asked.
“Can,” Peter said.
It was slightly salty and chewy. All in all quite nice.
We visited a local fair one evening in a park in Can Tho. 2,000dong (US$0.13) bought us a ride on the Ferris wheel. It turned so slowly, the operator didn’t need to stop the ride for us to get on. We just walked into a moving carriage. The dusk breeze was relaxing and from the top we could see out over the park. We went around for a while, enjoying the ride. In fact, the ride didn’t seem to end. When would it be over? Would the operator stop the wheel or yell to us to get off? Peter called to me from the next carriage over, “I think we just need to get off when we’ve had enough.”
“I think you’re right!” I said. A few more times around. Ezra, then Sarah got off and then we followed. The wheel kept spinning.
In the riverside town of Chau Doc, the four of us played hearts in the shade of a giant fish sculpture. Ezra and Sarah are great card players, but they tell us they haven’t been playing much in Malaysia. Although they of course aren’t gambling when they play in cafes, they’ve been asked to put the cards away. Peter tried to shoot the moon and Sarah stopped him. A Vietnamese woman and her toddler in squeaky sandals watched us. It struck us as a nice reversal, as usually the foreigners watch the locals playing games.
Back in Saigon, for our last night together until we go to Malaysia in mid-April, we had cocktails on the roof terrace bar at a fancy hotel. Sarah wore her new Ao Dai and I wore the fitted skirt from my tailor-made suit. At US$6 each, the drinks cost the same as our dinner that night, so we sipped them slowly and enjoyed the view. The sun set over the skyscrapers, the city darkened and the lights came out.
At some point we’ll all have to get off the Ferris wheel. But I’m going to have a good ride before I do.
- Mui Ne, Vietnam
"Did you have a fight or something?" Asked a girl on my cooking course when I told her Peter and I were travelling apart for a few days.
"No, it's just for fun," I told her, pounding my lemongrass. "The idea is to have time apart so we don't have a fight," I joked.
The thing is, Peter and I have quite separate social lives in London. Peter goes for drinks with his work friends and I have my book group. When we go for walks along the canal in Islington we always have plenty to talk about. Spending time together back home is more fun because we aren't with each other during all our free time. But for the past two months travelling through Southeast Asia, we have spent nearly every day together and all our time is "free time". True, Peter went mountain biking in Luang Prabang while I relaxed in town. We often run errands on our own - one of us buys bus tickets while the other gets food for the journey. But although we've spent many hours apart, we've always travelled together.
Sunday, I made my way to pretty Hoi An and Peter stayed on the train for a further eight hours to the beach city of Nha Trang. I love exploring a new place, but the logistics of getting there and finding somewhere to stay are often annoying by-products of travel. Arriving in Hoi An on my own was exhilarating. The touts were all mine to deal with, but the joy of dumping my bag at a guesthouse and wandering the streets of a new town, was mine alone as well.
When we planned our career break in London, we discussed both wanting to have some time to travel on our own. This was the first time so far that we actually put this idea into action.
Hoi An (a UNESCO World Heritage town), was an important trading port from the 15th to 19th centuries. The colourful traditional buildings have a certain crumbling charm and reflect a mix of foreign and local architectural styles. The town has a thriving crafts and tailor-made clothing industry. Although I have no need for a handmade silk embroidery painting, clothing is always tempting.
Have you heard of these Asian tailor shops which crank out custom-made clothing? In a few days they can make you a fitted suit or dress for a fraction of the price that you would pay at home. I will be looking for a job when I get back to London, so a tailored "interview suit" would be more useful than a silk lantern. The only problem is quality which apparently varies dramatically. Most of the Hoi An tailors display large, handwritten signs supposedly from satisfied customers. "Stop! Look no further! This is the best tailor shop in Hoi An. My friend and I got clothes somewhere else but they weren't good. We came here and got a really nice dress made. You won’t be disappointed! - Maddy Miller, USA" Sure thing Maddy, but I wasn't keen to take a recommendation from a handwritten sign.
I met wonderful French Canadian Julie and her boyfriend Nick on my cooking course and we spent most of our time in Hoi An together. I accompanied Julie to her first suit fitting. The shop had fixed prices and customers' business cards instead of cheesy signs. I was so impressed by Julie's suit that I decided to have one made for myself.
As I selected a bolt of grey cashmere wool and had my measurements taken, 550km away Peter was underwater in a swimming pool starting his PADI training. Over the next several days I popped back to the tailor's for fittings. The trousers were a little too large here, the shirt a little too tight there. The friendly shop assistants marked up my clothes with chalk and told me to return in a few hours once the alterations were made. Meanwhile Peter graduated from the swimming pool and was out in the South China Sea, testing out his SCUBA equipment and experimenting with neutral buoyancy. (He’s apparently a complete natural.)
Predawn one morning, Julie, Nick, German surgeons Sylvia and Marcus (also from the cooking class), their friends and I, chartered a minivan to the Cham ruins, My Son. Our aim was to beat the tour groups to this “mini Angkor Wat”. Indeed, my little group was the first to explore the site that day. It was amazing seeing the sun rise over the hills behind the 7th century Hindu temples and all the more special having it to ourselves.
Back in Hoi An, my suit was finished and turned out beautifully. For the curious, the suit (jacket and trousers) was US$100 plus an additional $30 for the matching skirt and $15 for the pale blue shirt. They all fit me perfectly. I’m in no rush to start interviewing for jobs, but when I do I’ve got my outfit sorted.
Yesterday I arrived in Nha Trang and Peter and I were reunited after four days apart. We walked barefoot along the beach, picking up spiral shells and filling each other in on what we’d been up to. We passed a Vietnamese woman selling pet guinea pigs on the beach front and had a good laugh. It’s good to be together again.
- Nha Trang, Vietnam
Tired of the hustle bustle of the big city? Is the traffic and constant noise too much for you? Why not escape to a rustic hilltribe village in the North of Thailand? Anyone who thinks the countryside is quiet clearly hasn't been to a Lahu village. The roosters started crowing around 3:30am. By daybreak, barking dogs and pigs grunting under our bamboo hut let us know it really was time to get up. (6:30am) Daily public announcements of some sort were projected through loudspeakers. (What was the voice saying? "And the prize for the most attractive chicken goes to...Pon Chit for his plump grey hen." We never found out.) The day was punctuated by the village clock which played a different tune for each hour. And less quaint, the kids' heart-stopping firecrackers.
But before long we grew accustomed to the noise and became endeared to village life. The people in the shop were always happy to cut up a pineapple for us. We went there daily to buy snacks of fried broadbeans, tiny banana muffins and a sort of peanut-brittle Peter particularly enjoyed. We washed our clothes in the open air on a cement slab, kneading them with our feet as the women do. The animals were mostly free to roam as they pleased and provided endless entertainment, particularly the little 'uns. Puppies played in the dust, chicks hopped after their mothers and piglets of all sizes snuffled the ground for nourishment.
However we didn't come to the village to relax. Our purpose was to learn the basics of Thai yoga massage in twelve days. I for one had no idea what I was in for. For the uninitiated, the philosophy of Thai massage centres around ten sen, or energy lines and the aim is to bring them back into alignment. Practically speaking this involves pressing palms and thumbs into the patient's flesh and bending them into a lot of yoga-style stretches. It is technical and complex. I struggled to get my head around all the different aspects of a pose. "Palm slower, apply more pressure. Are the patient's arms at the right angle? Don't forget to look at their face to see if the stretch is too much for them."
Interestingly, where you put your own body as the masseur is also extremely important. We needed to learn when to lunge or sit on our toes. We had to remember which side of the patient's body we need to be closer to. All of these things affect the stretch and also will have a bearing on how much energy you exert. The idea is to use your body weight instead of your muscles so you don't get tired out. All in all, a hell of a lot to remember. Plus you've got to relax! "Be playful with the pose." Peter it turns out has a remarkable memory for this sort of thing and the different poses came very naturally to him. I, on the other hand, struggled bitterly. It's emotional work and by around day four I seriously wondered how I was going to make it through another eight days.
Then, remarkably, things got better. We kept practicing on the mats for six hours each day, switching partners and slowly working our way up the body from the feet to the head. Gradually I learned what to do. One sequence of moves was "twist", "broken leg", "the clock", "three lunges" and "paddle boat". A lot to remember. So I made up stories to link them together. For example, the twist breaks your leg. "What time did you break your leg?" Ah yes, the clock. "What time is it? It's time for the three lunges." After eating "lunge" (lunch) you paddle boat away. American Cloe and German Nina, both found these memory hooks helpful and together we had a lot of fun making up silly stories.
The course culminated in performing a two hour massage on a classmate. We pulled names from a hat and incredibly, Peter and I ended up working on each other. Funny how things turn out. We made it through the twelve days and although we still have a lot to learn, we now have a nice foundation to Thai massage.
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Story Time - The Three Little Pigs
(Note to the squeamish: Only read #1)
There were a lot of pigs in the Lahu village. Here are the three pig incidents that really stand out in our minds.
1) The Friendly Pig - They say pigs are smarter than dogs. It turns out they can also be extremely friendly. Peter and I made friends with a young pig who learned to recognise us. When she saw us, she shuffled over touching us with her small muddy nose, wanting to be petted. When we stroked the top of her head, she laid down beside us, completely blissed-out.
2) The Dead Pig - The Lahu people prepare their butchered pigs, by burning off the bristly hairs in a straw fire. Peter and I were lucky enough to witness the process. After the fire, we saw them scrape off the blackened top layer of skin, revealing a succession of surprising colours; yellow and then stark white. Next they gutted it, letting nothing go to waste and deftly kicking the dogs away who were desperate to get a bite. Interestingly, the gutting took place on the same cement slab where the villagers do their laundry! The most horrific thing however was the sow walking in the runoff below the platform. She couldn't see the dead pig up above as she drank the bloodied water.
3) The Little Piggies With No Balls - One morning before class I heard the most horrible squealing. I followed the noise and found a villager holding his a tiny piglet upside-down between his legs. Using a cut-throat razor, he made a small slit and deftly castrated each male in the litter. He carefully sewed them up with a needle and thread and released them to run dazed back to their angry mother. They say it makes the meat taste better.
- Chang Mai, Thailand
