Luang Prabang

Its day 5 in Luang Prabang so I guess we must like it here. As mentioned in the last post, we arrived at the airport having researched what we thought would be a fair price to the city, determined not to get ripped off again and braced for a fight with the hundreds of seedy taxi drivers we had become used to haggling with. With bags collected what greeted us instead was a sunny afternoon in a picturesque valley, hardly anyone around, a counter with smiling staff where you paid a set price for a taxi ticket (approx $5.60AUD) and a bunch of friendly mini-van drivers casually helping luggage into the boot and inquiring as to your exact address. We look at each other in tired astonishment and said “well, this is civilised!

While this town is undoubtedly set up for the tourist trade, somehow the tourists have not spoilt it yet and I hope they never do. The people here are friendly, have enormous smiles and are rather fond of singing when they think you’re not looking. Several times now I have heard snatches of song from women cooking, massage therapists and children playing. Oh yes, the children actually play here and are not walking the streets day and night trying to sell crap and begging with the heartbreaking hard looks in their eyes that we observed all over Vietnam, or Vietscam as a friend has taken to calling it.

LP is a town of many temples, several of them adorned in beautifully ornate golden paint with easily a hundred statues of the Buddha in the central worshipping area. There is also a fabulous night market here with clothing, textiles, jewellery, hand crafts and the like of far superior quality than anything we saw in Vietnam and amazingly, no one insisting that you buy. Yes, they call out to you to have a look at their wares as you pass but it it’s in such a quiet way, you instantly feel more  compelled to look through and we have both had to be quiet self disciplined as our bohemian selves want at least one of everything from most stalls. We were lucky enough to be here on the last 2 nights of an annual international film festival so we happily drank Lao Beer and snacked on street food as we sat outdoors and watched quite an enjoyable Thai pre-pubescent rom-com. It was kind of like ‘Looking for Alibrandi’ in a rural Thai village.

I’d been feeling slightly off colour without being able to put my finger on the problem except for a general lack of energy since the evening of day 2 which resulted in a fair bit of indecisiveness regarding our next move. We eventually settled on a 2 day trek/overnight home stay in a village/ elephant riding/ kayaking combination and set off on day 4. The trek with just Felicity and our guide was a fair struggle for me as I increasingly felt worse and tried to vomit several times up the mountain but with no success. My appetite had deserted me at lunch in a small village where Felicity showed photos of her dog and family to the extraordinarily shy villagers as their puppies rolled around in the dust and chased chickens. Again, this was such a contrast to the village trekking we did in Vietnam where the locals dress in contrived ‘traditional’ clothing (beautiful as it is) and walk many, many miles with you and then demand that you buy their “hand made” goods and get quite aggro when you don’t. The villagers here in Laos had some cushion covers and bracelets set up at the lunch stop but the oldest lady only asked once gently if we wanted to buy anything and Felicity immediately felt much more inclined to make a purchase.

By the time we got to the village we would be sleeping at in the late afternoon, I was not coping and my body went into shock. I sat on the steps of our timber hut but promptly moved over to the dirt as every muscle stared to spasm, my lips tingled and my words started to sound odd as my tongue started to swell. Lying in the dirt, not being able to talk properly with my hands and calf muscles cramping uncontrollably is not a pleasant experience. This eventually settled down and I was able to sleep, something I’d been desperately craving all day, as Flic and the guide discussed my possible evacuation via a tractor, boat and then car back to Luang Prabang. I was woken 45 mins later as if we had to leave, then we need to do it now while there was enough daylight. I stood up walked to the doorway, steadied myself and then out of nowhere I was sent to my knees as the most forceful vomit I have ever had erupted from my mouth and all over the timber floor of our shack. It was the most embarrassed and wretched I had ever felt as I made such a mess of the floor and myself, unable to move or offer the sincerest apology I desperately wanted mumble. I wanted them to know it was not from excess of alcohol!

After Felicity dutifully and without fuss cleaned me and the shack up, I was bunddled into a wooden cart being towed by a tractor. I say a tractor but it was more like a lawn mower with big arms, an axle and two medium sized wheels. I tried to get Flic to stay but was in no state to argue and as I would never leave her, I knew it was an argument I wasn’t going to win. The villagers were so gracious at cleaning me up and transporting us one hour over bumpy dirt tracks to the river where we then boarded a motor propelled canoe to the elephant camp we had been to earlier and then a mini bus back to town.

Suffice to say I am better now and day 5 has been spent sleeping and recovering my strength. We’ll see if we go back to do the second half of our adventure tomorrow. Well I hope you didn’t read that over lunch and that you’re now not put off reading this blog again. I promise that will be the last vomit story! Then again, the next blog will most likely be from town of Gomora that is Van Vien. Everything we have heard about it paints it as a Buddhist sin city with beautiful mountains hemming it in, graceful monks passing on the street and hundreds of drunk British twats vomiting everywhere. I should fit right in.

Commies, Cat Fights and Catharsis.

Once again I’ve been shocking at keeping this up to date. Since the last post we have travelled the rest of the way up Vietnam taking in the monument to the atrocities committed at Son My (commonly referred to by the nearby hamlet of My Lai), the beautiful French colonial town of Hoi An, Hanoi and Halong Bay and finally the hill tribes around far northern Sapa.

The monument at Son My to the massacres perpetrated by the American GI’s in the rural hamlets was sobering as expected. What was a surprise was the prominence given to the American helicopter pilot Thomson who clashed with Lt. Calley and landed his chopper in between fleeing villages and the advancing GI’s, ordering his gunner to open fire on his countrymen if they started firing on the villages. It was a story of such bravery that if I had known, I had forgotten about. He suffered persecution and ridicule for most of the remainder of his life and died an alcoholic. Thankfully his compassion and true heroism was recognised before his death.

Further up the coast, Hoi An by night has a magical quality that only French architects and expert lantern makers can produce. It’s truly enchanting and the 4000 D beer makes you think you’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s true, the tailors are out of control and so many people leave having spent a lot more than they ever intended. As we’re relocating to London we had budgeted two heavy winter coats and we weren’t disappointed. Unfortunately, we got sucked into the idea that we also needed winter boots and they turned out not so good. In fact they were dreadful, we got ripped off, shouted at, spat at and the last night ended on a very aggressive and sour note indeed. As I don’t wish to dwell on it, I shall move right along to....

Sleeper trains! I love them! There is simply no better way to avoid paying for a hotel overnight than to be gently rocked to sleep by a train as you travel 16 hours up the country.

I won’t go on about Hanoi too much except to say that there is some fascinating architecture, millions of beeping horns, people trying to sell you stuff at every step and the embalmed communist hero, Ho Cho Minh himself. Having been to the impressive yet grammatically confusing Museum of Revolution and slowly put together the pieces of Vietnams long struggle with a multitude of aggressors, it was quite moving to see this most revered man in the flesh. Mind you, he would have been horrified at the enormous mausoleum that he now resides in. He wanted to be cremated but I guess a fragile state needed it’s hero that the people could come and pay tribute to. The idea of a single man as a symbol and what he stands for becomes more important than his own wishes for a humble cremation.

From Hanoi we made for Halong Bay and Cat Ba Island where we had a brilliant day kayaking and rock climbing around the stunning little islands and coves of Halong Bay. The weather was overcast and rainy but it was still a lot of fun. Back in Hanoi, we met up with Evan and Michael from The Lion King and had an ace time with them. Koto (in brief, a Vietnamese Jamie’s Oliver’s FIFTEEN) provided our most glutinous meal with three courses, coffee and wine costing only $15USD each. The duck on a bed of potato and mushroom cake with mango chutney was mind numbingly good! By this stage hawker fatigue and the latent aggression of most of the people we encountered had taken its toll and we went to Vietnam airlines to bring our flight to Laos forward with the intention of skipping  Sapa and doing a similar trekking experience in Laos. Fortunately for us, this wasn’t possible and we went to Sapa as planned with Evan and Michael and had what was probably the highlight of our trip.

Yes, we couldn’t escape the constant demand that we part with our money for worthless trinkets and yes, the costumes the hill tribe people wear are just for show but still, the mountains were stunning and we had the best time. Our 17 yr old guide was an absolute sweetie and incredibly fit! Our legs got a real work out as we traversed impossibly steep rice terraces and meandered among the clouds, marvelling at the misty green mountains surrounding us. On the second day, we joined with 3 others as our guide joined forces with her cousin, another trekking guide. That night we had a beautiful home cooked meal and played a local card game akin to Snap where the looser had to have a shot of rice wine. It was a night of great hilarity as we got steadily more and more drunk with our old friends (you are pretty old Ev), new Canadian and Australian friends and our two brilliant guides. My hangover the next day was of a force 10 magnitude and involved the great Aussie tradition of a good technicolour yawn among the chickens.

Time to farewell Michael and Evan who have both been magnificent friends over the year and whose friendship we will make sure survives international borders and distances. Time also to farewell Vietnam. It truly was the good, the bad and the ugly and everything in between. Vietnam really is a fascinating place and there is nothing relaxed about it. It’s heady, full throttle (literally...just try crossing the road!) and is still recovering from years and years at war. Hardship is etched on the faces of those that live there from the old ladies carrying impossible loads on their shoulders, scratching a living off the city streets to the men ploughing fields with water buffalo. We met some beautiful souls who were kind and open to meeting total strangers but in all honesty, they were the exception to the masses.

We caught an overnight train from near Sapa back to Hanoi, chatted with a terrific French couple in their middle years with broken English and a little broken French (thank you CZ!) and then headed straight to the airport for a one hour flight to Luanag Prabang in Laos. Having not slept on the train, arrived at the airport at 6am, plane delayed by 2hours, we were crying tired and could have greeted Laos with grumpiness and suspicion had we arrived to the accustomed greediness and haggling of taxis at the airport. The difference one hour into another country can make! Laos is an absolute dream and the perfect antidote to the beep-beep, you buy! You buy! of Vietnam.

More on the beautiful, languid lifestyle of Luang Prabang shortly.....

Part II

After recovering from the shock of Felicity’s accident, we got back on the bikes and headed to the beach road where we would only have to make a couple of turns before being on the road out of town towards the waterfalls. It still hadn’t dawned on us that this place was bigger than we thought, had WAY more traffic than we thought and that the trip out there wasn’t going to be along some pleasant country road. We slowly and carefully made our way through the city and out onto the highway where the shoulders are wide enough to ride a bike on without directly being in the right hand lane. This however doesn’t account for people riding both push bikes and motorbikes the wrong towards you down this shoulder!

The scenery was beautiful. Lush hills rising gently to the left and rural dwellings, rice fields and a beautiful temple to the right. We were in a groove and feeling relatively comfortable now. The sun was warm on our arms and it’s just a thoroughly visceral way of travelling and experiencing a landscape at the same time. My speedometer and odometer weren’t working so having not seen a sign to the waterfalls so far, I was hoping Flic would have an idea of how far we had travelled. After about an hour Flic signalled that we were pulling over at small stop offering refreshments. This was little more than a tin shed with plastic tables and chairs, drinks and a TV playing on the back shelf. Through broken bits of English and Vietnamese were we able to ascertain that we needed to go a kilometre or so back in the direction we had come.

We found the turn off and then found ourselves blessedly free of the highway and onto a tiny country lane with rural shacks on either side, giggling children, cows and chickens by the roadside and the odd bike or two moving from house to house. Part of the dirt road was quite flooded and I tried to think back to how Ewan and Charlie dealt with these conditions in the Long Way Round. Flic was moving quite slowly through them and I pointed out that the water and mud wasn’t deep and that it was better to give the bike a few more revs. This seemed to do the trick once I had already come off gently because I’d come up too quickly behind her.

This quieter, country road was such a relief from the highway and a lovely way to take in the clean air and the faces that greeted us as we meandered past. We parked our bikes at a shelter where the trek on foot to the waterfalls begun.  It was so quiet and tranquil walking through the jungle with the noise of the water beckoning us from down the path. They weren’t so much waterfalls as a river cascading and bubbling over a series of giant boulders crating little rapids, pools and streams. In attempting to cross, Flic fell in up to her knees to which helpfully, I couldn’t resist laughing. She changed into some spare shorts she had and I offered to take her jeans and socks back to the last remaining patching of sunlight further back. On the return trip I discovered what I was convinced was an easier crossing point but judging the leap across incorrectly I endeed up in the rapids up to me waist. With both of us now wet, there was nothing to do but laugh, take photos and just chill out for a bit in the surrounds of lush and tranquil jungle with nothing but the noises of the river and the birds.

I was anxious to get moving back home in order to arrive back in daylight and to avoid any peak hour traffic. We achieved neither. The trip back home along the highway was nerve wracking as buses overtook buses who were overtaking buses and if you weren’t looking far enough ahead, you could quickly end up with two or three trucks or buses all moving towards you across the road with other motorbikes trying to overtake you as well. It was on a climb up a hill that the second accident of the day happened.

A guy on a motorbike with a girl on the back overtook myself and then Felicity but then swerved in and out erratically in front of before for some reason slamming his brakes on. Flic broke hard, lost control and came skidding off. Again, I quickly pulled off as far out of the path on the traffic as I could and looked to make sure she was ok. She was on her bum, throwing her helmet to the ground and screaming “What the fuck?!?!?” I saw that her jeans were torn at the knee and that she now had a decent graze on the other elbow to match her earlier one. I looked up to see the offending motorcyclist who had stopped and was looking back at us. “What the fuck is with people driving in this fucking country?!” Fic exclaimed. Her knee didn’t look to bad, just more grazes. Sore, no doubt but no serious injury. I looked up again and more motorcyclists had stopped to see if we were ok but the dickhead who had caused the accident had sped off. Seeing that she wasn’t badly injured, the anger in her eyes and the tall guy with sunglasses on and a bandanna over his face probably prompted him to get the fuck out of there. Just as well for him for having made sure Flic was ok, I was ready to put my fist through his face.

Having moved the bikes further out of harms way and retrieved her side mirror from the middle of the road, I then unpacked the antiseptic wipes and band aids from my backpack. I hadn’t looked closely but the ones I bought in Singapore are 70% pure alcohol and mostly used for cleaning an area before an injection. On open wounds, they burn like hellfire and poor Felicity was in tears and screaming as we tried to clean her up. With the sun setting and the traffic heavy, I was even more anxious to get back home. When we were ready, we got back on and rode into town as slowly as we could without causing further accidents by being too slow. The truck and bus drivers coming towards need to be seen to be believed and if we weren’t so intent on keeping our already tired and now aching bodies on the road, would have hurled abuse at them for sure.

Riding back through town as it became dark was so nerve wracking. I took the lead this time as even though I preferred to have Flic in front of me where I could see her than loosing her in my mirror behind me, it hadn’t worked out well so far so I went first. The traffic was thick and fast with riders weaving in and out constantly and even guys walking out into the traffic to spruik cheap drinks at their bars. I don’t know if one of them actually caught my “Get off the fucking road!” but I dout it would have made a  difference. Miraculously we made it back to the quieter side street where we rented the bikes from and handed them the side mirror which I couldn’t get back on and retreated home. Later the bike hire operators turned up at our backpackers with a list of damages to Flic’s bike. Tired and exhausted, we promptly gave them the cash they needed for repairs (bugger all in $AUD) and then headed into town for some dinner. Incredible clay pot ginger chicken and seafood dishes and several Saigon lagers later, we were laughing and giving silent thanks that we were alive and well. Poor Felicity has some horrible grazes but every time she got up and knew that she had to get back on the bike. Today, she was my hero. She is one tough little bugger and though she hurts and understandably broke down once we got home she remains one of the toughest women I have had the pleasure to meet and one with whom I want to continue to have many many great adventures with. And she wants to keep riding!

We have however, decided that we are not doing any more biking in populated areas, just quiet country roads! Seriously, it’s just insane here. This morning we encountered some young Dutch kids about to set off on bikes who clearly had no idea what they were doing and were in shorts and singlets. We implored them to be careful and to go home to at least put some jeans on. One look at Flic’s arms and legs seemed to convince them of this as we saw them conferencing and pointing at us as we walked away. Biking is great fun but fuck, not in this traffic!

Blood, sweat and tears....no seriously! Part 1.

A beautiful sunny Vietnam morning greeted us as we left our room clad in jeans, boots and with our own motorbike helmets under our arms as we heading into town to have breakfast and hire bikes. With the desire to do a fair bit of biking on this trip, we decided to buy our own decent helmets that fit as most people around here drive like crazy and with little more than bicycle helmets on their heads. About 20kms out of town are some waterfalls and a temple that we wanted to see so we had our mission.

Having only spent one night here, my impression of this town was that it was something akin to Anglesea with some light traffic. Mistake #1. Little more than 15mins on our bikes and disaster struck. Motorbikes are not hard to ride but when you’re driving on the opposite side of the road to what you’re used to and there are really no road rules that anyone obeys, things can very easily go wrong. Flic was heading towards in intersection with her indicator on and I called out to keep going as we had a green light and I thought she was heading the wrong way. She paused in the intersection, changed direction and an old lady carrying a basket of noodles ran the red light. I watched with horror as in slow motion (it actually does appear this way) they collided in the intersection and Flic was thrown off. “SHIT!!!!!! SHIT! SHIT!”

I quickly made my way around and got my bike up onto the curb. I turned to see that Flic and the lady were both thankfully on their feet. Right. Make the scene safe. Flic was in tears, bleeding from her arm and wanting to know if the other lady was ok. Myself and another bystander got the bikes off the road and onto the footpath. Having ascertained that Flic’s injuries were only superficial it was then time to treat the wound while trying to make sense of the scene and convey to this woman that we would fix her bike, which had ruptured the fuel tank and that we would compensate her for the noodles which seemed her primary concern.  By this point many kind folk had either walked over or got off their own bikes to help. Imagine the scene. One shell shocked Aussie with a severely grazed elbow, the other with adrenaline pumping flat chat, and a dozen Vietnamese talking loudly and quickly in their own language. The wonderfully helpful and friendly locals helped us to more than adequately compensate her for the noodles (around $ 2.50 AUS!!!) and negotiate with the mechanic across the road to fix her bike for around $70AUS. The locals were wonderful in A) treating Felicity (some guy just appeared with antiseptic) and B) making sure that we paid a fair price but weren’t ripped off ourselves. The old ladies were lovely in comforting Flic as she was quite upset at having disrupted this lady’s form of income.

I took both the bikes the 2 blocks back to our residence and we then walked home for further cleaning, a can of coke to sooth the nerves and to calm down a bit. I had thought that this would be the end of Felicity’s turn on a  motorcycle, at least for today but after a while heroically she wanted to continue on with our day.

This post is too long now but this was not the end of our misadventures today, and nor was it the last motorbike accident.

To be continued.....

* For parents reading this, we are both fine. Really.

‘Nam by train.

The insistent beeps of my phone alarm jolted us awake at dawn as we prepared to leave Ho Chi Minh City on the train to the coastal town of Nah Trang. It truly is a city that never sleeps and the hustle and bustle of traffic had well and truly begun as we groggily emerged from our narrow alley into the dark of the street. Taxi haggled for and ridden we arrived at the station and boarded the train that we would sit on for 8 hours. Once our packs were safely stored above us, we settled in for quite an enjoyable overland trip. The crumbling houses and terraces of the city that literally hugged the train line started to give way to an agricultural landscape with periodic tin shacks and outer limit graveyards. The further on we went, the more the rice fields started to line up as they huddled beneath the rising craggy peaks of modest mountains. Felicity opined that you get the truest impression of a country via its rural spaces. You certainly see the physical toil etched on the furrowed faces that glance up at you at the train whistles past. I actually saw a man ploughing a field with a steel plough harnessed to an ox.

The seats in the carriage reclined nicely and snack carts and even hot food came past at intervals to ease early morning travel grumbles from the stomach. Having sleep for the first few hours I then divided my attention in equal parts between the changing scenery outside, X-Men II on the TV halfway down the carriage and a dodgy photocopied version of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in my hand. Having packed a fair bit of activity into our days since we left Singapore (as well as the mania prior) it was quite nice to relax in a tired but quite workable and mostly comfortable train. I quite driving at home, I love the immediacy of horseback and motorcycle riding but sometimes there’s nothing quite like letting someone else do the driving while you watch new landscapes unfurl before your eyes. 

The Heat is On in Saigon

From the sublime to the ridiculous sums up our transition from the rustic tranquillity of our little island to arriving in HCMC. It is chaos here! But in a cool way.  We’re staying right in the heart of District 1 in the touristy area of Do Quang Dau street. Crossing the road is an adventure in itself every time. You can’t wait for a break so you just have to avoid cars and then walk into a thousand oncoming motorbikes who somehow seem to weave around you. This little exotic cull de sac is teeming with Vietnamese and tourists alike as everything from sunglasses to fake Crumpler bags to fruit is exchanged at a dizzying pace to the soundtrack of millions of car and bike horns.  

Beer costs around $2 US and goes down a treat with some incredible Vietnamese food after a day of trekking around galleries, museums, markets and shops. By night this area of a glo with neon lights, bars spruiking cold beer, scantily clad women waving you inside, tantalising smells, bad western pop songs and of course, motorbikes. Our room is dingy but neat and comfortable. You access it via a dark alleyway, past a small kitchen that looks like it hasn’t changed in two hundred years and up some stairs where I have to bend in half to get past the landing.

As I became intoxicated by the sights and smells (and maybe a bit of the local beer) I decided to finally get the tattoo I’ve been thinking about for nearly a year. The artist’s work seemed decent and his implements sterile so I studied the peeling paint and wallpaper with great detail as buzz by buzz, a very neat symmetrical black compass rose materialised on my right shoulder.

HCMC or Saigon as it is still called in many quarters has been a thoroughly exciting and insightful place to cool our heels. It is a city that is constantly on the move and the thriving trade in retail and various modes of transport render it communist in name only. The scars of the American war are still abundantly evident in the deformed people operating three wheeled contraptions with their arms and in the museums and galleries where shocking and poignant images greet you on every wall. The city has charmed me will always be an exceptionally fun memory of such a wild metropolis.  

CENSORED!!!

So apparently Vietnam blocks facebook! Until I find a reliable sneaky way around it, please excuse my absence.
James