Hue

27th - 29th January 2007

We travelled up to Hue by bus. The journey itself was pretty uneventful, but on arriving in the town we were met by a frantic crowd of Cyclo drivers, hotel touts and street vendors. O.k. this is not unusual in Vietnam, where every opportunity is taken to extract the tourist Dollar (or Dong) - and why not?, but the intensity of this attention was far greater than any we had thus encountered.

I was determined to find our own hotel and select our own mode of transport to take us there. However, we were met by this frenzied mob and although managing to shake the majority off, were still left with one totally persistent cyclo (rickshaw) driver. In the end to ward him off as we spied an internet cafe, we dived into it and made as if to log on to email. He was right on our shoulder. And so we opened up an e-mail (from Auds). He was still over our shoulder, but now appeared to take a healthy? interest in the content of the mail.

We still managed to avoid his ministrations and found ourselves a taxi instead and asked them to take us to our Lonely Planet Guide selected hotel (which turned out to be pretty average anyway).

Talking of Internet cafes, in Hue we found it extremely difficult to get any usage.
Despite there being plentiful cafes available, all the slots were taken by teenage and younger boys playing computer games. O.K., I can see why they need this kind of entertainment. The city streets and pavements are full. Full that is of motorbikes, people cooking food, dogs, cats, garbage, cooking equipment etc. etc. There is nowhere for anyone to play, although you do observe groups of youths kicking a shuttlecock about between themselves. Very talented they appear to be, too. This does not just apply to Hue, of course. Saigon, Hanoi, Danang, Nha Trang and Dalat all possess the same make-up of human life.

We weren't that impressed with Hue. It was very overcast and with prolonged bouts of rain, though and no doubt this coloured our views on the City. I had to take issue with the LPG's suggestion that a cruise down the picturesque Perfumed river was a must for any Vietnam traveller.
The river running through the city was grey,langourous and laden with dead dogs & cats (probably). Picturesque? Perfumed?. Actually Perfumed is the name of the river and I guess it did have a perfume of sorts.

On the 2nd day of our stay in Hue, we had booked a tour to take us too the Demilitarized zone and the Vinh Moc caves. This did prove altogether more interesting than the city.
In fact the day started in quite an interesting way. At 6:30 a.m. we were waiting in reception for a taxi to nip us through the town to join our bus for the tour. Two motorbikes turned up. The other couple who were waiting in the rain with us for the taxi (Mike and Lucy) were adamant that they were not going to travel on the back of the motorbikes. The hotel porter then sent the motorbikes away and the four of us travelled in a car to meet the bus.

The drive to the DMZ was eventful only in as much as we witnessed the aftermath of a lorry hitting a motorbike. This accident, looked as though it had contributed yet another road death to the spiralling numbers killed on the Vietnam roads (40 deaths a day on average, this does not take account of seriously injured, obviously). Vietnam is smaller than Britain, but has 83 million population, less 40 per day that we know about!

We were talking to a couple from Dublin at the breakfast stop. They had just spent 3 weeks in Laos. Apparently it's considerably more primitive than Vietnam, but they enjoyed it. One perturbing sight they witnessed though was that of five live dogs strapped to the back of a motorbike, obviously bound for someone's table. Also they were saying that as rat is a particular favourite in Laos lots of their fellow travellers on the local bus had bags of the headless dead animals.

Anyway, we're not going to Laos this time around.

We headed for the Vinh Moc tunnels which are about 10km north of the DMZ. There are in the region of 210kms of these tunnels and during the Vietnam/American war, the North Vietnamese villagers (i.e. the Viet Cong,- the Çommies lived in them. They were occuppied for 5 years and 17 babies were actually born in the tunnels. All 17 are still alive and have re-unions each year when they revisit the tunnels in which they were born.
The reason that the villagers hid in these tunnels was to avoid the intense American bombing. Ironically, the Demilitarized Zone was one of the most heavily bombed areas in Vietnam. They are still completely in tact, unlike the smaller and more well known tunnels of Cu Chi in the South, which have been enlarged in order that Western tourists can actually fit in them! We walked through these tunnels at Vinh Moc. I had to say it didn't do too much for my claustrophobia, but I got used to it eventually. I think we were actually in the tunnels for about 20 minutes. It really gave us the feeling for how difficult/impossible it would be to live in them full time. Indeed, the occupants of Vinh Moc, during that 1966 - 1971 period, could only stay in the tunnels 10 days at a time. Only, I say. There was originally only one ventilation shaft for the tunnels and it was as black as soot down there, and quite airless but the Americans kindly created one more ventilation area with a mis-directed bomb. The VC covered this up with branches to conceal it.

Hi Everybody! Rita here. I am going to tell you about the journey back from the DMZ. There were at least 30 of us herded back into the coach and off we set for a 3 hour journey back to Hue. After about 90 minutes or so our tour guide got off the bus to go to her home. About 10 minutes after this stop our coach came to another stop and to our surprise the driver moved over and a young man, who we took to be a relative took over the wheel and so we spectators (those of us who were still awake, or aware)started to witness the beginnings of a driving lesson. Firstly, the young man was unable to put it in gear, after several failed attempts, our experienced driver reached over and muttering manipulated the gears for him. And now with a shudder the coach lurched forward which elicited much hooting of horns as the coach careered into the thick traffic. Unfortunately, our learner driver was so nervous (but not as nervous or as hysterical as the passengers were becoming!), that he was unable to straighten up and so the vehicle carried on swerving across the wide road into oncoming traffic. Mike (as in Mike and Lucy) who was sitting on the back row in the middle seat had a perfect view of all proceedings, was by now up on his feet, demanding in raised tones that the driver change back, "'Change Driver"he commanded, serveral times to no effect. Mike then turned his attention to the dormant and placid passengers, "They've changed Drivers! They've changed Drivers". And again to the "Drivers" themselves, "Change back!". Mike was relentless in his enterprise, and just like the Vietnamese Persistency pays off, as the coach pulled up and our Driver, without a word, resumed the wheel and drove us home - a little quicker than we would have liked, but no doubt he was looking forward to being shot of us!

We walked back with Mike and Lucy to our hotel from being dropped off in the city centre and shared a good laugh about the 'driving lesson'with 30-odd passengers on board the coach. He didn't even display an L-plate. Imagine that happening in England down the M1 we chortled! We ended up arranging to dine with them later and so we found a good curry house. Beers all round except for me, as I am doing a 21-day stint without alcohol and it was only Day 12 and besides the water tasted well, just like water actually. We ordered the 'works'had a few drinks between us and got a taxi there and back and the entire bill came to a total 16.00 quid! 8 quid per couple, and the food was perfectly fine.




Inside Vinh Moc tunnels

Days in Hoi An - 23/1/2007 to 26/1/2007

Milo says 'Hi from Hanoi'



Blogging from Hanoi tonight (29/1/2007) - so still trying to catch up on posts.


..and so,it's Leigh here...
We arrived in Danang at 5 a.m. I'd been awoken by a female guard on the overnight train twiddling my big toe from the end of the bunk bed. I woke Rita up and sleepily we trudged on to the platform.

It was our intention to take the bus from here to Hoi An, but a taxi driver persuaded us into his cab. Even then I asked him to take us to the bus station, but he kept right on driving all the way to Hoi An (20 odd miles?). As it turned out he did us a favour. He took us to an excellent hotel, charged us $10 taxi fare and we were comfartably ensconed by 6 a.m.
He asked our nationality, "English", "Oh English - football, yes, very good, Manchester United top, Chelsea 2, Liverpool 3, Arsenal 4". Turned out he supported West Ham - I couldn't fathom out why. When I told him of my allegiance, he simply laughed "Not so good eh?". He obviously knew his stuff.

Hoi An - great place for clothes shopping (not a habit of ours, I have to say).
Rita bought t-shirts, and had an oriental suit type of thing made for her.
We both had shoes made for us and I had a suit run up ($75 + $6 for hand-made shirt). The postage back to the UK was 20 odd quid, so a fair proportion of total price.


Toilet on the way to My Son.





On Wednesday (24th January) we went on a trip to My Son (pronounced Meeson, rather than in 'come on my son!') All to do with Ancient Cham temples. The Kingdom of Champa functioned from the 2nd to the 15th century. The Chams adopted Hinduism after having commercial relations with IndIa. No one can work out how they managed to build these brick temples without mortar - how did the bricks stick to each other? We had the converse problem with some builders at 104 - they used lots of mortar, but the bricks still fell apart.


Cham Temple - sack the brickie..





We did have a good time in Hoi An. The town is really geared up to tourism, which in a developed country might seem a disadvantage. Here in Vietnam, though, it was a pleasant change.
The shops were full of good quality stuff all at rock bottom prices. There are lots of art shops, sellng some really tasteful paintings and carvings. The clothes shops were bedecked with top quality silks. Even the usually tacky ornament shops were filled with good quality,original stuff. Unfortunately we couldn't carry a lot as we've still got too much travelling around to do.

Overnight train from Na Thrang to Da Nang, Mon.22.01.07

Good evening All. We are about to catch the overnight train and have the luxury of a bunk bed each in a room of 4. We wonder what the couple will be like that we are sharing with - not snorers, hopefully. The train departs at 8pm and arrives at Da Nang at 5am. We are told to arrive 30 minutes prior, at the railway station. And so, arriving a bit early we sit in the waiting room and wait. The place soons fills up, and fills up! People of all descriptions arrive, many of the women and children already in their pyjamas and with toothbrushes in their hands. Despite the toothbrushes we resemble 'the great unwashed'. The waiting room heaves. We learn that there is no food or drink available on the train so we buy some bread rolls and triangular cheeses and a big bottle of water. A member of staff who appears to be guiding people and moving people along etc. is suddenly at my side and produces a knife and proceeds to cut our bread rolls down the middle. She looks up obligingly and smiles at me. I feel confused. Maybe she is expecting a tip for this unsolicitored service, but actually my predominant concern is: 'Have you washed your hands?'. Within a short time she is here again asking 'Would we like a cup of coffee?'. We reply 'yes please'. She is back with 2 plastic cups only a 1/3 full (if that!) demanded 10,000 dong (which is about 30pence) and it is drinking chocolate, strong, thick and sweet. It's drinkable. The loudspeaker makes an unintelligalbe announcement, which is followed by a sudden surge of people scrambling towards the doors to the platform. Our Cob-cutting assistant is back again and beckons us to stay seated, she explains, 'People, people - too many'. within a minute another assistant comes up to us and makes frantic gestures for us to join the queue. We start to obey this latest order when our 'CCA' (cob-cutting assistant) returns, pushing us gently back into our seats. This is really comical.We are the laughing pawns in their game.This exercise is repeated in precisely the same sequence a few more times. It actually feels quite good to be part of an aerobics class again with two instructors! Our CCA finally and with astonishing urgency is now gathering us up and propelling us towards the platform doors. She examines our tickets. We follow her. We jump down on the lines and climb up the other side of the track on to the opposite platform, flinging our rucksacks 'over the top'(as it were) before us. We pass a long queue of people and walk for a good few mintues before she comes to a halt. I spy a 'WC' sign and crossing the track make my way towards it. Someone jumps out at me demanding a 1,000 dong to use the loo. My CCA is at my side and acts as mediator. She produces a key to the loo and goes inside first and I hear swishing noises and then she lets me in. It is a 'squat loo'- easier for the chaps to aim straight!. We continue to wait at our designated spot. I spy our CCA sitting on the opposite side of the platform with an old woman and two small children. The children wave at us shyly. The women are pointing. We wave back. The children are excited and hide behind the women. We play beekaboo and contine to exchange energetic waves. But between you, me and the gatepost I am not comfortable and feel embarressed at such a silly display of 'hot air'. I can't wait for this train to appear, which very soon it does. Our CCA also does. She stands infront of us and is giggling and pointing to the children and saying 'Mummy and Daddy'. She covers her mouth with her hand to smother the erupting giggles. I deduce from this spectacle that the children thought that Leigh and I were their parents. I know this deduction is a nonsense so what else could she mean? Anyway, next moment she is making everyone stand back and creates a space for us to go first; she carries my rucksack and we follow her on to the train. Eventually she turns into one of the many cabins and flings my rucksack on a top bunk and turns and beams at us. We thank her and give her a tip of 20,000 dong. (30,000 dong is a quid!). She looks happy, smiles and shakes hands and she is gone.

This is a 4 berth, air conditioned cabin and you cannot swing a cat. The choice of activity for the next 9 hours is to either lie on your bunk or stand outside the toilet with people pushing past you at regular intervals. A late-thirties Chinese-Vietnamese couple enter the cabin and make themselves 'at home'. They are in the bunks below us and there is a small table between them. They place cans of Heineken, a packet of biscuits, fruit and a bottle of water on the table and then they proceed to 'party'. I say 'hello' cheerfully; they respond with an unenthusiastic grunt. We lie on our beds and read. The bunk is so small you can really only lie on your back. The noise below increases. They talk constantly like loud twittering birds. Clearly 'out of sight out of mind'. Leigh and I are out of sight, but their din obtrudes. Hour after hour their incessant babble proceeds forth. However after several hours the fascinaton began to fade, giving way to irritation. I surmised that they must be in love, a honeymoon couple noneless, or maybe an eloping couple. How otherwise could one explain that level of intensity? They must have uttered 100,000 words between them (or maybe each?). Leigh was passing me more and more looks of sheer exasperation. Yes, it is truly annoying, but what can one do? We just have to put up with it. We managed to negotiate 'lights out' at around 11.pm. Alas, with that small victory it was the only thing that went out. The loud conversation went on, as before. She was worse in terms of volume. As her sentence progressed she would get louder reaching almost crescendo heights before sliding down the volume scale again. It was shrill and penetrating. By any stretch of the imagination it was outrageously inconsiderate. If only my CCA were with me now. She'd sort them out!I didn't have to wish this for long though because quite suddenly in the gloom I heard Leigh's questioning voice boom angrily: 'Rita, how long do you think we will have to put up with this?'. Instantly seeing the prospect of a fight in the making in the confinement of this hot little room, I offered appeasement. 'Oh, it is not personal Leigh. They can't help it. It is their culture.' To our mutual astonishnment, a heavy silence filled the air. Not a sound other than the air conditioning. (I lay there smiling thinking of Adrian's story in the YHA dormitory of the cut class English accent ineffectively imploring 'Oh, do shut up!' to Adrian's imperious, 'Shut up!'. Leigh's outburst may have been more verbose but it was as effective. I also thought how fortuitous that you cannot swing a cat in here...

Nha Trang to Dalat

Dalat street scene




Friday 19/1/2007

We spent a couple of days in Nha Trang "relaxing" and plannig our itinerary for the remainder of our travels. Yeh, I know, that should only take ten minutes, but as far as mental agility is concerned we seem to be grinding to a halt.


Rita's been missing her mates....




On the Friday we took a bus from Nha Trang to Dalat.

Dalat is South West of Nha Trang, 205 kms in distance. It is in the south of the area known as the Central Highlands.

The journey took 5 hours, and was the sort of drive that you feel it is better not to look through the front window. As stated before, there are many, many motorbikes on Vietnam's roads. There are also horses, bicycles, stray dogs and stray people. The roads are narrow and generally potholed.

None of the above hazards seem to deter the bus drivers though. They career through the built up areas at high speed, blaring their horns in order that moving obstacles before them will scatter and leave the road clear. In the journeys that we took to Dalat and then back to Nha Trang, we witnessed one dog killed, a horse rear across the road, trailing its cart behind it and a motorcylclist on the inside of the bus so squeezed out by the bus's actions that his only alternative appeared to be to plunge into an eight foot ditch that was conveniently dug alongside the road. Fortunately for him the bus pulled away from him at the last moment. The fact that the normally stoical Vietnamese Motorcycle rider brandished his fist in protest, spoke volumes.

When we arrived in dalat, the sun was shining.

We were talking to an American couple at a cafe (teaching at Dalat Uni) and they informed us that this was potentially a malaria risk area. As we had't taken any anti-malarial precautions, we returned to the hotel, smothered ourselves in deet, put the mozzy nets up around the beds and sprayed the rooms. Nowt like being cautious.


Mozzy nets round hotel bed (Bridal suite)


2nd day in Dalat. I went out on a mission to get myself a white t-shirt and hat. I was feelinfg warm and my black Bob Dylan shirt was absorbing too much heat.
Rita had a 'quiet' coffee at a street cafe.
During my mission, I found myself at the back of the market. Interesting.
I witnessed a chicken about to be executed, but averted my gaze before the blow was struck (sensitive Westerner), then I slipped on a flapping black fish that was making a bold escape bid across the pavement. I also witnessed the vast quantities of meat lying unrefrigerated on the market stalls, with hosts of flies partaking of their breakfasts from it.
Hey, well, this is life, isn't it?

In the afternoon, we took a walk around the lake and visited the flower gardens - adrenalin junkies that we are.
Rita wasn't feeling too well today - I think the constant noise & buzz of things was getting to her.

In the evening we went into the town - and hey - all the motorbikes had gone - apparently on certain days/nights of the week, motorised vehicles are banned from the centre of town (we were later to find the same rules applied in Hoi An).
What a difference this made. You could actually breathe clean(er!) air and hear human voices and birds chirping.
Day 3, we were actually travelling back to Nha Trang, prior to getting transport to take us further North up the coast to Hoi An.

Some guy, with no legs has just come into the cafe selling newspapers, This is not at all unusual. There appear to be loads of victims of the Vietnam war (known as the American war here in Vietnam). I can only assume that these poor souls have been injured by land mines.

Off to Nha Trang

Wednesday 18th January

It's been a while since we've been able to get into blogging, what with slow Vietnam connections and all that, so this post is detailing stuff that happened nearly a week ago.

So, Wednesday 18th January and Rita is going to tell you about how the day started:

(Is she now? Oh, ok then...). Mornin' All. Lets see, oh yes, we are leaving HCMC and catching the 6.15am Five Star Express train to Na Thrang, for a 6 hour journey up the East coast. We have opted to go first class as this section of the train is air conditioned. But the morning does not get off to a good start. We are told that we must arrive at the train station 30 minutes prior, so to be there by 5.45am. Thus, we are up at 4.30am and by 5am our taxi is summoned and his meter is ticking away outside our hotel whilst we are having a heated debate with the receptionist at the hotel. We are trying to check out but he refuses to handover our passports due to some extra cost of 35 US$ that we won't pay 'cos we do not agree to it. His grasp of English is about as good as our grasp of Vietnamese. Thus, all hand gestures and facial grimacing! Eventually with all the losses on our side (we have a train to catch) and none on his, we give him some money and leave. We are inside the taxi now and we show the young taxi driver our train tickets as evidence of our destination. He nods encouragingly. After 10 minutes or so, he pulls up outside a closed and grid-gated restaurant and signals for payment. I recognise the area as being about 2 minutes walk from our hotel. (The one we have just left). I shake my head and emphatically reproduce the train tickets again shoving them under his nose, for his kind perusal. This time he makes out that he really understands. We set off again. Several minutes later we arrive at what is clearly the Bus Station. I can tell this by the numerous stationary buses that are parked up side by side. My powers of discernment have not abandoned me, you see. I repeat the flag waving exercise with the train tickets. Whilst stationary I hop out the car and accost another taxi driver. I introduce him to our taxi driver via much gesticualtion. Accosted taxi driver examines the train tickets and then remonstrates loudly with our young lost taxi driver. I am now conspicously tapping the face of my watch with index finger - which I also place under our taxi driver's nose, and I observe Leigh slapping his thigh (his own, thankfully) in an expression of despairing incredulity, as it becomes increasingly apparent that our young taxi driver does not know where the train station is. After further conflab with remonstrating taxi driver, the light goes on in young taxi driver's eye and we set off again. I am now calculating the cost of missing the train and wondering if it had not been better if we had only booked standard class seats 'cos then our losses would have been reduces. Anyway, upshot is we make it - just in time. But it is a hair raising drive. He no longer drives defensively/evasively but very fast and aggressively. Whilst I admire his determination to make up lost time, I would rather arrive in one piece! Thankfully all other road users manage to get out of his way in time, helped no doubt by his continual hooting. We are ensconed in our first class seats and making the most of our relief. At 7am we go to the buffet bar for breakfast. We are presented with a menu. There are 3 choices on it. 1. Fried eggs and fresh cuts
2. Beef or chicken noodle soup or 3. Prepacked sandwiches
I request pre-packed sandwiches only to be told 'We don't do them anymore'. Too squeamish for greasy runny eggs (believe me they will be, its the Vietnamese way) and singularly suspect of the 'fresh cuts', we were to be found tucking into beef noodle soup and practising our clumsy chopstick manipulations. This brings a new twist to the saying, 'Many a slip between cup and lip' to 'Many a slip between chopstick and lip. Sounds clumsy? It was! But also so apt because we had assumed that the local taxi firm would be able to take us to the railway station without too much of a problem.

Arrived in Nah Trang in bright hot sunshine. The sea is turquoise and the beaches are golden. Shame that the beach is strewn with litter though. This town has a much greater Westernized feel about it; its slower and less traffic but still bustling and vibrant. I feel more relaxed here. We found a second hand book store and bought two books both of which were about the Khmer Rouge's activities in Cambodia. One is called 'Stay Alive My Son' by Pin Yathay and the other is 'Off the Rails in Phnom Penh by Amit Gilboa. Both have proved an informative and compelling read. This has made us more commited in our endeavours to get to Cambodia but we will not know until we arrive in Hanoi if we will be able to obtain the relevant visa.

Thanks Rita - I'm back, she's checking F9 mail - at long last we've managed to get into Blogger & Mail in same session. I'm just adding a wee picture which I took in our 'first class' toilet - it's very instructive, I'm sure that you'll agree.

Cooking HCMC then Nha Trang (Nah kidding)

Street scene - Ho Chi Minh City



It is now January 19th - thursday morning, 11:10 a.m. local time.

Our UK Reader will still be in bed, asleep right now as I write (unless bothered by troublesome bladder or noisy revellers).

We are now in Nha Trang, a seaside town with a population of c.315,000, about 300 miles North East of HCMC. But before we recount tales of Nha Tranmg, there are another couple of days to complete in Ho Chi Minh.

Where were we... I think it was at the point that we were having breakfast at a roadside cafe.

After consuming the spicy 'breakfast' we headed back to our hotel room. Rita was in no mood to venture forth bravely immediately, so I tasked myself with finding a travel agency (Tourist Information Offices as such do not exist in Vietnam).

A guy I was talking to on the Singapore-Vietnam flight had recommended Sinh Cafe.
I got the address from the Lonely Planet Guide and decided that it was a walkable distance.

It would have been so in normal circumstances, but once lost in HCMC it is very hard to regain your bearings. After walking for around 30 minutes under a bombardment of motorcycle taxi offers, I decided that the best option was to take one of these taxis to my propsed destination. That worked quite well. Ten minutes later and $1 US lighter I was at Sinh Cafe. Problem here was that nobody seemed to understand English. What I did manage to book though was a cooking lesson for the two of us for the next afternoon.

In the afternoon we went to a restaurant recommended to us by the hotel receptionist (we had a pretty good meal + drinks for aroumd $10 US (300,000 dong to you)).
Then we wandered off in the direction of the Reunification Palace. By this time we had begun to see a few more Western faces and came to the realisation that our hotel was not based in the tourist quarter.

The Reunification Palace was an interesting experience.
It was named as such after the Americans had finally fled Vietnam in April 1975 and the communists tanks rolled into what was the known as Saigon on April 30. Prior to this it had had an interesting history.
The original building (The Norodom Palace) was bombed by the South Vietnamese in 1962, in an unsuccesful attempt to get rid of their despised leader, Ngo Dinh Diem (placed in power by the USA). Diem ordered the Palace to be rebuilt, thia time with a bomb shelter in the basement. He did not live to see the completion of the building however as he was murdered by his own troops in 1963.
The new building was named Independence Palace and was home to South Vietnamese President Nguyen Van Thieu until his hasty departure in 1975.

We were shown around by a charming Vietnamese girl, whose English was pretty good.

The most interesting part of the tour was being taken into the basement from where the South Vietnamese war strategy was emloyed.


Next day (Tuesday 17th January), we were up and about early again and took a taxi to the War Remnants museum.

This was formerly known as the 'American & Chineses war crimes museum', so as you can imagine the exhibits and explanations do have a certain bias.
However, on the basis of the camera does not lie and having some prior knowledge of what the war was about and how it was conducted, I wasn't left in any doubt as to the horrors that were depicted here.

The majority of the exhibits were photographs taken by war photographers. Graphic and disturbing.
A particularly gruesome part of the museum consisted of mock ups of the Tiger cages that prisoners use to be kept in and instruments and tales of torture.
Taxi back to the hotel again after this, as Rita is still not fancying playing chicken on the HCMC roads.

So it's now afternoon and we're off to our Vietnam cookery lesson. Rita....

Hi peops,

Ahalf mile walk to our cookery class but do not relish the stress of crossing the road so we take a taxi. In fact I have not walked anywhere since arriving - everywhere is by taxi. Within minutes of 'reporting for duty' to the person whom I (wrongly as it turned out) assumed was our Cookery Master we were whisked away on the back of respective motorbikes, heading for the market to purchase the ingredients for our recipes. The motorbike journey was not far (but far enough!) and the only safety measure applied was a shout over his shoulder which was 'Hold on'. (Clearly, I have met my match when it comes to teaching Granny to suck eggs!). I did! This experience was only marginally less stressful than being a pedestrian. Anyway, at the market we bought chicken, lemon grass, wriggling fish, shallots, sweet potatoes and some other stuff that I didn't recognise. Then back on the motorbike only this time with loaded carrier bags swinging from the handlebars, as we merged and swerved along the road with hundreds of other bikes all put-putting and vying for the same piece of tarmac. Next we are inside a working kitchen which is in perpetual motion as the cooks are all busy cooking up meals for the waiting customers. A space is cleared for us 2 eager students, and we are introduced and passed over to a chef called Dac for the rest of the afternoon. He is half Vietnamese and half Chinese and he is 34 years old. His English is passable but boy do you have to concentrate to catch every word. I find I miss quite a few but am able to guess the gaps sufficiently. He instructs us and then ostensibly gets us to be hands on in making a basic fish sauce, vegetarian and also meat spring rolls and a chicken curry. Well, that's the general idea but in truth we are only about 10% hands-on as a moments hesitation on our part induces him to complete that particular task for us. All the other trainee chefs when not required to be in the process of cooking themselves, gather round and watch in obedient silence. He shows us how to chop limes, shallots, chillis, roll spring rolls, chop chicken, etc etc (you have the picture) and before you know it a fine feast is set before us and then a table in the adjoining restaurant is set for two. (Could that be us two by any chance?) Yup, it is. Hurrah! We start to tuck in and Dac appears pulling up a chair and he sits and watches us eat. It turns out that he is watching every mouthful. This behoves us to compliment him on the food and tell him it is 'very good'. Yes, it is, but we are all suppose to be pretending that we actually cooked it and this feels like we are being self-congratulatory. This expectation gives way to the lie that he knows that he really cooked it, and we know that too! He asks us at various intervals 'Can you hear the aroma?'. Hmmmm, we hum by way of reply whilst happily chomping. We would be chomping even more happily if he were not there. More compliments are exchanged (mostly one way from us to him) and then the meal is over. He invites us to his office upstairs for tea. Tea? But we have just eaten. He pours us green tea and then talks to us about Vietnam. He loves his country. He pulls a photograph from his wallet a picture of his wife and two children aged 7 and 6 a boy and a girl respectively. He married his wife when she was 15 and he was 24. He tells he is a Business Development Manager for Nestles and that he earns Us$30,000 per month. He pulls out his salary wage slip for our scrutiny. He insists we read the bottom line. This sum he stesses is net after all 'perks' are paid for. His restaurant business he looks after in his spare time. He tells us that the values of the Vietnamese are purely family, extended family. We look after our parents. If you do not work you do not eat. Old people cannot work and then they die due to abject poverty unless the family take care of them. He is already passing money on to his parents. He is proud to do so. He says they made huge sacrifices for his education and now he is in a position to look after them. He says that he respects the value of money and wastes nothing. (I know what you mean mate...I used to be like that until I came on this forever-holiday!). He says that what he earns from his full time job in a month takes the average Vietnamese 3 years to earn. We found out later that the average wage is US$100 a month which is about 50.00 sterling. Another statistic,65% of the population are under 30 yrs old. Only 16% are over 50 yrs old. This is the effect of war,3 million Vietnamese
were killed in the war (ended 1975) 2 million of which were civilians. So you see it wasn't just a cookery lesson as we were also treated to a history lesson and some cultural values that this society adheres to.
Emboldened by my bravery on the motorbike, I allowed myself to be persuaded to walk back to the hotel. After crossing just one road and with stress levels soaring, I quickly regretted this decision. Another lesson learned...

Good morning Vietnam (predictably..)- MORE ADDED ON THURS 19.01.07

It's 5 a.m. here - I've still not quite adjusted to latest time change and so am 2 hours behind my normal time clock.

First of all, a note on last post. Should have read 'Ho Ho Ho chi minh' not 'ho chi
ho chi minh'. It was alluding to the battle cry of the sixties.

So what's been happening.

Well we flew out of Sydney on Sunday morning, bound initially for Singapore (8 hour flight).
Changed flights at Singapore to take plane to Ho Chi Minh city (1.5 hr flight).

This place was quite a culture shock. I actually feel as if I'm travelling now.
We sorted a hotel & taxi out from the airport and then were pitched into the screaming sensory overload that constitutes the streets of HCMC.
The road are full of buzzing motorbikes. The air is thick with petrol fumes. You could taste them from the comfort of the air conditioned taxi that took us to our hotel.

Our hotel.. it's ok - air conditioned room which is pretty useful in this constant 35C, tropical humid heat and very central. Mind you it's more central to the Vietnamese street markets and people's places than to the easier to access Western touristy area. It's taken us a while to orientate ourselves (no pun intended) and we've taken some odd routes through streets full of pavement traders looking quizically at these two middle aged foreigners wandering their streets.

On the subject of streets.. crossing the roads here is an art form. There are fainit white stripes on some bits of road, but they are meaningless. The tactic is to start crossing, very slowly, stand still or move positively and unambiguosly forward in order that the oncoming rush of motor bikes, cars, buses & rickshaws know exactly which direction to take to avoid you. It's all a bit unnerving at first, but you quickly get used to it. There aren't many clearings in the traffic (ever) so it's always a case of taking a chance. An additional hazard is that no traffic signs are obeyed. Nothing stops (except at a traffic light [motorbikes still don't] and there aren't many traffic lights). Also lots of motorbikes seem to go the wrong way down one way streets or merely decide to drive on the left - all adds to the pedestrians confusion. Just another point on the motorbikes - they tend to carry anything between 1 and 5 people. The 'fullest' one that I observed had riding on it (in order front to back : 2 yr old, 6 yr 0ld, dad, 8 yr old, mum. All ages being approximate of course - except mum and dad's whose ages I did not disclose.I did use a motorcycle taxi yesterday, after getting hopelessly lost. Was quite good fun actually.

Hi Peops, It is Rita here. It is Wednesday, 17.01.07 - and I am going to tell you about the nice time we had in HCMC (used to be called Saigon, apparently!, but what do I know?. At first I thought it was a subsiduary of Halifax Building Society)
They say travel broadens the mind? Well, it is certainly having that effect on my middle. When the weekend becomes a pernament fixture it might lose its charm but not its calorific content, alas. Anyway, I know Leigh has described the chaos of the roads but not to be deprived (& besides I need to let it all out), it is, my turn now:

So, on Sunday, 14.01.07 we left dear ol' Sydney at 5 am and arrived at 5pm in Vietnam. Our hotel turned out to be in District 1 in the heart of the city. The taxi drive from the airport to the Hotel left me sufficiently tremulous that I felt under house arrest for a time. Eventually I ventured out. This city is overwhelming, crazy, manic, where a family of four ride on the seat of scooter, baby at the front. Not a crash helmet insight. The roads are thronged with bikes - every kind imaginable from 3-wheelers, rikshaws and everything inbetween up to roaring motorbikes.Most people wear masks as the fumes are almost tangible. When the roads are too crammed to accommodate all the traffic, then the errant motorbike will appear behind you or whizz passed you on the pavement. It seems that nowhere is safe from he machine. Pedestrians cross slowly and diagonally intermingling with the flow of the traffic. The traffic's tactic is one of evasive action, so that's a blessing! This means they are not going to hit you as they aim to avoid you. HOw considerate! The hoots and blasting of horns is a constant raising above the grumble of the motorbike engines. It is serious sensory overload. Strident voices of the people who fill the streets (indeed seem to live out their lives on them, eating, socialising, feeding their young, selling their wares) are heard above the din, just. Early in the evening you see increasingly the women and children appearing in their sleeveless PJ's as if their daytime clothes have become too hot. The air is like a blast from an open oven door and today's recipe is the same as always, it's petrol for dinner! Yummy, I can taste and smell it already...

Monday, we are up so early that by 6.30am we are walking the streets and there is a lot going on. Most things here takes place in public view on the pavements, where they exist that is. For every stretch of pavement there is a stretch of rubble. Women are sqatting peeling, chopping, plucking, swilling, scraping every kind of meat, fish, fruit and vegetable. I recognise only half. Strange smells, sounds and shapes. (I think the sounds were squeals but I dare not look too closely). These workers lined the pavements for street upon street and they looked upon us with curiosity but not hugely clearing the bar above indifference, and they do not smile. I smiled at one woman who was walking by as she paused to put down her load on the shoulder pole. She observed my stare, then my reconciliatory smile and she looked away. We hadn't seen another Westerner yet - we were off the main tourist drag for sure. Anyway, my sandalled feet were bitten to bugary so on with the socks. I do this whilst sitting at one of the many pavement cafes that line the streets also. (There is not a street here that is not lined with something!) The pavement cafe needs to be qualified (& not jus by the Food & Hygiene Safety Board)...rather than conjuring up a picture in your mind of the Parisian type doing a spot of people watch, conjure up instead a small group of fishermen sitting on a bank of mud on little kindergarten size plastic stools, or simply squatting or sitting legs outstretched in front, sipping tea or sucking up long white strands of noodles. Bravely, Leigh and I sat down this fine Monday morning having walked for about 2 hours so its now 8.30amish, at a choice 'pavement cafe' for breakfast and coffee. We were quickly presented with bowls of steaming beef soup, accompanied by chopsticks and smaller bowls of mint leaves, beansprouts, red chilli peppers, peeled cloved of garlic and slices of lime. Our tootless hostess was at our side again obviously having registered our bewilderment. She plucked the mint leaves from their stems and showered them into our respective bowls, likewise with the bamboo shoots. She then pointed to the cloves of garlic and lime slices in the centre of the table. It would seem that this is a 50% DIY job.Half way through our spicy breakfast a scooter pulled up and Mum, Dad and toddler alighted (love that word and don't get much chance to use it!)and sat down opposite us. Their bowls of soup were promptly presented. I watched while they expertly and with due nonchalance skillfully stripped the mint etc and having filled their bowls with all the aforementioned, gave it all a good stir and swiftly demolished the lot with only the aid of their chopsticks. They ate their soup with chopsticks! Ha! ha! Leigh and I losing the battle of retaining the long noodles on the spoon long enough for it to reach the mouth were saved from further effort (& embarrassement) as out hostess summarily plonked a fork each in front of us. Hurrah - never hs the sight of a fork been so welcome. (A spoon would have been even better!). Toddler's eyes grew wide as he studied the couple opposite him, eatting their meal with a fork. Ha! ha! tittered he!

CON'D...see below:

And ao...After we had finished our spicy breakfast, our toothless hostess picked up our bowls and flung the scraps (we couldn't eat it all especially the red chilli peppers so early in the day)and flung the contents on to the pavement. All litter, leftovers etc are routinely deposited thus and one really does have to watch where one puts ones feet. During our morning stroll we saw flickering fish, slowly dying - in waterless bowls, we saw some being cut up as they sqirmed and the blood oozing out to join a steam of other fluids trickling along the gutterless ground. Anyway, as I said earlier,I had to put my socks on to stop any more bites and so I interrupted my slurping of spicy soup to put them on. Protocol and the exposing of one's feet at the table does not apply here. Certainly if this had been a cafe at Sydney Harbour I would have popped into the 'restroom' to perform this minor op for fear of offending another's sensibilites and doubtless to demonstrate just how well brought up I was!

How apt that I should be talking about feet just now because a guy has just tapped Leigh on the shoulder and asked Leigh if he is wearing his sandals. Leigh momentarily confused and then with clarity dawning, removed the said sandals from his feet and passed them to the guy, muttering profuse apologies. The guy put the sandals on his own feet and unsmilingly left.

What an absolute hoot! At this particular internet cafe one has to remove their shoes in accordance with the owner's religion. So here we all are keying in, Leigh beside me happily googling away.Apparently Leigh had obediently removed his shoes (great clodhopping size 45 jobs) and primly replaced them with a pair of nifty flip flops he spied conveniently in the doorway. He had carelessly presumed that someone (the owner perhaps?) had obligingly left them there especially for him. His perfect size too. Not so as it turns out. (Can't wait to add a few embellishments to this one at my next dinner party! I'm chuckling already. Leigh is still looking a little abashed...I have just stolen a glance. I suppose though that when you come to nicking a stranger's shoes and have to give them back, being caught 'red-footed' so to speak, it can take some getting over!)

Goodbye Sydney - as fine as a city as we've ever seen..

13th January 2007 22:30

So, yes tomorrow we are leaving Sydney and should by this time tomorrow be in the company of Ho chi, Ho chi min, Ho Chi, Ho Chi Min.

Bringing you up to date with our escapades, yesterday we took a ferry across to Manly beach. A particularly hursuite and muscular little cove north of the city. Sorry, being silly there. A particularly attractive and very expensive beach north of the city.

In the evening we went to the Opera house (not so Manly) and saw a dance production which interpreted the Melbourne Bridge disaster of 37 years ago. This was Rita's idea. I remain staunchly heterosexual. Actually it was very well done and not a bit gay (well a bit gay, but nothing like as gay as the audience).

The acoustics in that building are fantastic.

Today we did the Sydney Bridge climb and just as a little parting gift to you/all our dear reader/s is the following picture from the climb.
Not too difficult really, but still good to do. Here's me and the missus at the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge (134 metres above the harbour - or to put in perspective, twice the height of the Sydney Opera House [which is big]).


Top of the bridge - note authentic building in background.

..and Hello Sydney

We visited Sydney (last 3 days in succession) as per our intention and were well impressed.
What a beautiful city this is. Magnificent buildings, loads of green areas, incredible harbour and a great buzz about the place. We could have done with having a bit more time here really as we're off travelling again early on Sunday. Off to 'Nam.

Anyway a few photies again, just to prove that we are here (or have borrowed someone elses pics).



Sydney Opera House


Bloggers with Bondi beach as backdrop.


View across Bondi Bay at Sunset


Hi. 'Tis I, Rita. Cor blimey t'was sunny today. Proper scorcher and predicted to be in high 30's tomorrow. I tell you this sunshine takes some getting used to. I thought the 'Downunder' folk were exaggerating. Phew! They were not. And for once, neither am I! Oh yes, Sydney is all it is cracked up to be and more. Still as typical tourists we spent this morning in the building of the transported convicts, their prison to be precise. It was a sobering and grim experience. The youngest convict was 9 years old and he had been convicted of pickpocketing. He died at the age of 22. His treatment of regular lashings with cat-o'nine tails at not infrequent intervals during his young life would no doubt have been a significant contributing factor. Anyway, not wishing to be morbid,(context of a travel blog not being appropriate) but being in the building itself where these convicts were held, and being able to see their dormitories etc was enlightening. The conditions were really harsh and punitive. Coming out into the glaring sunshine in a sparkling city was a bit of a welcome culture shock so we decided to do some more touristy stuff and this time we set off in direction of the Aquarium. The fish were colourful, very good at swimming (ha!) and soothing and the platypus was amusing (big beak) and the sealions were entertaining and the whales were huge, white and smiley and the penguins were just so cute, and the crocodile was big, green and scaley. It was all just as one would expect. Leigh got bored after a surprisingly short time though (& it was his idea!!!)- I suspect that it was the fact that there were hundreds of people crammed in to this underground Aquarium - mostly either school children and Japanese tourists. Of course, we are bang in the centre of the Ozzzzzzies' 6 week holiday.

Another day done. Another day of sight seeing. And tomorrow, 'same T-shirt, different day!'

Good morning Bondi

Well, good morning it is.

We are now staying at Nadia's parents B & B in Bondi Beach. Nadia is Phil Pashley's sister in law - Mick (Phil's brother) & Nadia both live in Bondi.

The place (Bondi) was rocking last night. It's full of young people, so Rita & myself slot in nicely.

Talking of which, Rita has just gone for a run along the beach. She is hardly distinguishable from all the Bondi lovelies, also taking their morning constitutionals (well, not from this Internet cafe, half a mile off the front).
At least we started working on our bodies this morning, not an insubstantial task. We've been for a good swim in the 50 metre sea water pool next to the beach. It was cold. The weather here though is good - as indeed it was in our last 3 days in NZ.

More to follow - we're going to see Sydney soon - I hope he's expecting us.

Hi Peops, It is me, Rita. Good Evening. I have just read Leigh's (oops, I mean, 'Leon's') synopsis of Bondi and he has pretty much covered it! However, we have dined out happily but alas it is only 9.15pm and so far too early to go to bed, so here we are keying into our Blog to spend our time USEFULLY (for a change!). I could of course explain to you how I spent my birthday instead which was on 6.01.07, the day before yesterday. However, i do not wish to be accused of being one for a bloody good sob story so I have decided to move swiftly on...Actually, I am being a bit unfair here, because this year my birthday was at least 'different'. Previous years I used to spend it 'with friends, getting drunk'. Oh, how orginal! If you want 'original', well, let me tell you, 2007 hitting 56 (not quite qualifying for all varieties just yet, thank you), travelling on a bus, aeroplane and taxi all in one day, well, that was original! And then, it was just Leigh (Chirst, I mean, 'Leon') and me, a meal for two, a table for two, and three whole birthday cards (each one read and scanned over and over), cooked (not the cards!) via Master Chef LJM (you see using his initials avoids any confusion...) which was oh, dead good. So, dead good that we both survived the experience pretty well, really. Aah, are you still with me Dear Reader? Oh good. Such perseverance is admirable.

So, Bondi? It is Malibu without the class. Without the posers. It feels real. It is like a massive outdoor sunny gymnasium. Everyone either running, jogging, surfing, swimming, stretching, roller blading or doing gymnastics. They are all beautiful people and so slim, skinny and slender. (Of course there is a difference and if you can't see it then settle for emphasis!) Everyone seems to wear happy intelligent and engaging expressions on their faces. Clearly a daily dose of sunshine and exercise and being slim is good for one's sense of self. So, Leigh and I, determined to learn something from our exposure to these different cultures set off this morning for an early morning swim. Cripes, it was cold. So cold, it made me want to cry. I resisted, just. Then off for a run, along the promenade. Leigh did the same but went barefoot along the sand (in deference to his dodgy hips). Since then we have done some coastal walking and because we have been so 'good' we have rewarded ourselves this evening with a bottle of wine (yup, we need a reason) and a Thai meal. And now off in search of chocolate. Well, clearly we are good for Bondi and lets just hope that we are as pleasing to Harbour Bridge tomorrow. Ok that doesn't scan. I am not a poet. I emphatically deny that one. Oh, we agree then. Jolly good. Goodnight.

Leaving NZ

Well it's Friday 5th January and we are in Rotorua. The place is full of boiling mudpools, thermal lakes and geysers and it doesn't smell too good.

The weather has switched from being cold & wet to scorching hot - just in time for us to prepare for our trip to OZ (Sunday Jan 7th).

Not too much to report in these last two days. We saw another film - Out of the Blue - which was all about a gun massacre that took place in Aromoana in NZ in 1992.
13 people murdered by one loner. I can't say I can recall the event back in '92. Very powerful film.

Anyway...all kiwied out now... here are a few additional photies from the last couple of weeks...




Kiwi multi-purpose Vehicle




Thermal Pool bathing (in comfort)



Dead End




Rita meets Maori

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

Happy New Year to our reader.

It is Monday 1st January and we are in Napier, NZ. We are about 15 hours into 2007 here,whilst you guys back in the UK are probably still partying in the early hours.

We had a bit of a BBQ at the YHA last night and then went into the town where there was a free concert and fireworks at midnight.It was all very exciting. There is a drinking ban in place on the streets and this applied to the concert arena which is on the seafront as well. We managed to sneak some red wine & beer in, but it was actually quite refreshing to be in the middle of a town on New Years Eve where people weren't throwing up and showing their arses.

Prior to coming to Napier we had spent Christmas with Paul & Jackie in Wellington,then traveled up to the Tongariro National Park and then on to Taupo.

So let's talk about Wellington - Windy Welly as it's known colloquially.
We flew down from Auckland on December 21st and were picked up by Paul & Jackie from the airport. First thing we did was look around the National museum in Wellington. Very good museum this, with lots of stuff about Maori culture -all free as well as all the museums proved to be in Wellington.
We also took a tour of the Parliament building, which was very informative - also free.
Whilst in the City we took a photo of the war memorial - really to capture the script on it.












Wellington's a really interesting city - very compact, but with lots of good theatres and cinemas and a good cultural scene.
We went to a couple of the cinemas. The first film was garbage - Holiday, starring Jude Law, Cameron Diaz, Jack Black & Kate Winslet. Two hours of life wasted watching this.
The other one was The Queen -starring Helen Mirren,which was very good.
We watched this at the Embassy, which is a superb restored building, housing also a kind of Art Deco jazz bar.






















Christmas Eve - here's a photo of us clutching our xmas card and a little golden artificial tree together with a drop of the red stuff.
Traveling opens up unique experiences.














Christmas Day - We had a really good Christmas day at Esther's (Paul & Jackie's daughter) house. One or two pics here to sum it up.
Good Company,good food,good wine - ideal.




































On leaving Wellington we headed up to Tongariro National Park on the Kiwi Traveller bus. We have long since left off hiring cars now and will be taking public transport all the way up to Auckland.I did the Tongariro Crossing Walk- purportedly one of the Worlds best walks. I'm sure it would be on a good day, but it was cold, wet, misty and extremely windy when I did it. Still enjoyed it though.



We spent two days at the YHA in National Park. It was the worst of the YHAs that we stayed in. Those at Pahia,Kerikeri & Wellington all being very good.

From National Park we caught the Kiwi Traveller again up to Taupo. Taupo was an excellent place and just for a change the sun came out. It was here that we came across some guy sitting on a sofa in a hot spring (pic to be added to this post later).

From Taupo we traveled by bus across to Napier - the Art Deco city -where as you know we spent New Years Eve.
Today wemoved from the YHA there (as it's full)into a B & B. We have been to another wine tasting where we visited 8 separate wineries and sampled something in the region of 45 different wines. So am now feeling tired & grumpy (particularly after just checking on the New Year's day football results).