On my first day in Hoi An, I finally succumbed to the Easy Riders (Vietnamese motorcycle guides) and booked a two-day moto trip from Hoi An to Hué. It was a good thing that I planned my exit from Hoi An early - I could have stayed there and shopped forever. My driver Thong picked me up on Saturday morning from my hotel in Hoi An, strapped my pack to the back of his bike...and we were off!
Taking the back roads on a moto, you see the real countryside. This is very different from bus trips along Highway One. My driver took the route westward, up through the mountains toward the border with Laos. We stopped at a remote waterfall and Thong motioned for me to wander down a dirt path. "You take your time, no problem." Everything was no problem for Thong. I scampered down the path, over rocks and through the woods, and came to a remote waterfall. The water was fresh and cool in the pool below and I took a refreshing dip. Later, I sampled the freshest pineapple ever at a collection station where pineapples are brought down from the high hills to be loaded on trucks and taken to the cities. Thong peeled the pineapple and I ate the entire thing. Then, we strapped one onto the back of the bike: a pineapple for the road.
The rest of the trip is a bit of a blur: riding up and up we wound our way along proud mountains in the Vietnamese countryside, visited minority villages, stopped for delicious meals and coffees, etc. The trip was too short and I would have continued for another week if I'd had the time and money. On Sunday afternoon, Thong took me to the beautiful tomb of a Bao Dai, the emperor of the Nguyen dynasty. Then it was a short ride along the Perfume River to hip hip Hué, the Imperial City! I didn't have much time in Hué - less than 20 hours to have a lovely dinner with Dana and Graeme and tour the Citadel of the Forbidden City in the morning.
I flew to Hanoi on Monday because the flight was the same price as the train (and 12 hours shorter). The Old Quarter of Hanoi is a warren of winding streets, full of life: motos, people, vendors, colour, noise, smells. Each of the 36 streets in the Old Quarter specializes in the sale of a particular item and is named after its merchandise. My hotel is just off of Hang Thiec, which is "Sheet Metal Lane" - my dad would love it! There are also streets for bamboo, for watches, for cafes, for flowers, etc.
I've met some new friends in Hanoi: Nathaniel from San Francisco and Marcel from Switzerland. They are very adventurous travellers, always looking for an interesting experience or a good bargain. We all took an overnight boat trip together to Halong Bay to explore the caves and go kayaking. Back in Hanoi, we've had many meals from street-side vendors, squatting at low tables over bowls of soup or fried noodles or Vietnamese coffee (super strong and super sweet). We went to see the Vietnamese Water Puppets show and I even ventured to the outskirts of town with the boys to sample dog meat! It was pretty good, but kinda freaky to if you think about it too much.
Life speeds on here on the road and the time is passing quickly. Tomorrow my Vietnam visa expires and I fly to Bangkok for a month in Thailand. Lots of love to everyone back home.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Four days in heavenly Hoi An
My friends, I've reached the promised land. Hoi An is the Vietnam we imagine: scenic, charismatic, idyllic. The town is a small village along a sweet river, with lush rice paddies and vegetables fields all around. Old Hoi An is a dream with narrow streets, beautiful yellow buildings and inviting restaurants and shops. Things are bustling down at the market and everywhere tailors hawk their wares. But Hoi An is different: the locals are very relaxed and smile easily. And, wonder upon wonder, it is so quiet here! While the rest of Vietnam seems to march to a cacophony, Hoi An drifts along in sweet silence.
I arrived early in the morning on Tuesday, unceremoniously dumped out of the night bus. It is hard for the body to get over half-sleepless nights spent in transport, but after a shower and a nap I was ready to live again. Having spent too much time thinking in Nha Trang, I immediately set about to plan some activities. When I was a brooding teenager, my mother (the gym teacher) used to say, " Get out of your mind and into your body!" So I signed up for a cooking course, made arrangements for a tour to some temples, and...visited the tailor.
Hoi An is known as the best place in Vietnam to have clothes and shoes custom-made. The tailors here are masters of imitation: you just show them a photo or drawing of what you want, they take your measurements and...tadaah! Twenty-four hours later, you have beautiful clothes which fit you perfectly. I must say that having clothes made is very addictive. You can't help but feel like a rock star when you slip away from a lunch date saying, "Oh, please excuse me - I have a fitting with my tailor."
I feel like I can justify my shopping spree because I'm starting my job as a lawyer soon and I'll need to wear suits everyday. Also, if I need any further justification, I can just tell myself that I'm single-handedly curing the world of that economic crisis I keep hearing murmurs about. Now, let's not get into the nitty-gritty about how many suits and dresses and shoes, or what fabrics and colours, or how much it cost to have it all made and shipped home. Suffice it to say that I now have a different outfit for each day of the work-week and enough dress shirts to last through two weeks of not doing laundry. My favourites? The navy suit with white pinstripes just screams powersuit. And I feel like a princess in the black chiffon cocktail dress.
When I wasn't at the tailor's, Hoi An turned out to be a very social place. I hung out with Canadian Luke, met up with Elliott and the Aussie girls and ran into Dana and Graeme, an Aussie/Kiwi couple (respectively) that I met briefly in Sihanoukville. On Tuesday night, about twelve of us all trundled down to Mr. Rin's outdoor cafe and sat on benches or stools at low tables - the bia hoi flowed (4000 dong a glass) and we ordered endless dishes of Hoi An specialities: fried wonton cakes topped with shrimp and vegetables, white rose (which is a very delicate steamed wonton in rice-paper wrapping), sweet and sour squid and Hoi An pancakes.
I was still feeling the effects of the bia hoi the next morning when I had to get up to join the tour to My Son, which is a famous Cham temple nearby. I fumbled down to the hotel lobby only to find that it was pouring with rain. At first, I regretted booking the tour but it turned out beautifully: the rain only enhanced the misty and lush atmosphere at the ruins, which are set in a jungle valley surrounded by mountains. Also, I met a ton of people during the tour. It is great to just chat with people because you hear so many interesting stories and meet kindred spirits.
Wednesday night was Luke's last night in Hoi An and we commemorated our traveling times together with a feast by the river, complete with a bottle of Dalat wine. I was sad to see him leave the next morning and was thankful to have my cooking class to distract me. This was another amazing activity: an interactive tour of the Hoi An market, a boat cruise down the river to the Redbridge Cooking School, great demonstrations and the chance to cook (and eat!) some of Hoi An's specialties. I especially liked learning to make fresh rice paper - so much better than the dried stuff. After a fabulous lunch of never-ending courses, I took a refreshing dip in the pool at the cooking school and lounged with my book riverside, surrounded by palm trees and frangipani.
On my last day in Hoi An, I finalized my fittings and shipping of all my purchases. Then I hired a bicycle and wound my way slowly to Cua Dai beach for a bit of R&R. The beach was wide and empty, with fine white sand and palm trees - just lovely. On Friday night, my tailor Thuy took me out for an amazing dinner. I guess I was the best customer she'd had in a while so she was grateful. We hoped on her moto and sped around the back streets of Hoi An until we reached a local resto. Of course, I was the only non-Vietnamese and Thuy ordered copious amounts of food: Hoi An shrimp pancakes, grilled meat, spring rolls, pickled veg, peanut soup, etc. I ate until I could eat no more. Thuy dropped me at my hotel and it was farewell to Hoi An.
More stories from the road to follow...lots of love to everyone back home.
I arrived early in the morning on Tuesday, unceremoniously dumped out of the night bus. It is hard for the body to get over half-sleepless nights spent in transport, but after a shower and a nap I was ready to live again. Having spent too much time thinking in Nha Trang, I immediately set about to plan some activities. When I was a brooding teenager, my mother (the gym teacher) used to say, " Get out of your mind and into your body!" So I signed up for a cooking course, made arrangements for a tour to some temples, and...visited the tailor.
Hoi An is known as the best place in Vietnam to have clothes and shoes custom-made. The tailors here are masters of imitation: you just show them a photo or drawing of what you want, they take your measurements and...tadaah! Twenty-four hours later, you have beautiful clothes which fit you perfectly. I must say that having clothes made is very addictive. You can't help but feel like a rock star when you slip away from a lunch date saying, "Oh, please excuse me - I have a fitting with my tailor."
I feel like I can justify my shopping spree because I'm starting my job as a lawyer soon and I'll need to wear suits everyday. Also, if I need any further justification, I can just tell myself that I'm single-handedly curing the world of that economic crisis I keep hearing murmurs about. Now, let's not get into the nitty-gritty about how many suits and dresses and shoes, or what fabrics and colours, or how much it cost to have it all made and shipped home. Suffice it to say that I now have a different outfit for each day of the work-week and enough dress shirts to last through two weeks of not doing laundry. My favourites? The navy suit with white pinstripes just screams powersuit. And I feel like a princess in the black chiffon cocktail dress.
When I wasn't at the tailor's, Hoi An turned out to be a very social place. I hung out with Canadian Luke, met up with Elliott and the Aussie girls and ran into Dana and Graeme, an Aussie/Kiwi couple (respectively) that I met briefly in Sihanoukville. On Tuesday night, about twelve of us all trundled down to Mr. Rin's outdoor cafe and sat on benches or stools at low tables - the bia hoi flowed (4000 dong a glass) and we ordered endless dishes of Hoi An specialities: fried wonton cakes topped with shrimp and vegetables, white rose (which is a very delicate steamed wonton in rice-paper wrapping), sweet and sour squid and Hoi An pancakes.
I was still feeling the effects of the bia hoi the next morning when I had to get up to join the tour to My Son, which is a famous Cham temple nearby. I fumbled down to the hotel lobby only to find that it was pouring with rain. At first, I regretted booking the tour but it turned out beautifully: the rain only enhanced the misty and lush atmosphere at the ruins, which are set in a jungle valley surrounded by mountains. Also, I met a ton of people during the tour. It is great to just chat with people because you hear so many interesting stories and meet kindred spirits.
Wednesday night was Luke's last night in Hoi An and we commemorated our traveling times together with a feast by the river, complete with a bottle of Dalat wine. I was sad to see him leave the next morning and was thankful to have my cooking class to distract me. This was another amazing activity: an interactive tour of the Hoi An market, a boat cruise down the river to the Redbridge Cooking School, great demonstrations and the chance to cook (and eat!) some of Hoi An's specialties. I especially liked learning to make fresh rice paper - so much better than the dried stuff. After a fabulous lunch of never-ending courses, I took a refreshing dip in the pool at the cooking school and lounged with my book riverside, surrounded by palm trees and frangipani.
On my last day in Hoi An, I finalized my fittings and shipping of all my purchases. Then I hired a bicycle and wound my way slowly to Cua Dai beach for a bit of R&R. The beach was wide and empty, with fine white sand and palm trees - just lovely. On Friday night, my tailor Thuy took me out for an amazing dinner. I guess I was the best customer she'd had in a while so she was grateful. We hoped on her moto and sped around the back streets of Hoi An until we reached a local resto. Of course, I was the only non-Vietnamese and Thuy ordered copious amounts of food: Hoi An shrimp pancakes, grilled meat, spring rolls, pickled veg, peanut soup, etc. I ate until I could eat no more. Thuy dropped me at my hotel and it was farewell to Hoi An.
More stories from the road to follow...lots of love to everyone back home.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Questions (and Answers?) at the Nha Trang crossroads
Nha Trang has been a quiet stop for me. I fell ill on my second day here and I've spent a lot of time sleeping in my room. Thank goodness, it is a very nice room with a west-facing balcony, private bathroom with hot water, fridge and tv (for the amazing price of $8 US). Once I was feeling better, I made it as far as the beach to lounge on a chair under the shade of a palm-frond hut.
The drive from Dalat to Nha Trang was most beautiful: winding down from the mountains and then along the white-sand coast. At a rest stop back down on the flat land, I stepped off the bus and remembered: humidity! Dalat was an unusual cool breeze in this hot and humid trek across South East Asia.
Nha Trang is a crossroads in that it connects Dalat to the main highway, mountain to plain, sky to sea. A little cutie called Hui was waiting for me at the bus station, holding a sign with my name on it. She whisked me to the Viet Hai guesthouse on her little white moto and she's been taking care of me ever since, asking if I feel better and checking in on me.
I met up with Tim and Helen, from PEI, again in Nha Trang and we had a great beach day together. They are so easy-going and positive - I could spend a lot of time in their company. But they had to hop a flight to Ho Chi Minh City and continue on to Macau for their flight home to our wintery Island. They spoiled me before they left, taking me out for lunch and giving me their Vietnamese phrasebook and leftover bottle of peanut butter (which is QUITE a luxury in these parts).
Nha Trang town is surprisingly quiet, especially in the tourist quarter. Things get busier down towards the market and being a pedestrian is a little treacherous. I started to tire a little of being gouged just because I'm a foreigner. I mean, how could 20 Gravols cost 12000 dong at the local pharmacy (less than $1 Canadian) but a bunch of bananas was 20000 dong at the market (closer to $2 Canadian). Strange, but I guess people have to make a living somehow.
I must admit that I'm not at my best these days, what with being ill and also having a bit of travel fatigue. I realize that this is a rich person's "problem" - oh poor me, I'm so tired of traveling exotic countries! I think I'm just missing my family and close friends. On the one hand, I want companionship; but, on the other hand, I need time to reflect and learn to be satisfied with what I have.
When I am alone, I seem to have some lovely encounters. I was walking home from the beach on Thursday when an old Vietnamese man fell into step with me, pushing his bicycle. "Vous parlez francais?" he asked. And we walked along the boardwalk having a conversation in French. Mostly, he asked me questions: How old are you, what is your profession, are you traveling alone, do you have a partner or husband, how can you afford to travel, do you read books in French, etc. Once satisfied with my answers, he bid me farewell and was gone as quickly as he came. An angel, I reckon.
Another day, I ran into some Aussie girls who were on the same bus from Phnom Pehn to Saigon and they introduced me to Elliot, a 24-but-going-grey English bloke with a sharp wit and winning smile. Tired of the usual backpacker conversations (where are you from, where are you going, etc), Elliot suggested we try to come up with new topics. So I asked him when was the last time he cried, who was his first love. He asked me about my three favourite books and where I exactly I wanted to be on that exact day in ten years. We had great and unusual conversations indeed! It was nice to make a more meaningful connection with someone.
I myself have a lot of unanswered questions: where am I coming from and where I am going, but on a figurative level. The other night, unable to sleep at 3am (probably because I slept my fever away during the day), I was reading my travel health book to find out what the symptoms are for malaria (I don't think I have it, phew!) and came across this quote by Francis Bacon: "Travel in the younger sort is a part of education; in the older, a part of experience." I'm not sure which category I fit into. I'm not your traditional backpacker in that I'm over 25 and will gladly pay extra to stay in nice rooms, get a comfy lounge chair at the beach and see the sights around town. Most backpackers just want to go as cheap as possible so they can continue traveling indefinitely. For me, my law career (and all its adventures and challenges) begins very soon.
I'm halfway through my trip across South East Asia and I'm a bit confused about what I want out of this travel experience: companionship or alone time, adventure or relaxation, debauchery or meditation. These conflicting feelings are sometimes exhausting: my travel days are both long and challenging, but also beautifully blessed and passing so quickly. I want to come out of this experience having grown and learned lessons but I feel like I'm still swimming in my questions without being able to see the answers. On that same sleepless night, I put down my travel health book and picked up my novel (On the Road by Jack Kerouac) and immediately came across another quote that sums it up perfectly: "I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future."
From this crossroad in Nha Trang, I start the long journey north to Hanoi, stopping first in lovely Hoi An. My last hours in Nha Trang have been perfect: Elliot wandered down to the beach where I'd been lounging away the afternoon. Another great chat ensued and he gave me a lift back to the hotel on the back of his moto - and you know I LOVE a moto ride! After a hot shower and the perfect pho, I'm ready for the night bus to Hoi An. These simple things, like comforting soup broth, connections with a new friend and the beautiful landscape sailing by, these are the little things that make it all worthwhile.
More stories, questions, and hopefully answers from the road to follow...Lots of love to everybody back home.
The drive from Dalat to Nha Trang was most beautiful: winding down from the mountains and then along the white-sand coast. At a rest stop back down on the flat land, I stepped off the bus and remembered: humidity! Dalat was an unusual cool breeze in this hot and humid trek across South East Asia.
Nha Trang is a crossroads in that it connects Dalat to the main highway, mountain to plain, sky to sea. A little cutie called Hui was waiting for me at the bus station, holding a sign with my name on it. She whisked me to the Viet Hai guesthouse on her little white moto and she's been taking care of me ever since, asking if I feel better and checking in on me.
I met up with Tim and Helen, from PEI, again in Nha Trang and we had a great beach day together. They are so easy-going and positive - I could spend a lot of time in their company. But they had to hop a flight to Ho Chi Minh City and continue on to Macau for their flight home to our wintery Island. They spoiled me before they left, taking me out for lunch and giving me their Vietnamese phrasebook and leftover bottle of peanut butter (which is QUITE a luxury in these parts).
Nha Trang town is surprisingly quiet, especially in the tourist quarter. Things get busier down towards the market and being a pedestrian is a little treacherous. I started to tire a little of being gouged just because I'm a foreigner. I mean, how could 20 Gravols cost 12000 dong at the local pharmacy (less than $1 Canadian) but a bunch of bananas was 20000 dong at the market (closer to $2 Canadian). Strange, but I guess people have to make a living somehow.
I must admit that I'm not at my best these days, what with being ill and also having a bit of travel fatigue. I realize that this is a rich person's "problem" - oh poor me, I'm so tired of traveling exotic countries! I think I'm just missing my family and close friends. On the one hand, I want companionship; but, on the other hand, I need time to reflect and learn to be satisfied with what I have.
When I am alone, I seem to have some lovely encounters. I was walking home from the beach on Thursday when an old Vietnamese man fell into step with me, pushing his bicycle. "Vous parlez francais?" he asked. And we walked along the boardwalk having a conversation in French. Mostly, he asked me questions: How old are you, what is your profession, are you traveling alone, do you have a partner or husband, how can you afford to travel, do you read books in French, etc. Once satisfied with my answers, he bid me farewell and was gone as quickly as he came. An angel, I reckon.
Another day, I ran into some Aussie girls who were on the same bus from Phnom Pehn to Saigon and they introduced me to Elliot, a 24-but-going-grey English bloke with a sharp wit and winning smile. Tired of the usual backpacker conversations (where are you from, where are you going, etc), Elliot suggested we try to come up with new topics. So I asked him when was the last time he cried, who was his first love. He asked me about my three favourite books and where I exactly I wanted to be on that exact day in ten years. We had great and unusual conversations indeed! It was nice to make a more meaningful connection with someone.
I myself have a lot of unanswered questions: where am I coming from and where I am going, but on a figurative level. The other night, unable to sleep at 3am (probably because I slept my fever away during the day), I was reading my travel health book to find out what the symptoms are for malaria (I don't think I have it, phew!) and came across this quote by Francis Bacon: "Travel in the younger sort is a part of education; in the older, a part of experience." I'm not sure which category I fit into. I'm not your traditional backpacker in that I'm over 25 and will gladly pay extra to stay in nice rooms, get a comfy lounge chair at the beach and see the sights around town. Most backpackers just want to go as cheap as possible so they can continue traveling indefinitely. For me, my law career (and all its adventures and challenges) begins very soon.
I'm halfway through my trip across South East Asia and I'm a bit confused about what I want out of this travel experience: companionship or alone time, adventure or relaxation, debauchery or meditation. These conflicting feelings are sometimes exhausting: my travel days are both long and challenging, but also beautifully blessed and passing so quickly. I want to come out of this experience having grown and learned lessons but I feel like I'm still swimming in my questions without being able to see the answers. On that same sleepless night, I put down my travel health book and picked up my novel (On the Road by Jack Kerouac) and immediately came across another quote that sums it up perfectly: "I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future."
From this crossroad in Nha Trang, I start the long journey north to Hanoi, stopping first in lovely Hoi An. My last hours in Nha Trang have been perfect: Elliot wandered down to the beach where I'd been lounging away the afternoon. Another great chat ensued and he gave me a lift back to the hotel on the back of his moto - and you know I LOVE a moto ride! After a hot shower and the perfect pho, I'm ready for the night bus to Hoi An. These simple things, like comforting soup broth, connections with a new friend and the beautiful landscape sailing by, these are the little things that make it all worthwhile.
More stories, questions, and hopefully answers from the road to follow...Lots of love to everybody back home.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Dalat is for Lovers, Part 2 (or "Don't even try to steer")
The market in Dalat sells some delicious things. Located in the centre of town, it is a frenzy of motorbikes and colourful produce. The hills surrounding the town are dotted with greenhouses which produce lovely flowers and veggies that I didn't expect to see in Vietnam: red roses and daisies, beetroot, kohlrabi, and artichokes. Dalat is famous for its artichoke tea - a very tasty and cleansing brew. Strawberries were in season and beautifully displayed in straw baskets: the vendors would carefully constructed pyramids of berries with the stems facing in. I bought a kilo for 25000 dong (less than $2 Canadian).
Dalat is also famous for its wine. My guidebook said not to get too fussed about varietals: there's red and there's white. The white was a bit oaky but the Superior Red was lovely. And for 60000 dong a bottle ($4), it sure was a bargain!
The day after our Intro to Motorcycling, we undertook a bigger ride. The town of Nam Ban is 30 km from Dalat, along a winding mountain road with amazing views of lush valleys below. I led the way until the road got so twisty that Chris had to speed ahead (I don't like to take the turns too fast). His advice about motorcycling is an excellent metaphor for life: "Don't even try to steer. Just lean into the turns." Driving down from the mountain into town, we hit a wall of hot air, like driving into an oven. From the bridge over a small river, we could see shirtless men wading waist deep, fishing. Roadside, women were selling the catch from big stainless steel bowls filled with water. I reckon you couldn't ask for a fresher fish.
Once in Nam Ban, we filled up the gas tanks and I got directions to our destination. I'd looked up "How do you get to..." in my phrasebook and the woman answered in Vietnamese, with accompanying hand motions. I had no idea was she actually said, but my interpretation was "Go over the bridge and turn left." Sure enough, that left turn led us up to the Linh An pagoda and the Elephant waterfalls. Lovely music drifted from the pagoda and we were definitely the only white people around. A giant fat Buddha statue laughed down at us, mirroring the smiling Vietnamese parking lot attendants who laughed with us and directed us where to park the bikes. You can't just leave your bike unattended round here - it might get nicked, as Chris said. So for a few thousand dong, we paid some guys to watch them for us.
Feeling parched from all the wandering on foot and moto, we stopped next at a stand next to the pagoda to squat on little stools and slurp delicious sugar cane juice, with a hint of lime. Just then, it started to pour with rain and we took shelter with everyone else under an awning. A little boy stared at us intently but most everyone else paid no attention. After the downpour, we visited the Cuang Huong Silk Factory, where we witnessed the silk-making process and I, ever the shopper, dropped a wad of dong to buy lovely scarfs, wrap shirts and kimonos. "You spent a MILLION dong!?" Chris and Luke were shocked but patient during my browsing.
A lot of travellers have told me that they don't like Vietnam as much as Cambodia or Laos because the people aren't as friendly. But I've found the Vietnamese to be very warm and obliging. It helps if you smile a lot and make an effort with the language. When faced with a language barrier, repeating yourself more loudly is hardly the way to make the other person understand! I've noticed a trend among other travellers - they never seem satisfied and there is always something wrong that ruins their day or trip, whether it be rain or a delay or a cultural misunderstanding. Personally, if I'm not having a good time, I think I'm more to blame than the locals or the weather or the country. It is all a matter of having a positive attitude.
On our last day in Dalat, Chris rode off at dawn with a Vietnamese guide, fulfilling his New Year's resolution to do a big moto trip through Vietnam. Luke and I wandered the town, stopping often for food (first and second breakfast, first and second lunch, etc). We ducked into a cafe to escape the rain and sat amongst Vietnamese men who were lazing the day away with coffee, cigarettes and card games. "Conversations" ensued and I learned how to say lungs and tobacco in Vietnamese. Later, more food! I'd been telling Luke about banh mi, the Vietnamese version of the submarine sandwich: spicy mayo, roast pork, pickled carrot and turnip, fresh cucumber and lots of cilantro. We stumbled upon a local bakery that made the most sublime banh mi. Having just eaten our fourth meal of the day, we decided to just share one, eating it standing in the street outside the bakery. And then another. Okay, and another. It was so good! With our bellies full, we toasted the full moon with a final glass of Dalat wine.
Dalat is for lovers and I'd like to bring my loved ones here someday: Darla and John, JA, Baba and Debbie, Laura and James, Matthieu and KK, and most especially, Rachel who loves to ride motorcycles (but preferably not into a wall).
Next stop, beach time in Nha Trang. Lots of love to everyone back home.
Dalat is also famous for its wine. My guidebook said not to get too fussed about varietals: there's red and there's white. The white was a bit oaky but the Superior Red was lovely. And for 60000 dong a bottle ($4), it sure was a bargain!
The day after our Intro to Motorcycling, we undertook a bigger ride. The town of Nam Ban is 30 km from Dalat, along a winding mountain road with amazing views of lush valleys below. I led the way until the road got so twisty that Chris had to speed ahead (I don't like to take the turns too fast). His advice about motorcycling is an excellent metaphor for life: "Don't even try to steer. Just lean into the turns." Driving down from the mountain into town, we hit a wall of hot air, like driving into an oven. From the bridge over a small river, we could see shirtless men wading waist deep, fishing. Roadside, women were selling the catch from big stainless steel bowls filled with water. I reckon you couldn't ask for a fresher fish.
Once in Nam Ban, we filled up the gas tanks and I got directions to our destination. I'd looked up "How do you get to..." in my phrasebook and the woman answered in Vietnamese, with accompanying hand motions. I had no idea was she actually said, but my interpretation was "Go over the bridge and turn left." Sure enough, that left turn led us up to the Linh An pagoda and the Elephant waterfalls. Lovely music drifted from the pagoda and we were definitely the only white people around. A giant fat Buddha statue laughed down at us, mirroring the smiling Vietnamese parking lot attendants who laughed with us and directed us where to park the bikes. You can't just leave your bike unattended round here - it might get nicked, as Chris said. So for a few thousand dong, we paid some guys to watch them for us.
Feeling parched from all the wandering on foot and moto, we stopped next at a stand next to the pagoda to squat on little stools and slurp delicious sugar cane juice, with a hint of lime. Just then, it started to pour with rain and we took shelter with everyone else under an awning. A little boy stared at us intently but most everyone else paid no attention. After the downpour, we visited the Cuang Huong Silk Factory, where we witnessed the silk-making process and I, ever the shopper, dropped a wad of dong to buy lovely scarfs, wrap shirts and kimonos. "You spent a MILLION dong!?" Chris and Luke were shocked but patient during my browsing.
A lot of travellers have told me that they don't like Vietnam as much as Cambodia or Laos because the people aren't as friendly. But I've found the Vietnamese to be very warm and obliging. It helps if you smile a lot and make an effort with the language. When faced with a language barrier, repeating yourself more loudly is hardly the way to make the other person understand! I've noticed a trend among other travellers - they never seem satisfied and there is always something wrong that ruins their day or trip, whether it be rain or a delay or a cultural misunderstanding. Personally, if I'm not having a good time, I think I'm more to blame than the locals or the weather or the country. It is all a matter of having a positive attitude.
On our last day in Dalat, Chris rode off at dawn with a Vietnamese guide, fulfilling his New Year's resolution to do a big moto trip through Vietnam. Luke and I wandered the town, stopping often for food (first and second breakfast, first and second lunch, etc). We ducked into a cafe to escape the rain and sat amongst Vietnamese men who were lazing the day away with coffee, cigarettes and card games. "Conversations" ensued and I learned how to say lungs and tobacco in Vietnamese. Later, more food! I'd been telling Luke about banh mi, the Vietnamese version of the submarine sandwich: spicy mayo, roast pork, pickled carrot and turnip, fresh cucumber and lots of cilantro. We stumbled upon a local bakery that made the most sublime banh mi. Having just eaten our fourth meal of the day, we decided to just share one, eating it standing in the street outside the bakery. And then another. Okay, and another. It was so good! With our bellies full, we toasted the full moon with a final glass of Dalat wine.
Dalat is for lovers and I'd like to bring my loved ones here someday: Darla and John, JA, Baba and Debbie, Laura and James, Matthieu and KK, and most especially, Rachel who loves to ride motorcycles (but preferably not into a wall).
Next stop, beach time in Nha Trang. Lots of love to everyone back home.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Dalat is for Lovers, Part 1 (or "Honk if you love Buddha")
I'm here in Dalat, up in the Central Highlands of Vietnam. The town is like the Vietnamese version of Quebec City: full of winding, hilly streets and quaint scenes. This is a popular honeymoon spot for Vietnamese: "Very romantic!" said my guesthouse owner, with a touch of difficulty pronouncing the letter "r".
The ride from HCMC was a bit painful. The bus driver had his hand glued to the horn: honking is the South-East Asian way of saying, "Coming through!!!" The beep of the horn was soul-jarring and I jumped out of my seat at every honk. Not a very relaxing ride. Pair that with the winding highway and the fact that the driver only stopped once in six hours to let us pee and eat. Yeah, I might look into the train for future long-distance journeys.
But the ride was worth it because this little town and surrounding countryside are just beautiful. It is good to be in a place off the tourist track - I've been only eating local food (alternating between rice and noodles at each meal) and I'm picking up a bit of the language. Learning Vietnamese is much easier than learning Cambodian because they use the same alphabet here. But all the accents and inflections are confusing. When I say thank you (com on, pronounced gaam ern), people often look at me blankly. But they don't look offended so I'm probably not accidentally saying anything bad, like "Your mother is a cow." I've had a few "conversations" with locals in which neither of us knew what the other one was saying - but we were nonetheless able to make a connection.
The weather is cooler up here, about 20 degree Celsius in the day and 14 degrees at night. It is the first time I've put on a sweater, jacket and long pants since November. Yeah, yeah, I know you hate me. The Vietnamese aren't much for the cold - little kids are bundled up like it is February in Canada, with puffy jackets and balaclavas. So cute!
I met up with Chris and Luke, whom I met in Saigon, and we're all staying at a family-run guesthouse on Bui Thi Xuan Street. Our host is Ty, a very beautiful and very pregnant little woman, who makes us artichoke tea and runs around constantly despite our protests that she should take it easy. This morning, we came down to find the lobby packed with Vietnamese men in suits, all sitting around round tables eating and throwing back the vodka. We almost got pulled into the fray - I would have loved to stay and partake but we had rented motorbikes and were off to see the countryside. It would hardly have been appropriate for me to shoot vodka before my first motorbike ride.
My father recently emailed to say that he is happy that I directly disobeyed his order not to go travelling in South-East Asia by myself. So, uh, maybe he won't mind that I rode a motorbike? Gosh, at this rate, I'll be tattoed and pierced, riding my Harley with a cigarette dangling from my mouth alone through rural India...all things that my father would NOT approve of. I was nervous about the bike, especially because the traffic here is a bit crazy. But I got used to it pretty quickly and I'm getting hooked. My riding is like my skiing: I have no need for speed. It was amazing to toot along up and down winding roads, with trees on one side and valley on the other.
I'm discovering a lot of things about myself on this trip. The most recent and surprising realization is that I have a very good sense of direction. Back in HCMC, I'd be wandering with the boys and someone would say, "Uh, does anyone know where we are?" Everyone would shake their heads and I'd say, "Yeah, just turn left and then take the next right, walk two blocks and the next left is the street of our hotel." Huh? They were all shocked, didn't know how I did it. But really, how could they not know where they were? I mean, aren't boys supposed have a naturally good sense of direction?! My ability to follow maps means I'm the designated navigator for wandering on foot and on motorbike. Honestly, it is quite flattering when they let me lead, not to mention an excellent position for a control-freak like me. Other surprising things: I drink beer very fast (as compared to boys) and I'm surprisingly relaxed and confident in all these new situations.
I've been on the road for a month and living abroad for seven...just three months left till I go home to Canada. I'm starting to wonder who I'll be when I return. Emotionally, I left so much behind when I left Canada: stress about my career, daily chores and rushed commutes, heartache about love, etc. My life on the road has been pure pleasure: there is nothing pressing to do, just eat, sleep, write, wonder, wander. I feel so far away from the old version of myself, and so much closer to the person I am (or the person I want to be). I hope I can bring the peace in my heart back home with me and remember to enjoy journeys, to smile at people when I walk down the street, to savour my food and to take time to relax.
That's lots more to say about Dalat, so stay tuned for Part 2 of Dalat is for Lovers. Lots of love to everyone back home.
The ride from HCMC was a bit painful. The bus driver had his hand glued to the horn: honking is the South-East Asian way of saying, "Coming through!!!" The beep of the horn was soul-jarring and I jumped out of my seat at every honk. Not a very relaxing ride. Pair that with the winding highway and the fact that the driver only stopped once in six hours to let us pee and eat. Yeah, I might look into the train for future long-distance journeys.
But the ride was worth it because this little town and surrounding countryside are just beautiful. It is good to be in a place off the tourist track - I've been only eating local food (alternating between rice and noodles at each meal) and I'm picking up a bit of the language. Learning Vietnamese is much easier than learning Cambodian because they use the same alphabet here. But all the accents and inflections are confusing. When I say thank you (com on, pronounced gaam ern), people often look at me blankly. But they don't look offended so I'm probably not accidentally saying anything bad, like "Your mother is a cow." I've had a few "conversations" with locals in which neither of us knew what the other one was saying - but we were nonetheless able to make a connection.
The weather is cooler up here, about 20 degree Celsius in the day and 14 degrees at night. It is the first time I've put on a sweater, jacket and long pants since November. Yeah, yeah, I know you hate me. The Vietnamese aren't much for the cold - little kids are bundled up like it is February in Canada, with puffy jackets and balaclavas. So cute!
I met up with Chris and Luke, whom I met in Saigon, and we're all staying at a family-run guesthouse on Bui Thi Xuan Street. Our host is Ty, a very beautiful and very pregnant little woman, who makes us artichoke tea and runs around constantly despite our protests that she should take it easy. This morning, we came down to find the lobby packed with Vietnamese men in suits, all sitting around round tables eating and throwing back the vodka. We almost got pulled into the fray - I would have loved to stay and partake but we had rented motorbikes and were off to see the countryside. It would hardly have been appropriate for me to shoot vodka before my first motorbike ride.
My father recently emailed to say that he is happy that I directly disobeyed his order not to go travelling in South-East Asia by myself. So, uh, maybe he won't mind that I rode a motorbike? Gosh, at this rate, I'll be tattoed and pierced, riding my Harley with a cigarette dangling from my mouth alone through rural India...all things that my father would NOT approve of. I was nervous about the bike, especially because the traffic here is a bit crazy. But I got used to it pretty quickly and I'm getting hooked. My riding is like my skiing: I have no need for speed. It was amazing to toot along up and down winding roads, with trees on one side and valley on the other.
I'm discovering a lot of things about myself on this trip. The most recent and surprising realization is that I have a very good sense of direction. Back in HCMC, I'd be wandering with the boys and someone would say, "Uh, does anyone know where we are?" Everyone would shake their heads and I'd say, "Yeah, just turn left and then take the next right, walk two blocks and the next left is the street of our hotel." Huh? They were all shocked, didn't know how I did it. But really, how could they not know where they were? I mean, aren't boys supposed have a naturally good sense of direction?! My ability to follow maps means I'm the designated navigator for wandering on foot and on motorbike. Honestly, it is quite flattering when they let me lead, not to mention an excellent position for a control-freak like me. Other surprising things: I drink beer very fast (as compared to boys) and I'm surprisingly relaxed and confident in all these new situations.
I've been on the road for a month and living abroad for seven...just three months left till I go home to Canada. I'm starting to wonder who I'll be when I return. Emotionally, I left so much behind when I left Canada: stress about my career, daily chores and rushed commutes, heartache about love, etc. My life on the road has been pure pleasure: there is nothing pressing to do, just eat, sleep, write, wonder, wander. I feel so far away from the old version of myself, and so much closer to the person I am (or the person I want to be). I hope I can bring the peace in my heart back home with me and remember to enjoy journeys, to smile at people when I walk down the street, to savour my food and to take time to relax.
That's lots more to say about Dalat, so stay tuned for Part 2 of Dalat is for Lovers. Lots of love to everyone back home.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Good morning, Vietnam!
The heat is on in Saigon! I only meant to spend two days in Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon) but this place is so great, I stayed another day. Its Friday night now in HCMC and life is fast and tasty.
I noticed a big difference immediately after crossing the border from Cambodia into Vietnam. Whereas Cambodia's population is about 14 million, Vietnam has closer to 90 million people. Not much countryside in sight, but lots of motorcycles! The motos outnumber the cars about 10 to 1 and, everywhere you go, the traffic constant, fluid and exciting.
Saigon feels like a city of friends because I met a bunch of guys on the bus from Phnom Penh and we all ended up staying at the same guesthouse. There's Luke from Winnipeg (a Canadian through-and-through, à la Bob and Doug MacKenzie), Lorenzo from Heathrow (he has an English accent but is a Sicilian in looks and at heart) and Michael from Liverpool (accent so thick that when he told me his name, I thought he said Marco). I'm in Room 500 at Hotel 97 on Bui Dien Road in the backpacker district of Pham Ngu Lao. My room is on the top floor and the numbering of the floors starts two floors above the street level...so I'm really on the seventh floor. There is no lift so it makes for a long climb to the top of this classic tall-and-skinny HCMC hotel.
Once ensconced in the guesthouse, it didn't take long until I was streetside sipping a Saigon beer (bia in Vietnamese) with the boys. My first meal in Vietnam was, of course, pho, which is a lovely soup of fennel-infused beef broth, noodles, tender beef and sweet onion. It comes with a plate of fresh lime, cilantro, basil, chilies and bean sprouts, all of which you add to your taste. Pho is a staple here and I have to have my daily fix, whether it be for breakfast, lunch or dinner. It goes very well with an iced coffee with milk (that's sweetened condensed milk) or, of course, a Saigon bia.
My room opens onto a communal balcony and I've spent a lot of time up there with the guys, enjoying the sunset or talking late into the night. A stall down the street sells big bottles of Saigon for 10000 dong, which is about 75 cents, so we've all been saving money, backpacker style, by drinking "at home." Chris from Manchester has joined the group so its two Canucks and more Englishmen than you can keep track of.
My days in Saigon have consisted mostly of wandering, taking in the sights and sampling all the amazing food. This is a very cosmopolitan city and, after Cambodia, I've been marvelling at all the modern wonders. For example, when people throw their garbage into the gutters on the street, an obliging gentleman in orange coveralls, a hard hat and a face mask comes along with a wooden broom to sweep it up and take it away in his dumpster on wheels. This is a pretty clean city, despite its population of 15 million. I feel like such a lame Westerner saying this, but I really appreciate the cleanliness!
I took a short moto ride to the beautiful main post office and sent 6 kilograms of stuff home to Canada: the spoils of my Cambodian shopping extravaganzas. Suddenly, I have license to shop again - so much room in my pack! You wouldn't want to be a recovering shopaholic in Vietnam. Tailors abound, making beautiful suits and dresses for a fraction of what you'd pay at home. The Vietnamese women look so beautiful in their ai doi, traditionally dresses in a long, high-necked top and wide-leg pants...I just might have to get one. I had to have my wits about me at the Benh Thanh market because the stall-keepers literally grabbed me and dragged me over to see their wares. It kind of makes you feel like a rock star, walking through the place and getting so much attention.
After wandering the town today, Luke, Chris and I all took cyclos home: that's like a bicycle taxi where you recline in the front seat while the driver pedals away behind. In the busy traffic circles, it is every moto for him/herself. I'm glad that I don't have to drive here!
Tomorrow I will leave Saigon and head to Dalat in the Central Highlands for a little trekking in the fresh mountain air. It just so happens that Luke and Chris are headed the same way, so my parents can rest assured that I won't be going to the middle of nowhere alone. More stories to come...lots of love to everyone back home.
I noticed a big difference immediately after crossing the border from Cambodia into Vietnam. Whereas Cambodia's population is about 14 million, Vietnam has closer to 90 million people. Not much countryside in sight, but lots of motorcycles! The motos outnumber the cars about 10 to 1 and, everywhere you go, the traffic constant, fluid and exciting.
Saigon feels like a city of friends because I met a bunch of guys on the bus from Phnom Penh and we all ended up staying at the same guesthouse. There's Luke from Winnipeg (a Canadian through-and-through, à la Bob and Doug MacKenzie), Lorenzo from Heathrow (he has an English accent but is a Sicilian in looks and at heart) and Michael from Liverpool (accent so thick that when he told me his name, I thought he said Marco). I'm in Room 500 at Hotel 97 on Bui Dien Road in the backpacker district of Pham Ngu Lao. My room is on the top floor and the numbering of the floors starts two floors above the street level...so I'm really on the seventh floor. There is no lift so it makes for a long climb to the top of this classic tall-and-skinny HCMC hotel.
Once ensconced in the guesthouse, it didn't take long until I was streetside sipping a Saigon beer (bia in Vietnamese) with the boys. My first meal in Vietnam was, of course, pho, which is a lovely soup of fennel-infused beef broth, noodles, tender beef and sweet onion. It comes with a plate of fresh lime, cilantro, basil, chilies and bean sprouts, all of which you add to your taste. Pho is a staple here and I have to have my daily fix, whether it be for breakfast, lunch or dinner. It goes very well with an iced coffee with milk (that's sweetened condensed milk) or, of course, a Saigon bia.
My room opens onto a communal balcony and I've spent a lot of time up there with the guys, enjoying the sunset or talking late into the night. A stall down the street sells big bottles of Saigon for 10000 dong, which is about 75 cents, so we've all been saving money, backpacker style, by drinking "at home." Chris from Manchester has joined the group so its two Canucks and more Englishmen than you can keep track of.
My days in Saigon have consisted mostly of wandering, taking in the sights and sampling all the amazing food. This is a very cosmopolitan city and, after Cambodia, I've been marvelling at all the modern wonders. For example, when people throw their garbage into the gutters on the street, an obliging gentleman in orange coveralls, a hard hat and a face mask comes along with a wooden broom to sweep it up and take it away in his dumpster on wheels. This is a pretty clean city, despite its population of 15 million. I feel like such a lame Westerner saying this, but I really appreciate the cleanliness!
I took a short moto ride to the beautiful main post office and sent 6 kilograms of stuff home to Canada: the spoils of my Cambodian shopping extravaganzas. Suddenly, I have license to shop again - so much room in my pack! You wouldn't want to be a recovering shopaholic in Vietnam. Tailors abound, making beautiful suits and dresses for a fraction of what you'd pay at home. The Vietnamese women look so beautiful in their ai doi, traditionally dresses in a long, high-necked top and wide-leg pants...I just might have to get one. I had to have my wits about me at the Benh Thanh market because the stall-keepers literally grabbed me and dragged me over to see their wares. It kind of makes you feel like a rock star, walking through the place and getting so much attention.
After wandering the town today, Luke, Chris and I all took cyclos home: that's like a bicycle taxi where you recline in the front seat while the driver pedals away behind. In the busy traffic circles, it is every moto for him/herself. I'm glad that I don't have to drive here!
Tomorrow I will leave Saigon and head to Dalat in the Central Highlands for a little trekking in the fresh mountain air. It just so happens that Luke and Chris are headed the same way, so my parents can rest assured that I won't be going to the middle of nowhere alone. More stories to come...lots of love to everyone back home.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
A pause for thanks
I just wanted to thank you for reading my blog. I've been getting emails from friends and family saying that they read it all the time and it means a lot to me to know that the people I love get to share in my travelling experience! Hope you continue enjoying the stories. Lots of love to you all.
Last days in Cambodia
It was an easy bus ride from Sihanoukville to Phnom Penh. We stopped at a roadside stand and I devoured some excellent fried rice with pickle on the side. The Westerners on the trip were not very friendly, but the locals sure were. Two Vietnamese ladies insisted that I share their snacks: they offered some bean-like fruit with sweet red interior. I didn't even know what they were handing to me but I took a deep breath and gave it a try - very good! The younger of the two gave me two thumbs up and a big smile when she found out that I'm travelling alone. Sweet.
Phnom Penh is a wild ride. I got a moto ride to the backpackers area at Boeung Kak, on the lakeside. Soon I was ensconced at Grand View Guesthouse, which is supposed to be up-market for that area. A relatively clean room with a fan, cold shower and no bed bugs. Not bad for $5 a night. The moto drivers around the guesthouse were pretty determined to take me on a tour that very day and it was a bit exhausting fending off all the offers. Instead of going on a big tour, I wandered a bit, sent some postcards, and then had a meal and a foot massage.
I decided not to check out the Royal Palace on Sunday afternoon because it was so busy. Walking out, I miraculously ran into the same moto driver who had taken me from the bus to the guesthouse. "Ana?" he called after me. "I know you!" He was very friendly, with kind eyes, and not nearly as intense as other drivers I'd encountered. We made a deal that he would take me to the sights the next day. For the rest of Sunday, I went to see a documentary about the Cambodian genocide, and bed early. All the Aussies at the guesthouse were glued to the tennis on tv: Federer and Nadal at the Australian open.
On Monday, I practically had the whole Royal Palace to myself in the early morning. It is a very ornate estate of buildings, quite the contrast from the dirty streets of Phnom Penh. Then, it was a long moto ride out to the Killing Fields at Choeung Ek. This is were thousands of Cambodians were brought for execution and mass burial during the Khmer Rouge's regime. It was a haunting place, hard to imagine so much suffering in a field where the flowers were blooming and birds chirping. Back in town, I dined in a stall street side next to the Russian Market and had a little shopping cardio: my pack is heavier still with lovely tapestries, tablecloths and sarongs. I finished my moto tour at Tung Sleung, an interrogation centre of the Khmer Rouge now converted to Genocide Museum.
It felt a bit morbid to be a genocide tourist but my curiousity was strong. Also, the Khmers I've talked to want the world to know what happened in their country. The dark side of humanity is very appalling in the places of torture I visited. The politics behind Khmer Rouge are complicated, but it seems like the Cambodian people were a pawn in the great struggle between China's communism power and America's capitalism. It angers me that a country that prides itself on liberty could influence such a tragedy.
I wrote before that Cambodia is still suffered from the genocide. Many people live in shacks made of corrugated steel, with a plastic tarp for a roof. There is no concept of garbage disposal and the streets are littered with rotting vegetables and plastic bags. Electricity is very expensive and most people live without it. In the morning, you wake to the smell of cooking fires, like camping - no stoves here. The total lack of infrastructure may come from a "live-for-the-moment" attitude, which isn't surprising considering that many Cambodians spent a lot of time just surviving the days, not knowing if they would be alive tomorrow.
My moto driver dropped me off at the end of the day back in Boeung Kak. I was sad to say goodbye because he was such a nice man: an excellent driver and good guide. There's nothing like the feeling of sitting on the back of the moto and whizzing around the busy streets. With the wind on my face, I witnessed so many beautiful and shocking little scenes in this place where life is teeming out in the open. I dubbed my moto driver Spiderman because of the design on his fingerless riding gloves. He asked $15 dollars for his services for the day and I paid without haggling over the amount. He had been at my disposal for 9 hours and took me all over the place so I figured it was a fair price.
My last night in Cambodia, I had a drink lakeside and watched the big red sun go down over the water. I had barely spoken to anyone all day, except for small conversations with Spiderman. An Italian guy sat down next to me as I tucked into a cheap thali at an Indian resto and we had a great 30-minute conversation, both solo travellers thankful for a little human interaction. After dinner, I packed my bag and had another early night. Next stop: Vietnam!
Lots of love to everyone back home.
Phnom Penh is a wild ride. I got a moto ride to the backpackers area at Boeung Kak, on the lakeside. Soon I was ensconced at Grand View Guesthouse, which is supposed to be up-market for that area. A relatively clean room with a fan, cold shower and no bed bugs. Not bad for $5 a night. The moto drivers around the guesthouse were pretty determined to take me on a tour that very day and it was a bit exhausting fending off all the offers. Instead of going on a big tour, I wandered a bit, sent some postcards, and then had a meal and a foot massage.
I decided not to check out the Royal Palace on Sunday afternoon because it was so busy. Walking out, I miraculously ran into the same moto driver who had taken me from the bus to the guesthouse. "Ana?" he called after me. "I know you!" He was very friendly, with kind eyes, and not nearly as intense as other drivers I'd encountered. We made a deal that he would take me to the sights the next day. For the rest of Sunday, I went to see a documentary about the Cambodian genocide, and bed early. All the Aussies at the guesthouse were glued to the tennis on tv: Federer and Nadal at the Australian open.
On Monday, I practically had the whole Royal Palace to myself in the early morning. It is a very ornate estate of buildings, quite the contrast from the dirty streets of Phnom Penh. Then, it was a long moto ride out to the Killing Fields at Choeung Ek. This is were thousands of Cambodians were brought for execution and mass burial during the Khmer Rouge's regime. It was a haunting place, hard to imagine so much suffering in a field where the flowers were blooming and birds chirping. Back in town, I dined in a stall street side next to the Russian Market and had a little shopping cardio: my pack is heavier still with lovely tapestries, tablecloths and sarongs. I finished my moto tour at Tung Sleung, an interrogation centre of the Khmer Rouge now converted to Genocide Museum.
It felt a bit morbid to be a genocide tourist but my curiousity was strong. Also, the Khmers I've talked to want the world to know what happened in their country. The dark side of humanity is very appalling in the places of torture I visited. The politics behind Khmer Rouge are complicated, but it seems like the Cambodian people were a pawn in the great struggle between China's communism power and America's capitalism. It angers me that a country that prides itself on liberty could influence such a tragedy.
I wrote before that Cambodia is still suffered from the genocide. Many people live in shacks made of corrugated steel, with a plastic tarp for a roof. There is no concept of garbage disposal and the streets are littered with rotting vegetables and plastic bags. Electricity is very expensive and most people live without it. In the morning, you wake to the smell of cooking fires, like camping - no stoves here. The total lack of infrastructure may come from a "live-for-the-moment" attitude, which isn't surprising considering that many Cambodians spent a lot of time just surviving the days, not knowing if they would be alive tomorrow.
My moto driver dropped me off at the end of the day back in Boeung Kak. I was sad to say goodbye because he was such a nice man: an excellent driver and good guide. There's nothing like the feeling of sitting on the back of the moto and whizzing around the busy streets. With the wind on my face, I witnessed so many beautiful and shocking little scenes in this place where life is teeming out in the open. I dubbed my moto driver Spiderman because of the design on his fingerless riding gloves. He asked $15 dollars for his services for the day and I paid without haggling over the amount. He had been at my disposal for 9 hours and took me all over the place so I figured it was a fair price.
My last night in Cambodia, I had a drink lakeside and watched the big red sun go down over the water. I had barely spoken to anyone all day, except for small conversations with Spiderman. An Italian guy sat down next to me as I tucked into a cheap thali at an Indian resto and we had a great 30-minute conversation, both solo travellers thankful for a little human interaction. After dinner, I packed my bag and had another early night. Next stop: Vietnam!
Lots of love to everyone back home.
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