tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67424426546550656352024-03-06T01:03:26.917+02:00Oliver's BackpackA blog of my travels as they happen.Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-43408715555031475132011-12-07T13:11:00.001+02:002011-12-07T14:19:13.359+02:00A Final Message from Mumbai<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Every journey moves inexorably to the point that I am currently facing. With every passing day, every steady minute and every fleeting second, that point in time is brought ever closer. And finally, it's presence becomes so apparent that you are forced to adjust your course to meet it. The end.<br />
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A point in time with such startling finality. Each of my every-day actions became somewhat more noticeable, more pointed. The simple act of donning my closed shoes, which previously lay forgotten at the bottom of my bag, had such obvious clarity of being the first time I had done so since removing them two months ago. It was a signal of my leaving, my imminent return home. I was struck by the thought that all of this, these experiences and memories, would be just that - memories and experiences - as soon as I leave. The immediacy of being here is condemned to be lost.<br />
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My Indian journey has been a true rollercoaster ride of experience. I have felt defeated by the crazy systems and masses of people. I have struggled to find my way and felt out of place. But I have also laughed at the crazy systems, got back on track and found a groove in which I fit. India seemed to fight against me at every possible moment at the start of my trip, and the craziness got the better of me. I felt swamped and overpowered, struggling to make sense of this amazing place. It was loud, fast and overbearing. It was the freezing cold water that I didn't let get past my ankles when the best course of action was just to jump in. I stood at the water's edge for a long while, afraid of the leap required, resisting it, until finally I relented. I immersed myself in India and found that the water was not as cold as I had imagined, or feared. It was refreshing and invigorating. I was instilled with a sense of vibrancy and awareness. I woke up to the wonders of this incredible country.<br />
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And now, what seems like such a short time after my awakening, I am forced to say goodbye to India. I have to let go of the country and cling tightly to the memories it has given me. Each place I visited and every person I met will be remembered. I will cherish the memories of all the times I laughed and all the times I felt despair. I will hold on to the fleeting memories of the sights and sounds, the smells and the tastes that so defined my experience.<br />
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I must leave India, but I leave knowing I will be back. In my two months of travel I feel that I've barely scratched the surface of what India has to offer. This vast chunk of land holds so much more for me to explore, to learn, to witness.<br />
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I must leave India, but I leave changed. India has altered my perspectives and adjusted my views. India has opened my mind to so much more. There is still so much to see and do, and barely enough time to see and do it. A world awaits me...</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-11208588143257230962011-11-29T08:36:00.001+02:002011-11-29T10:45:45.925+02:00Old Goa and the Goa of Old<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There comes a point in every travelers life that he must get off his arse and type up a blog post to keep the people who read it informed about his whereabouts. That time, for me, has come. I've been putting off typing up another blog post for the reason that there won't be many blog posts left to write after this one. The truth is that there's precious little time left for me in this marvelous country and if I catch up with my writing there'll be almost nothing left to write about.<br />
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But I must catch up.</div>
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If you're wondering where I am at the moment, I will tell you. I am in the diminutive town of Chapora - the Goa of Old. A quaint, one-street town which is a favourite Goa's hippy scene. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before I write about the Goa of Old I must first write about how I got here. And getting here was preceded by a trip to Old Goa. If this doesn't make sense yet, bear with me - it soon will.</div>
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Old Goa was the capital of Goa during the era of Goa's Portuguese occupation. It is now pretty much a ghost town. What was once a thriving city at the height of the Portuguese rule is now just a husk of a town. The only buildings which remain are the churches and cathedrals which serve as a testament to the Catholic influence which differentiates Goa from other Indian states. Old Goa is also a convenient 15 minute bus ride away from Panaji, making it a perfect day trip for the travel enthusiast. Well, almost perfect.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIPBDqqXs0BbDXXaRzpkSESYnMW9_YBiM1fukclvNcODBk_eE5XXJ_L-uQSJWLiSkjkI7vA4Ftgezqdje0Qg6twjRLZKTwaWMoxAEe2w10XmjvAUNrofozS4zFP0cUOEgKgE1N6kMJhP3u/s1600/DSCF2922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIPBDqqXs0BbDXXaRzpkSESYnMW9_YBiM1fukclvNcODBk_eE5XXJ_L-uQSJWLiSkjkI7vA4Ftgezqdje0Qg6twjRLZKTwaWMoxAEe2w10XmjvAUNrofozS4zFP0cUOEgKgE1N6kMJhP3u/s320/DSCF2922.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Se Cathedral</td></tr>
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Old Goa was definitely worth the visit and the churches and cathedrals were large and numerous, but it failed to excite me. I suppose that was partially due to the crowds of other tourists who got bussed straight in, and partly because Old Goa gave off an air of discomfort. It's quite difficult to explain, but Old Goa felt as if it didn't belong in India, in Goa even. Everywhere you looked you were confronted by another massive, out-of-place church. The churches dominated the area and I couldn't help but feel that it was all intended as a display of dominance by the Portuguese. The imposing structures seemed to be built to be formidable. It all felt like a religious prick-waving contest that got seriously out of hand.<br />
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Churches aren't my thing, but I do love a good beach. And so, with the beach beckoning I left Panaji and headed north to Anjuna. Anjuna is another stalwart of the old hippy scene and used to have a reputation as the place to go to experience a Goan trance party. I imagine things have calmed down since then because I only caught wind of one party happening and the next day everyone said it got closed down at 11 PM.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WkJa40VQ3_a_j3m2Rb7cp5x09-4VpVoTxWqKRPZO_qszrBaPTuwfiGlewX_nOHnHHiluNnZ6z6GDXnFoa2jBROX2RCrg-nqB6-1BsyG3rk0iKhKa4PPBTleo0njgze-toOP4pDKyINRT/s1600/DSCF2972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WkJa40VQ3_a_j3m2Rb7cp5x09-4VpVoTxWqKRPZO_qszrBaPTuwfiGlewX_nOHnHHiluNnZ6z6GDXnFoa2jBROX2RCrg-nqB6-1BsyG3rk0iKhKa4PPBTleo0njgze-toOP4pDKyINRT/s320/DSCF2972.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sunset over Anjuna</td></tr>
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Anjuna may not be the place to go for a party anymore, but it is a great spot to go for a swim. For once the waves were of a moderate size and could be bodysurfed, unlike anywhere else in Goa. That said, waiting for the waves of a moderate size that could be bodysurfed seemed to take up most of the time that I spent in the water. At this point you can probably deduce where this blog post is going to go. Yep, nowhere. When you're spending most of the day on a beach there's not much to write home about.<br />
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I did visit the Mapusa Friday market for a couple of hours, but it turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. What was on sale was mostly just tourist crap and fish. I did scour the market for anything interesting or different, but all of the places were selling the same slew of tourist trash - trinkets and T-shirts mostly.<br />
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Funnily enough I decided that Anjuna wasn't the best place to be staying. I'm not sure why I came to that conclusion, but it made sense in my mind at the time. I decided to move on after only a few days of lazing on the beach. I even moved away from the beach - to Chapora.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chapora is a forgotten town. Forgotten by<br />tourists, at least</td></tr>
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The Lonely Planet likens Chapora to the Mos Eisley Canteen in Star Wars and when I arrived here I understood why. It's not much bigger than a canteen, for a start, and its residents (local and hippy alike) have a very relaxed and slow pace of life. That might have something to do with the <i>charas</i> those hippies are smoking, but I can't be certain. It is the Goa of Old and that's what makes it an attractive place to stay. Chapora has not grown up with the rest of Goa. Everywhere else in Goa is full of tourists, Chapora has only a light sprinkling - and most of them are long-stayers. Chapora is still decidedly cheap, whereas the rest of Goa has hiked its prices up to milk the package tourists. I like Chapora. It's just what I was looking for, an almost untainted Goa, a lack of other tourists.<br />
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There's nothing to do in Chapora, nothing pressing at least. And I can't help but like that about it. I can spend a full day sipping chai and reading a book and not have to worry that I'm being slack because there's nothing else to do. I think I might just get stuck here for a while...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNvetNxryS0Mw_ECUNKl2L-1B5j8-WsvHJUecU97RCeE_wJyklH_xlDSxz84PykA5oVESX8mzNIECfMYFZS41Bhecl9E2xjBgolkvY1lTy1llJ-Be2acAJgrmyHRWrfPyu8_aKZt12wNr/s1600/DSCF3004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNvetNxryS0Mw_ECUNKl2L-1B5j8-WsvHJUecU97RCeE_wJyklH_xlDSxz84PykA5oVESX8mzNIECfMYFZS41Bhecl9E2xjBgolkvY1lTy1llJ-Be2acAJgrmyHRWrfPyu8_aKZt12wNr/s320/DSCF3004.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A short walk from Chapora - Vagator beach</td></tr>
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</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-53450681208726994742011-11-22T12:22:00.001+02:002011-11-22T13:54:55.944+02:00On Indians<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Spending every day on a beach for a week is fantastic, but doing so means there's precious little to share with you, the readers of my blog. I thought I'd take a different angle with this post and attempt to describe the Indian people. This may make no sense whatsoever, but if it does it would be a fitting description of Indian people as a whole.<br />
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I'll start off by saying that to group all Indians together and try to describe them as a single people (which is my plan) is a ridiculous notion. The people are different everywhere you go, sometimes only marginally, other times drastically.<br />
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Indians never cease to amaze and amuse me and occasionally shock me into silence. I am constantly amazed by the warmth that the people of this fine country exhibit. Everywhere I go I encounter people smiling broadly and laughing loudly. The happiness is contagious and I've often had to stop my self grinning like a maniac while walking down a busy street, garnering funny looks from the laughing locals. Laughs, smiles and jokes are a way of life in India, and yet I'm always left wondering - why?<br />
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India's economy is booming, and that is a gross understatement. The new wealth in India is remarkable, staggering even. India is going places, fast. New money is everywhere, it is flaunted and put on display, mostly garishly. It's not enough just to be wealthy, one's wealth must be flaunted at every possible occasion. There is this crazy urge to be seen to be wealthy.. A crazy urge which seems to be killing the smiles and laughs and jokes. Yes, the smiles are still there, ditto the laughs, but they're different - hollow. In public, the wealthy laugh too loudly and speak too loudly. Trying, it seems, to draw attention to themselves, to show a carefree side which probably no longer exists. <br />
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It seems to me that the happiest Indians are those who don't have all that pressure of wealth placed upon their shoulders. The rickshaw-wallahs, dabba-wallahs and chai-wallahs. The people who are still surprised to see foreigners and are eager to have their pictures taken with them. The laughs from them seem genuine, the smiles truly happy. These are the people of the India of old, before the craziness of the dash for riches permeated their society. These are the people I love to meet. Those who have so little always seem to have the most to give.<br />
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I'll deviate now to something which I find very peculiar - the India-Pakistan relationship. Leaving aside all the history between these two nations I'd like to discuss a strange reaction I got when I asked an Indian man about his thoughts on the relationship. A little background though - this man is from Pune (a city about an hour from Mumbai, fairly large and progressive), he grew up in Mumbai in a fairly well-off family and after school set about making himself a lot of money. He is not incredibly rich, like some Indians, but he is rich enough to want to be seen to be rich. His brother-in-law is a high-ranking army officer.<br />
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When I asked him about what he thought about Pakistan this was his exact response:<br />
"I'm telling you, If I ever meet a Pakistani... or a Bangladeshi... I will slap him in the face!"<br />
I was shocked! Such raw hatred for an entire country of people. I wanted to know why. I asked him...<br />
"I know it's the 20 which give the other 80 a bad name, but I don't care, if I ever see a Pakistani I will slap him in the face!"<br />
More shock! The 20 which give the other 80 a bad name. Here he was, happily admitting that the whole of Pakistan is not to blame for the animosity between these two countries, but that wouldn't stop him from physically assaulting a Pakistani person unlucky enough to come across him. I find the mutual hatred these countries have for each other astounding. Hatred for each other is ingrained in the societies to the extent that even a man from progressive Mumbai would happily attack his counterpart from Islamabad. This is not the way the world should work.<br />
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That conversation made a huge impact on me. It took me completely by surprise. I was suddenly left questioning if everyone felt this way. Could a people so outwardly happy harbour such hatred for other people? Even my favourite Indianisms lost there flavour for a while.<br />
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The flavour quickly returned, though. But you're probably wondering what the hell an Indianism is. It's an Oliver Goosen invention, that's what it is. India is full of Indianisms. They are, by definition, very funny and distinctly Indian. An example of an Indianism would be talking to someone about cricket and the topic of Sachin Tendulkar pops up (as it inevitably does), "He is the <u><i>maximum</i></u> best batsmen in the world, <i><u>my god</u></i>!"<br />
Say that with a pseudo-Indian accent and place emphasis on the underlined words and you'll see what I'm getting at. Indianisms are everywhere, in the way Indians speak, advertise and joke especially. Indiansims stem from the almost childlike way that Indians speak. I don't mean that in a condescending way at all, I just think it's oddly charming. When you've sat next to someone who describes a cricket shot as 'ultra-powerful, hyper-goodlooking' you'll know what I mean.<br />
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Indianisms are best experienced so I'll share with you a few of my favourites.<br />
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On the side of a road I spotted a cement factory. The building proudly displayed a sign which read: "Cement produced with robot technology!"<br />
I was astounded! Here, in a random location in India, robots where making the cement for new buildings. What sheer brilliance, what incredible ingenuity!<br />
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I spotted another fantastic Indianism in a bus earlier today. Innocuously hidden just below a <i>No Smoking</i> sign were the words: 'NO SPITING!' I was lucky I spotted that because I had a spiteful comment lined up for the guy next to me who kept extending his seat space by stealing mine. But seeing as spitting wasn't prohibited I decide to mark out my territory with my saliva...<br />
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My all-time favourite Indianism comes from quite a large brand of... something... I'm not even sure what they're selling, but their name is one for the records. They trade under the fantastic title of <i>Bumchums</i>, and they advertise everywhere! I get some strange looks from locals every time I come across one of their signs. They all look at me and I can see them thinking, "What the fuck is that guy laughing about?"</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-37178444419360464102011-11-16T12:36:00.001+02:002011-11-16T13:45:15.369+02:00Sossegado<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Writing this blog post is going to be hard work. Not because writing blogs is particularly hard, but because my fingers, and perhaps the rest of my body, have gone into a semi-comatose state brought about by the Goan beaches.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Palolem is a beach</td></tr>
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My long train trip is over. All 38 hours of it. The train spat me out in the city of Margao in the south of Goa and I promptly caught a bus further south, to Palolem. Palolem is a beach town. It is is a beautiful beach town. It is, in fact, more of a beach than a town. The beach is, in essence, the town. Palolem is a beach. There are huts on the beach with people in them. And bars on the beach with other people in them. There are palm trees around the beach and a flat sea just off the beach. The beach is crescent-shaped, which is apparently a good shape for a beach to be. It is hot. It is sunny. There is a certain <i>sossegado</i> to life on this beach.<br />
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<i>Sossegado</i> is a distinctly Goan word. It translates, rather crudely, to <i>laid-backness. </i>It is undeniably the best word to describe life in a Goan beachside town. Life is just laid-back. There's not much to do but lie in the sun (or the shade, if you're a pasty individual like me who doesn't want to look like a burnt tomato at the end of the day) and read. And then spend some time in the balmy water. Because there's not much to do apart from be a lazy lout and enjoy yourself, there's not much to write about to interest other people in an obscure, traveler's blog post. Which is the reason I'm citing for not having written anything, up to now. I assure you it has everything to do with me being too lazy to remove myself from the beach and type something up.<br />
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Three paragraphs in and I've managed to say nothing at all. This is a pretty good sign. It looks like I'll be able to pass off my laziness by obscuring it in florid descriptions of beaches and palm trees.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my Palolem beach hut - swanky, right?</td></tr>
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One remarkable thing about accommodation in Palolem is the accommodation itself. Almost all of the accommodation is of the tiny, beach hut variety, just off the beach, amongst the palm trees. These little huts are fantastic! They are assembled at the beginning of each tourist season, just after the monsoon, and disassembled at the end of each season, before the monsoon's return. Huts are pokey, with little more than a bed and a mosquito net (and a tiny bathroom, if you're lucky) which is exactly why I love them. Waking up in a rickety little hut and stumbling out on to a beach is a brilliant way to start a day. If you haven't experienced this, you'll have to take my word for it. Another brilliant feature of these little huts is the maze of sandy, shady alleyways that get formed between them. A walk along these narrow paths is a good way to step away from the countless European tourists in Speedos who inhabit the beach. Speedo's should be considered a crime against humanity.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wake up to this...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8vQIsTsgEbI7LA7lzcYE1-O4tAjR2VKD4IP47KuaIyc7JOm_UsAJeqTQ255zZwItCVDt-mQ71m0GvAKmi5YLoKnHsWxYaAecQsa4xUV7xeWb9CnNzkIy6KUo_JWBXPOLpvWrnqh4W4wO/s1600/DSCF2844.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8vQIsTsgEbI7LA7lzcYE1-O4tAjR2VKD4IP47KuaIyc7JOm_UsAJeqTQ255zZwItCVDt-mQ71m0GvAKmi5YLoKnHsWxYaAecQsa4xUV7xeWb9CnNzkIy6KUo_JWBXPOLpvWrnqh4W4wO/s320/DSCF2844.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patnem, a semi-Speedo-free zone</td></tr>
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A little way south of Palolem is another beach, Patnem. Patnem is also a crescent-shaped beach, but with the added advantage of having fewer Speedo-toting Europeans around. It's a lot less busy and is therefore a good way of escaping the tourist hordes. I spent some time there today, and I plan on spending some more time there tomorrow, and the next day. Anything to save my eyes from that horrible excuse for a swimming costume. And the people who seem to think it's a very attractive swimming costume. These people are almost always fat, roasted men in their late fifties from the south of France.<br />
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With the conclusion of my rant on the heinous crime that is wearing a Speedo in public, or even in private for that matter, I think I'll conclude this pointless update of my blog. You are now aware of my laziness. My confirmation of it is firmly in writing. It's starting to approach evening time over here, the sun is well over the yardarm. I'm going to be heading back to the beach soon to enjoy a cold beer and a spicy, prawn vindaloo.<br />
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Oh God, those vindaloos... The mouth-watering explosion of flavour that is the Goan specialty dish. The spices, the fresh seafood which practically swam on to the plate, the zing of chilli... The sudden reverie that merely typing the word 'vindaloo' induces...<br />
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I'm off... I think I'll have an early supper.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRflqKfr4VLRYz8AFHG3o6i_2nlaFvkEhj65VhWR-_UPqUwMVmsAPk0Pm0K2IPMqXdix8ljR6lk0l1B9Z9FCTx16on74nnsfRW7njiylvtOYxM6ACchFn9HyJY8WO239S7p_Rut9vJ9VjU/s1600/DSCF2848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRflqKfr4VLRYz8AFHG3o6i_2nlaFvkEhj65VhWR-_UPqUwMVmsAPk0Pm0K2IPMqXdix8ljR6lk0l1B9Z9FCTx16on74nnsfRW7njiylvtOYxM6ACchFn9HyJY8WO239S7p_Rut9vJ9VjU/s320/DSCF2848.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A snapshot of the rocky Colomb bay</td></tr>
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<br /></div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-19840814310544419152011-11-06T15:43:00.000+02:002011-11-06T15:44:17.954+02:00Only in India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A few recent events have led me to give this post that title. And it's theme. I'm going to dedicate this post to things you'll probably only encounter in India.<br />
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Since day one I've witnessed events that, in other countries, would be considered strange at the very least. Although I'm sure that many of these events do happen elsewhere, just out of the view of everyone else. I'll start off small...<br />
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One thing you're likely only to witness in India is someone else's morning ablutions... outside... in the gutter... of a busy street. Yes, sadly I've had to witness this. And when I say witness, I mean I was there when it happened. I didn't walk by later and see the evidence. It's pretty rough, and it's made even more rough by the fact that nobody else seems to notice. People seem blissfully unaware as to what is happening just a few feet away. I put this down to the fact that there are almost no public toilets to speak of in India. For example, in Mumbai (a city with a population of nearly 17 million people) there are only about 300 public toilet facilities.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGqyddl5m-NC70aRNL97nLIWXPA__nmwNnVSqD-6UuCDi0krjpvvcKdJ-4gSz25tuzkWBthBk3FlcXsr4vpIMcLkvYkRYt0X2kSrRGcjb3nxXVEhNKHTehFidv03c1c-kW8LdoT0-TckN/s1600/DSCF2736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGqyddl5m-NC70aRNL97nLIWXPA__nmwNnVSqD-6UuCDi0krjpvvcKdJ-4gSz25tuzkWBthBk3FlcXsr4vpIMcLkvYkRYt0X2kSrRGcjb3nxXVEhNKHTehFidv03c1c-kW8LdoT0-TckN/s320/DSCF2736.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Varanasi and the Ganges</td></tr>
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Moving on. Varanasi is a very holy city for Hindus. Dying in Varanasi allows a believer to be freed from the eternal cycle of death and rebirth. It comes as no surprise, then, that Varanasi is a very auspicious place to die and death is very much a part of life (uhh...) in Varanasi. After a long overnight train trip I arrived in Varanasi and made my way through a warren of little alleys to the guest house at which I'd be staying. On my way I heard chanting coming from behind me. I turned around and saw a body being carried down to the burning ghat for cremation, wrapped in a white cloth, head bobbing as it was whisked off to the pyres. Only in India.<br />
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Staying on the topic of dead people - a boat trip on the Ganges... While most people who die in Varanasi get a flaming send-off, others are not so lucky. Young girls, pregnant women and lepers don't get burnt at the funeral pyres. I'm not sure why although a guy did mention it had something to do with the young girls and foetuses being innocent. I'm not sure about the lepers though. Anyway, those who don't get burnt have a somewhat different send-off. They get wrapped up in a white cloth, tied to a huge boulder and dropped in the deepest part of the Ganges. Nice. The ropes they use to tie the bodies to the boulders are notoriously weak and it's not uncommon to see a body floating down the Ganges. Which brings me to my boat trip. You can't visit Varanasi and get away without taking a paddle up and down the Ganges, and perhaps watching a puja along the way. I went on a cruise of the Ganges and guess what bobbed past...<br />
Yes, you guessed it - a body. Wrapped in a white cloth and looking decidedly displeased about being released by it's boulder. But it had to make an appearance on Halloween, right?<br />
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This last one could happen anywhere, and probably does. But the fact that it happened in India, while I was watching, afforded me the opportunity to shake my head in disbelief and say, "Only in India."<br />
I was sitting in the exact spot I'm sitting now, in an Internet Cafe. The lights started flickering and I wondered what might be causing them to do so. A flash of light outside caught my attention as the lights flickered inside. I looked outside, and saw...<br />
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Quite typically of an overhead electricity cable, it was exploding as the current passed through it. The cable crackled and lit up with a bright, white light as it cascaded sparks into a nearby tree. You'd think an event such as this would draw a crowd. Quite the opposite; rickshaws, motorbikes and pedestrians calmly passed by as the sparks showered down nearby. The only acknowledgement of the exploding, overhead cable was by the pedestrians who crossed to the other side of the road to avoid the sparks. Calm as you like.<br />
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Only in India...</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-64176432114243400622011-10-28T09:14:00.000+02:002011-10-28T09:21:42.368+02:00The Taj Mahal and Some Fireworks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I would, at the outset of this blog post, like to inform you that I am writing it after having got very little sleep the night before. This is largely due to the fact that I was on a train and the person next to me snored at a decibel level that would shame a Boeing. I will add that (minus the snoring) the train was a fantastic experience and I'm looking forward to my next train trip - which is a long one!<br />
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Wednesday was Diwali, by the way, but I'll get to that a little later on. First on the agenda is this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8POUbS31Ds3YfAwYM5EsQS_aJAvxMh8XBXe2YwWosp2YQCl1R2tPQzL9NjYvRDLPARxLi0fKkJjgJY9dmpwz61s2wgYRkjs1uM9W6Is79UUmqViYCbqnKEaZ6Ru1mbppQLiSQDMWpjKIz/s1600/DSCF2703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8POUbS31Ds3YfAwYM5EsQS_aJAvxMh8XBXe2YwWosp2YQCl1R2tPQzL9NjYvRDLPARxLi0fKkJjgJY9dmpwz61s2wgYRkjs1uM9W6Is79UUmqViYCbqnKEaZ6Ru1mbppQLiSQDMWpjKIz/s320/DSCF2703.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Taj Mahal is, simply put, the most beautiful building I have ever seen. It is seemingly perfect in every way. It stands on a raised platform so that it's only backdrop is the sky. The four minarets lean ever so slightly outwards so that one's gaze is drawn to the Taj. The white marble reflects the sun to give the whole building a slight glow. And it is big. It is very, very big yet somehow, I had expected it to be smaller. All the pictures of the Taj make it appear smaller than it is, but as you approach it you can't help but be blown away by the enormity of it. It's as if the Taj is trying to sneak up on you and then jump out at you while shouting, "Surprise!"</div>
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There is an interesting optical illusion as you enter the Taj complex. As you walk into the gateway the Taj appears to be magnified, but upon exiting the gate the Taj seems to recede. The effect is that you get overawed by the building twice on you approach to it. See for yourself:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entering the Taj grounds through the main gate</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Taj grounds, at the reflection pool</td></tr>
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I thought this optical illusion was a fantastic piece of architecture and design and I had to share it with you.</div>
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Did I mention something about fireworks? Oh, yes - Diwali!</div>
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Diwali is something special. It is the craziest, loudest and brightest (and possibly the most dangerous) festival I have ever attended. And by attended I mean observed from a safe distance. Diwali in India is both easy and difficult to describe. It is easy to say that firecrackers and fireworks were set off the whole night, but it is not easy to convey that that means by everyone and everywhere. I sat for hours on a rooftop watching the festivities. There was a constant stream of fireworks being shot into the sky from all around. And firecrackers exploded everywhere, creating a rhythm for the night.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYhhVj688qIdwavdX7XMuOZ0yzLGP8aIpBsaZpXjZ_vwhTq4z6sy5BfQgGvJe7Bcd8MNwCRiP3QtG2iQzCnwnADYIsEafAFAoFuc2xtVgE9hsQFQJN1WxBxdftqNsx2rhsRQLIV_FUYv4/s1600/DSCF2721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYhhVj688qIdwavdX7XMuOZ0yzLGP8aIpBsaZpXjZ_vwhTq4z6sy5BfQgGvJe7Bcd8MNwCRiP3QtG2iQzCnwnADYIsEafAFAoFuc2xtVgE9hsQFQJN1WxBxdftqNsx2rhsRQLIV_FUYv4/s320/DSCF2721.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was only a few metres way from my perch</td></tr>
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The thought of venturing on to the streets didn't cross my mind once, though. This is because the streets didn't look like a safe place to be at all. I watched fireworks being placed and lit and then people on motorbikes casually driving past as they shot into the air. I watched as fireworks were shot into the air nearby and exploded merely 10 metres above the rooftop I was sitting on.</div>
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Diwali is not safe, but it is a blast! I'm so glad I got to experience the festival of light in the country that loves it the most. It was a whirl of light, noise and sound and a fantastic shock to the senses. It was the perfect way to end a day that included a trip to the Taj Mahal.</div>
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I'll write more about my train journey and Varanasi in my next blog. Spoiler alert: I wasn't in Varanasi for more than 10 minutes before I saw a body being carried to the Ganges for burning on a funeral pyre.</div>
</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-83807254571396492332011-10-24T11:44:00.000+02:002011-10-28T09:17:39.567+02:00Towns in the Desert<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Bikaner is a town much like every other town in Rajasthan. It is hot, dry, sandy, and it has a fort. It is also a town much like ever other Indian town - noisy, grubby and occasionally smelly. Unfortunately for Bikaner, it's pretty much bog-standard as towns go. Not even the fort leaps out at you and exclaims its presence. That said, I had a really relaxed couple of days in Bikaner. The heat means that any form of exertion is probably folly, so you're best off finding a nice, shady spot and reading a book. Which is exactly what I did.</div>
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I did visit the Junagarh fort on my second day in Bikaner, but that only took 2 hours out of my lazy day of book-reading and snoozing in the shade. The fort was, surprisingly, not built on a hill which means it's the only fort not on a hilltop in Rajasthan. Meandering around the fort, through the opulent rooms with impressive views of Bikaner was a welcome alternative to reading my book, which I had whittled down to the last few pages. Sight-seeing always seems like the thing a tourist must do at all times, but I find that reading a book in an interesting place can be just as rewarding as bumbling around the said interesting place with a guide book in hand and a lost expression on the face.</div>
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I left Bikaner with no pages left to read in my book and the hope that Pushkar would be a more interesting place around which to aimlessly wander. Pushkar, as it turns out, is fantastic for the aimless wanderer. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself.</div>
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Before I got to Pushkar, Kaushik took me past the Rat Temple in Deshnok. As the name suggests, rats are worshiped at this temple. As the name further suggests, there are thousands of 'holy' rats which live in the temple and are fed in the temple. It's quite a strange experience walking through a temple and watching thousands of rats scurry around between (and sometimes on) the feet of the temple-goers.</div>
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Pushkar is a very holy place to most Indians, perhaps the holiest of all places in India. It is believed that at this place Brahma dropped a lotus flower to earth from which the lake in the center of town sprung. Brahma was apparently conducting a ceremony here and his wife, Savitri, hadn't pitched yet. To spite his wife for not pitching Brahma married some other bird right there and then. Savitri thought that was about as good a time as any to rock up and when she arrived she saw Brahma had married some random lady. She was pissed off at Brahma and vowed he would be worshiped at not other place than Pushkar. Brahma was pissed off that she was pissed off about him marrying some other woman and he vowed she would not be worshiped in the town itself and would have to be worshiped outside of the town. So Brahma ended up with a temple in the town center and Savitri got a spot on a hilltop nearby. A priest told me this story, although he used slightly different language to tell it.</div>
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The Brahma temple is one of only a handful in the world and so a visit was definitely on the cards. I did visit the temple, but found that it was somewhat like every other temple I've ever visited. To an atheist all temples seem the same after a while. The walk around Pushkar was a much better experience though. I walked all the way around the lake, along small streets lined with shops selling garments, incense, spices and local treats. Crowds of people drifted to and from the lake, coming or going from their holy baths. Pushkar, as it turns out, is a fantastic place around which to wander aimlessly, and i'm a huge fan of aimless wandering.</div>
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I'm staying an extra day in Pushkar because I've been invited to a birthday party. Alcohol is not allowed in Pushkar as it is such a holy place, but I believe we'll be blaspheming tonight as I've been told there'll be whisky for everyone...</div>
</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-16439300752380289732011-10-19T13:12:00.000+02:002011-10-24T10:26:43.431+02:00On Forts, Food and Fitting In<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ancient forts are the hot topic when it comes to touring Rajasthan. If you're not in a town with a fort or a grand palace then you're not doing the whole tourist thing properly. But if you happen to see a fort somewhere in the town and if that fort is on top of a hill, you've hit the big-time.<br />
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The three cities I've visited in Rajasthan so far have each sported some kind of massive structure straddling a hilltop. In Udaipur there was the City Palace, in Jodhpur - the 16th century giant fort, Mehrangarh; and in Jaisalmer - the 12th century Jaisalmer Kila.</div>
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I've already mentioned Udaipur's City Palace so I'll be moving on to Mehrangarh... Mehrangarh is sold to tourists as Rajasthan's greatest fort and it is definitely deserving of the title. It is a massive structure which dominates Jodhpur's skyline. Its enormity and its position on the hilltop have ensured that in its five hundred years of existence it has not once been breached by an attacking army. And it's easy to see why...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsGy_gEYgnF5lN1Vsc6oQ0Qpm0n69qau9D6ZB-khAb_gXbJdAjmgDvN-krZROi6rTSUvOTLlJH-5zCLOFOpHc3xJDOkPnhcBj3jfND-U7XsdZ1WBZJmGk7W4uUELZbsNGLut_-T-0e-wp/s1600/DSCF2497.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsGy_gEYgnF5lN1Vsc6oQ0Qpm0n69qau9D6ZB-khAb_gXbJdAjmgDvN-krZROi6rTSUvOTLlJH-5zCLOFOpHc3xJDOkPnhcBj3jfND-U7XsdZ1WBZJmGk7W4uUELZbsNGLut_-T-0e-wp/s320/DSCF2497.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mehrangarh</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUhSZOJbR3iybGCe2iAUETXl-X67E9bs4-J5jeDDTmBLvQakjW_wM_D-FadJGd1L-S0EFUZmoemrEU1XSmkHLFYen_GlXAIRjEe7wqjLI-0A7Md3VU8hkZ1nordduKCRXpRu3MRs4VxnD/s1600/DSCF2499.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUhSZOJbR3iybGCe2iAUETXl-X67E9bs4-J5jeDDTmBLvQakjW_wM_D-FadJGd1L-S0EFUZmoemrEU1XSmkHLFYen_GlXAIRjEe7wqjLI-0A7Md3VU8hkZ1nordduKCRXpRu3MRs4VxnD/s320/DSCF2499.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jaisalmer Fort is somewhat less overbearing than Mehrangarh and still forms part of the town of Jaisalmer. People still live within the walls of the fort and it is a bustling hub of activity with markets and temples at its core. As you've probably guessed, Jaisalmer Fort is on a hilltop overlooking Jaisalmer. Its walls are made up of 99 sandstone bastions which are, apparently, slowly collapsing. The fort was built on fairly weak foundations and the daily activities of its inhabitants are slowly eroding the foundations even further. This is largely due to the large quantities of water that get poured into the streets from haveli windows and doorsteps.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpBhUSLlyClcYQ7SmABJHWQqnaDCvXOQR93Kgaal2RQ4pC_oq5opNZ6n_dPofNniR7_GeEJTVc6EsrYYvSwi8huhO7eBU_EY8jpHbC7-zYcYcNnp44JsxWIpXnoiN7C-HrDy_NaawpetJ/s1600/DSCF2546.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpBhUSLlyClcYQ7SmABJHWQqnaDCvXOQR93Kgaal2RQ4pC_oq5opNZ6n_dPofNniR7_GeEJTVc6EsrYYvSwi8huhO7eBU_EY8jpHbC7-zYcYcNnp44JsxWIpXnoiN7C-HrDy_NaawpetJ/s320/DSCF2546.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the best picture of Jaisalmer fort, but<br />
you can see a bastion...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, now that I've mentioned the forts it's time to get on to the next item on the agenda - food. I love food. Especially curry. India is the best place in the world to have a culinary epiphany. I've been here for 6 days now and I've only eaten one meal more than once - chicken masala. Every day, I eat something entirely different to what I ate the day before. I've eaten dhals, paneers, rotis, chapatis, naans, tikkas and masalas. It's fair to say I love spicy food. And spice in general (Masala chai is a great way to start the day).<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The options on the menus seem endless and there is such variety to the food that I'm constantly astounded that it's all considered one cuisine.</div>
<div>
Nothing beats the experience of having an Indian meal. Ordering a curry and tucking into it with that trusty butter naan as your only eating utensil. There's something remarkably gratifying about eating a curry with only your fingers and half-risen bread. If I ever manage to get fat, it'll be because of these bloody delicious curries.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And finally, fitting in. I chose the words 'fitting in' simply because it made the title of my blog sound much more pleasing to the ear. I have as much chance of fitting in to Indian society as a radish has of becoming Australia's next Masterchef. My plan for managing the system in India is to completely immerse myself in it. It is impossible to fight against the current in this country so the only course of action is to flow with it. As such, I'm learning Hindi from Kaushik and have occasionally caught myself doing the Indian head-wobble. I don't think I'll ever be truly fluent in Hindi, but at the moment I know enough to greet people, ask how they are, answer them if they ask me, and order beer/food at a restaurant. Just enough to get by.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Namaste</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oliver </div>
</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-17078249699230266892011-10-16T16:05:00.000+02:002011-10-24T10:25:25.536+02:00A Change of Plans<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Those of you who knew I as traveling to India probably had a rough idea of where I intended to go. As I told you, I planned on arriving in Mumbai and heading south to Goa, Karnataka and Kerala. I feel it's necessary to update you about my 'slight' change of plans with regards to direction.<br />
<br />
When I arrived in Mumbai I set about finding out the best way to get to Goa. In my search for clarity I ended up being informed that now is a terrible time to go to Goa, you silly tourist, you... Monsoon has just ended and the tides are all funky. This basically translates to: "If you're going for the beaches you'll be surprised to find that there aren't any."<br />
<br />
After a quick rethink with the help of a friendly guy who asked to be referred to as Ali (after Ali G) I changed my plans and booked tickets to go north. I arranged to meet a driver who would take me on a whirlwind tour of Rajasthan before depositing me in Agra to catch a train to Varanasi, but more on that later.<br />
<br />
As you can imagine I was quite nervous about booking this whole trip, but I put my faith in Ali and went ahead with it anyway. Yesterday afternoon I caught a taxi to the bus station, ready to jump on the bus to Udaipur, only to be told the bus had been cancelled. Oh fuck!<br />
Not to worry, Ali rescued the situation. He pointed me towards a bus and said that that bus would be going to Udaipur, but I couldn't stay on it the whole way. He told me ride the bus as far as Boribuli and then get off and wait for another bus which would be going to Udaipur. The darkest hours of my trip followed. I got off the bus at Boribuli and waited... and waited... and waited...<br />
<br />
I was stuck in a tiny travel office for nearly 3 hours waiting for a bus to take me to Udaipur. The bus kept getting delayed and I worried that I was going to be stuck in that damn travel office for the rest of my stay in India. For the first time ever, I harboured thoughts of going home - leaving it all behind and giving up. I arrived in India with such arrogance and I have been quickly humbled by this giant of a country. Travel here is not going to be easy.<br />
<br />
The bus arrived. My journey to Udaipur began in earnest. After 21 hours on the road, or on the side of it (hour-long breaks seemed to happen every hour or two) I arrived in Udaipur. I was greeted by the head-wobbling Kaushik, my driver for the next couple of weeks.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG8DBhIFqzuPOmXvm7Fq_DgOCTaTvGAJWHY17OdlDpVK-KqG3HwH7dABQwiVLR1kfHsl0uAHn__BZXLe6X5-pxbWRTQU7EodiODv8aqPT9w6C8644emVqFkA8OH1boqO4P80SsNSuO7qEy/s1600/DSCF2397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG8DBhIFqzuPOmXvm7Fq_DgOCTaTvGAJWHY17OdlDpVK-KqG3HwH7dABQwiVLR1kfHsl0uAHn__BZXLe6X5-pxbWRTQU7EodiODv8aqPT9w6C8644emVqFkA8OH1boqO4P80SsNSuO7qEy/s320/DSCF2397.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahhh... Curry...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After a long journey with very little food my stomach was not just grumbling, but shouting at me. I beat a track to the nearest curry joint and wolfed down a fantastic chicken masala with butter naan. The food here is fantastic - curries, biryanis, dhals - all exploding with flavour. It's a spice-lovers paradise. Hmmmm... food...<br />
<br />
It's a pity you don't see how long it takes to write these blog posts, because I was daydreaming about curries for a solid ten minutes just now.<br />
<br />
But I digress, after being picked up by Kaushik I headed to the City Palace; a stately building which was built over a few centuries by many different kings. The result is a strange amalgamation of rooms and nooks and crannies that all differ slightly from the room or nook or cranny adjacent to them. There are random staircases that first wind down then spiral up for no apparent reason. From the highest point, however, is a remarkable view over cramped and crowded Udaipur. Houses seem to lean on each other and jostle for space that isn't there. I'm detecting a trend with Indian cities... <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLv2UAVdTNT65OHqFSEeACDgFRzt8AK_kPROEnFWh1rYVA5QxCCWeZqIUhthCNEZapbcq9CzNk5Eli85kydyjTcAMtbRTeVsTWDVOFyYzctCndzC3htJQjlY-XdgsRSw_UPB6TqlGLBV5/s1600/DSCF2433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLv2UAVdTNT65OHqFSEeACDgFRzt8AK_kPROEnFWh1rYVA5QxCCWeZqIUhthCNEZapbcq9CzNk5Eli85kydyjTcAMtbRTeVsTWDVOFyYzctCndzC3htJQjlY-XdgsRSw_UPB6TqlGLBV5/s320/DSCF2433.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The City Palace - as viewed from a rooftop restaurant </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The palace was an intriguing structure, but not what I had wanted to see most of all. That honour was reserved for Ahar - a collection of 250 tombs of the old kings of the Rajput laid out on a wide field. I wasn't disappointed. The white tombs with their domed roofs are quite remarkable. Although nothing compared to the likes of Angkor Wat or Bayon they are still striking in their own way. In typical Indian fashion they are surrounded by litter and seemingly forgotten, but this suited me just fine as it gave me freedom to wander around them at a steady pace and just take them in. Hassle free. Just what I needed.<br />
<br />
On the way back to my hotel I stopped off at the Princess Garden which is thoroughly overrated, and an art school where local artists practice the fine Rajasthani painting so iconic of this region of India. That, too, was a bit of a letdown as none of the artists where actually painting anything at the time and it was clear that all they wanted me to do was buy as much of their art as I could carry.<br />
<br />
I just read through my blog, got stuck at the food part, and now... curry.</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-53558152975680335632011-10-14T10:36:00.000+02:002011-10-24T10:24:05.475+02:00A Message from Mumbai<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm back!<br />
<br />
The irony of that statement is that I'm actually not. Back - that is. In fact I'm now much further from any of you than I was in the past 2 months. But I'm back on the internet. Back to writing my blog. And now, you're back to reading it. We're all back. We're reverting to our old ways. Feels good doesn't it.<br />
<br />
The title of this blog post should help you ascertain my whereabouts in the world, but it won't help you understand the place. That's what the body of this post should do - hopefully. Let me begin by describing Mumbai (I'm in India - if you hadn't yet worked it out. Also, if you hadn't yet worked it out there's no hope for you...)<br />
<br />
Mumbai is a crazy city. The streets are filthy, strange pockets of strange smells waft through the air, cars and taxis buzz around the streets with hooters blaring. The lines between the rich and poor are blurred to the extent that they seem to be missing. Shacks surround high-rise hotels and banks, the railways and the airport. Decaying concrete buildings rise from the corners of streets adorned in drying clothes.<br />
Cramped. That is a good word to use when describing Mumbai. Everything is packed together so closely and tightly that nothing can break away and be separate. Nothing stands out and yet nothing needs to stand out. Mumbai overloads the senses enough without anything jumping out at you.<br />
<br />
It is an amazing place to be. A city full of smiling faces and crazy sights. A city with a loud, beating heart. The black-and-yellow taxis and rickshaws that buzz about on the streets are like the life-blood that pumps around the city. Mumbai is a huge organism that rarely sleeps, but it is undoubtedly alive! And with that word I think I have best described Mumbai. Alive. It need not be anything else, but alive.<br />
<br />
Now it is time for me to leave you for the time being. There happens to be a very big cricket match about to start and I plan on watching it in a local pub. India vs England - the first ODI of the series. Should be a cracker!<br />
<br />
Oliver<br />
<br />
P.S. There will be no dong jokes, the currency isn't that funny here.</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-56322034814064435852011-07-10T09:39:00.000+02:002011-07-10T09:48:48.275+02:00Saying GoodbyeDisclaimer: This isn't my last blog post.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>It's 14:07. The clock is ticking very slowly and I'm grateful. Time seems to be slowing to accommodate my desire to stay in this place longer. It's still ticking though. Time is running out.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I've come to that point that every journey comes to eventually. The end. I have no more nights here. No more days, no more new experiences to add to my collection. No more memories to be made. And how do I feel? I feel sad to be leaving and at the same time excited to be going home. I want to go, but I can't bring myself to bear the thought of leaving. I feel relieved. Relieved to be ending my journey on a high note, relieved to know it's gone off without a hitch.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I feel a sense of accomplishment, a sense of achievement. I've done what I came here to do and so much more. I've traveled, laughed, made friends, crashed a motorbike, partied and felt it the next morning. I've seen temples and natural wonders. I've met people who have fascinated me with their tales and people who have shared their hurt with me. I've drunk beer at local taverns, danced with locals and played football with them too. I've been scratched, bumped, bruised and grazed and walked away with a smile. I've found a place in which I belong.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I am at peace with leaving, at peace with going home, and for the first time in a very long time - at peace with myself.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I will be back. But until that day I will cherish the memories I've made. I'll savour every recollection and every thought of this wonderful corner of the earth.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Today I say goodbye to a place which has performed a massive land grab on my heart and I do so with a smile on my face. I can't help but smile in this place.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Adieu</div><div>Oliver<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><i>"Ille terrarum mihi praeter omnes angulus ridet" - Horace (This corner of the earth </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><i>smiles for me more than any other)</i></span></div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-48936500401392296642011-07-01T15:11:00.000+02:002011-07-01T15:11:28.446+02:00Recapping - Part 2The second and final part of my recap, dealing with Hoi An and Hue, is about to commence.<br />
<br />
Chris and I arrived in Hoi An with one goal in mind: to leave with suits. Awesome, tailor-made suits. We set about achieving this goal from the minute we arrived. We hussled over to a hotel with cheap rooms and dropped our bags off. We couldn't check in just yet as the room still needed to be cleaned so we headed out for some coffee. It's probably worth mentioning that it was 8AM when we arrived, not-so-fresh off a night bus from Nha Trang.<br />
<br />
After coffee we set about scouting for suits and trying to find the best deals. We visited 6 suit shops in total and priced a large range of suits and fabrics. Two suit shops caught our eye, they were Minh Nhi and Nhat Vy. Both would do a wool-cashmere suit of incredibly fine quality for $110. Minh Nhi had just the fabric I was looking for and Nhat Vy had the fabric Chris was after. We didn't want to settle on anything just yet as we felt we needed to weigh up our options objectively to get the bet possible suit at the best possible price.<br />
<br />
"To the Internet!" I cried.<br />
<br />
I wish I'd said that, but that's exactly what we did. We hit the internet at our hotel and checked out the reputations of the places we had visited. Good reviews were scrutinised to make sure it wasn't a fake post by the tailor and bad reviews were equally scrutinised. No reviews meant no rep. We discussed our options and agreed that it would be best to go to the two standouts: Minh Nhi and Nhat Vy. But before we could get cracking we needed to wash the night bus off our bodies.<br />
<br />
"To the Showers!" I cried.<br />
<br />
And to the showers we went...<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1lRp7GLhl6PiFFImS0GpJLTNi6Ek75x3aC30oor6wzg8JkJ3MBxJw-hY6yN1RfGK6PA9MLrsiN9tgp2V4QNGMIfHMfIq6YAnN5zbj-1VMo1GJKDOB0KVjgDawkWiUNEQSYf6TWx8y6_C/s1600/DSCF2130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1lRp7GLhl6PiFFImS0GpJLTNi6Ek75x3aC30oor6wzg8JkJ3MBxJw-hY6yN1RfGK6PA9MLrsiN9tgp2V4QNGMIfHMfIq6YAnN5zbj-1VMo1GJKDOB0KVjgDawkWiUNEQSYf6TWx8y6_C/s320/DSCF2130.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting sized for my suit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After a thorough scrub and a bit of a rest we headed back to Minh Nhi so I could get sized for a suit. Getting a suit tailor made is a novel experience and probably one I won't experience again for a bloody long time. I sat down and specified the fabric I wanted, the colour of the silk lining, the colour of the piping, the style, the fit, the type of lapel, the number of buttons, the ride of the pants and the slant and style of the pockets amopng other things. I asked for a dragon to be embroidered on the lining of the suit. I had done a lot of research into the style of suits and what best to wear and how best to wear it before going suit shopping. It's best to be prepared and know exactly what you want. I was told to return the next morning for the first fitting, roughly 18 hours later.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghCe5TVE7SvS_cOTEp2Sge25eCT587dxx_psLcD3Xkx8Qs0OCuGkkwMM96PAEBeflmtHdq6xvs5FcAMh1H2euohJdgkjxpQVeQYwgQCKg5eeC2G_jBHMZxvgF4CwnVbe1kfvhHMNGH8itJ/s1600/DSCF2133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghCe5TVE7SvS_cOTEp2Sge25eCT587dxx_psLcD3Xkx8Qs0OCuGkkwMM96PAEBeflmtHdq6xvs5FcAMh1H2euohJdgkjxpQVeQYwgQCKg5eeC2G_jBHMZxvgF4CwnVbe1kfvhHMNGH8itJ/s320/DSCF2133.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris pulled this face just before being sized. Priceless</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After the rush of being sized for a suit I took a back seat as Chris got sized at Nhat Vy. He went through the same process, being ultra-specific to ensure he got the suit he wanted. After being sized he was told to return the following day, just as I was. It amazes me to think that the tailors are able to produce a perfect suit in just over 24 hours.<br />
<br />
We were excited about the prospect of getting our suits, but worried that they might not turn out as well as we had hoped. We decided the best thing to do was to have some bia hoi and stop worrying. At 3000 dong a glass (R1), one can hardly go wrong. We sat and sipped our beer and chatted about how our suits were going to turn out. After a couple of glasses we went on a stroll through the streets of the old town, found a place to have some coffee and sampled the Banh My. In the evening we headed down to the river to see the streets and river illuminated in yellow light from thousands of lanterns. Hoi An is a beautiful town.<br />
<br />
The next day was D-Day. My first fitting was at 11AM and Chris's at 12. We didn't want to arrive early and be disappointed that they weren't there so we decided to arrive later instead. We took another leisurely stroll after breakfast and once again settled down for some coffee. We are complete addicts, if you hadn't already noticed.<br />
<br />
<br />
At 11:15 we arrived at Minh Nhi and I tried on my suit for the first time. It was fantastic and fitted perfectly. There were a few touch-ups that needed to be made, but nothing major. The suit was better than I had hoped and all my fears were put to rest. I now knew what my suit looked like and I was very happy with the result.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiCNNYwiajXGipfyVDV5y68GMj72sOzSFWHJQXkcnQp3I8lQbFkFKvQEVtf6YseLXu6tWl6UZJ9cbOX6JXTacUVKno6C8gO82VNbdeKmxhvwPGH3mBpWA3LsLAT4GyCUst_Y81jUsAQDt/s1600/DSCF2146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiCNNYwiajXGipfyVDV5y68GMj72sOzSFWHJQXkcnQp3I8lQbFkFKvQEVtf6YseLXu6tWl6UZJ9cbOX6JXTacUVKno6C8gO82VNbdeKmxhvwPGH3mBpWA3LsLAT4GyCUst_Y81jUsAQDt/s320/DSCF2146.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first fitting was incredible!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqgwMhJh9_7GM5uiYpA8vhZWy9dCkxOgnEs0-sXopKzJSURbIQ7Kr9IjQ-Iqm1NL9EKop6GYlC0eHjp2OnXF5CZBWNz3iKb_LaSwolFY1fmLSOy6fD6TKpd9uwhb3tHV89sN3zLmUHNqP/s1600/DSCF2150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqgwMhJh9_7GM5uiYpA8vhZWy9dCkxOgnEs0-sXopKzJSURbIQ7Kr9IjQ-Iqm1NL9EKop6GYlC0eHjp2OnXF5CZBWNz3iKb_LaSwolFY1fmLSOy6fD6TKpd9uwhb3tHV89sN3zLmUHNqP/s320/DSCF2150.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's the dragon!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Chris had a slight disappointment with his suit. Nhat Vy hadn't had enough of the fabric he wanted to make a suit, but they had a fabric which was almost identical. They had cut the fabric and got the suit ready to be made, but were waiting for the go-ahead from Chris. After checking the fabric with his desired lining, Chris said he was happy with it and they could go ahead and make his suit. Four hours later he tried it on and it was a perfect fit. Barely any tough-ups needed to be made and Chris was told he could collect it in the next couple of hours.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS6-xgZkB3rYcjdgUN4jYOZS8Mc1R-338nNcEiYPWm1H8AWaXknFPt5Wq3eV2brMeAPIe1BP-NlwTEouJyvfTHs1jIi22LTADoLFM1sNAUve6M1OgGlbBsWyzDXLPC6XGuJqxks9Vf6zMZ/s1600/DSCF2159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS6-xgZkB3rYcjdgUN4jYOZS8Mc1R-338nNcEiYPWm1H8AWaXknFPt5Wq3eV2brMeAPIe1BP-NlwTEouJyvfTHs1jIi22LTADoLFM1sNAUve6M1OgGlbBsWyzDXLPC6XGuJqxks9Vf6zMZ/s320/DSCF2159.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris's purple pinstripe suit...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-7YD5N__UD1FojT_5oZek4c0dt5KjwCU0jC-1y_DwFHb5BSeEzghjcYdnlj33Z7zowqR0AdcjHanOhkBNtBSph8B8AtFuWXr3ShFz5tbdZAvrVIbDDY1Paj2bzluixA3rt6LaEHws7lj/s1600/DSCF2161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-7YD5N__UD1FojT_5oZek4c0dt5KjwCU0jC-1y_DwFHb5BSeEzghjcYdnlj33Z7zowqR0AdcjHanOhkBNtBSph8B8AtFuWXr3ShFz5tbdZAvrVIbDDY1Paj2bzluixA3rt6LaEHws7lj/s320/DSCF2161.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With a purple lining!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Collecting our suits was a simple affair. We arrived at our respective shops and tried the suit on once more. Checked that all the touch-ups had been made then payed up. We both walked away with huge smiles on our faces. We'd achieved our goal for Hoi An!<br />
<br />
But a trip to Hoi An wouldn't be complete without a trip to My Son, the ancient Cham temples. Seeing as Chris wouldn't be seeing Angkor Wat it was only fitting that he take in some of the ancient history on offer in Southeast Asia. The day after we collected our suits we headed to the ancient temples. Chris was like a little child at the temples and couldn't help pointing out all the phallic symbols. I was, of course, a lot more mature about the whole thing. Needless to say, the dong jokes were flying.<br />
<br />
The ancient cultures sure love their wangs...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Zi3OCjHxMv_erqWmE60banQwkdGePcFYmhj9i9H6-4syhmTkzy5TN__S9lM71bfB0wenhyCrTBcMaHE4L_LKjMwCVbJlk3QntKKkRRPueXYDQOOrdjr5zPcCP9j3lkQA-fBs2yvJJjUP/s1600/DSCF2200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Zi3OCjHxMv_erqWmE60banQwkdGePcFYmhj9i9H6-4syhmTkzy5TN__S9lM71bfB0wenhyCrTBcMaHE4L_LKjMwCVbJlk3QntKKkRRPueXYDQOOrdjr5zPcCP9j3lkQA-fBs2yvJJjUP/s320/DSCF2200.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's one such wang...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We left Hoi An the following morning and arrived in Hue at about midday. It was a scorcher of a day in Hue with the mercury hitting 40 degrees. We planned to go to the Citadel and Imperial Palace a little later in the day to avoid the midday heat. We avoided the midday heat, but caught the 2PM-4PM heat which wasn't much less hot. The Imperial Palace was just as aweome as I remembered it. It truly is an amazing group of structures and you get immediately transported back in time as you walk around the cloisters. You're constantly reminded that this was what the Asia of old looked like. The grandeur and wealth of the place is a show of power and the Palace oozes the strength of an Empire from every brick.<br />
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The next day we checked out of our hotel, visited an awesome pagoda and got conned out of lots of money. It was an interesting day. I'll start at the beginning. We were leaving on a sleeper bus that night so we checked out of our hotel in the morning and headed over the river to one of the 'National Pagodas.' It was midday when we arrived and all the monks were taking their afternoon nap. But this turned out to be a good thing as we had the entire pagoda to ourselves and we were free to walk around and explore as much as we wanted. I'm not entirely sure why it's called a 'national' pagoda because it was pretty damn similar to the other thousand pagodas I've visited. It was still great to see though.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7cWP29XHJY6h1DUpAQL7aP5qDMxfrKmiDj6_H23TN1CbjiauTFnHtb4supcL-lkGvGFugJUEOG8UMnG5uKzxXNIfH_KEawRWe35J-TXkLkIL2hMRtAlKCM72k3UAFXosVZ1odoCRMZ4b/s1600/DSCF2247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7cWP29XHJY6h1DUpAQL7aP5qDMxfrKmiDj6_H23TN1CbjiauTFnHtb4supcL-lkGvGFugJUEOG8UMnG5uKzxXNIfH_KEawRWe35J-TXkLkIL2hMRtAlKCM72k3UAFXosVZ1odoCRMZ4b/s320/DSCF2247.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He was nice, until he took our money.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We left the pagoda and got screwed out of money. We met a really nice English teacher and got chatting with him. He was very friendly and invited us back to his house for some beer. We agreed and headed back to his house and had some beer with him. It was all very friendly and welcoming. He then suggested we get some lunch. We agreed, once again. This was our mistake. He took us to a local place that served hot pots and we sat down and had some more beer. The hot pot came out and we all tucked in. After eating our fill we headed back to his place and had some coffee. He then told us the cost of the meal was 520 000 dong and we had to pay it. We refused. He had invited his family along and had to contribute. We wouldn't subsidise his meal... Or so we thought. We ended up coughing up 400 000 dong for a shitty meal. Trust me, hot pots are shitty. Seafood hot pots have literally no taste. I don't know why we agreed to have it in the first place.<br />
<br />
It's fair to say we were pretty, fucking hacked off with that wanker! All of our previous experiences with locals and sharing meals with them have been fantastic and they've always put in just as much as we have for the meal. To be ripped off by that guy left me feeling angry that he thought we had loads of money simply because we're tourists here. We had told him we were students and we were travelling on a tight budget. We had even explained how our currency is not that strong and it doesn't get us as far as European tourists.<br />
<br />
We left that night for Hanoi feeling outraged at that seemingly nice man. But thankfully my experience with him highlighted how all those other meals with locals are such special events. Events and experiences I'll remember forever.<br />
<br />
OliverOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-68408159840285848112011-06-28T10:01:00.000+02:002011-06-28T10:10:48.087+02:00Recapping - Part 1To say the past couple of weeks have been hectic would be a gross understatement. Chris and I have been packing our days with as much as we can possibly handle. It stands to reason that I've been a little too distracted with travel to write up my blog. To put things in perspective: My last blog came to you from Da Lat and covered everything up until leaving Mui Ne. This blog is coming to you from Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam, 1500km north of Da Lat (or: two 4-hour buses, one 12-hour overnight bus and one 15-hour overnight bus in backpacker terms).<br />
<br />
I've decided to split this blog into two parts as writing one blog about all that has happened in the 11 days since my last entry would be too cumbersome. Part 1 will include Da Lat and Nha Trang and Part 2 will include Hoi An and Hue...<br />
<br />
Part 1 starts roughly an hour after I finished typing up my last blog. We had been invited by the guys who ran our hotel to play a game of football that evening. It sounded like a great idea and we agreed to go along. At 18:30 we jumped on the backs of motorbikes and headed off to the football field. It was freezing and the ride on the back of the motos to get there was chilly to say the least. The field was a small astroturf only big enough for 5-a-side, enclosed by nets to stop the ball rolling on to the adjacent fields. I'm afradi I don't have any photos as I was expecting it to rain so I didn't bring my camera. My expectations turned out to be correct. About five minutes into the match it started belting down and it didn't stop for the rest of the night. Within seconds we were soaked to the bone. The only way to stave off the cold was to get stuck into the game. We did just that.<br />
<br />
It was an awesome game and possibly the best experience of my trip so far. The rain and cold only added to the experience. The cold forced us to throw ourselves entirely into the game to stay warm and we were rewarded for our efforts. We had started off quite slowly as a team and soon found ourselves 5-1 down. We quickly adjusted to the conditions and mounted a comeback that was nothing short of legendary. As we became used to the rapid movement of the ball on the wet astroturf we started to judge our passes better and started timing our shots much more exactly. We became better as a team and moved the ball around fluidly between us. The result was utter dominance over our opponents.<br />
<br />
I hate to be unfair to the rest of the team, but it was the foreigners who proved to be the winning ticket. Chris, the two Americans (Joe and Shawn) and I scored the majority of the goals for our team and performed the midfield roles to perfection - controlling and distributing the ball. In the end Chris had scored about 5 goals, Joe - 3, Shawn - 5 and I - 8.<br />
<br />
After a solid hour of intense football the game abruptly stopped. We were told we had won and were heartily congratulated by the other team. The locals on our team were beaming and seemed very happy with the way the game had turned out. We were quickly ushered back on to the motorbikes and whisked off to the hotel. At the hotel we were told to meet in the reception area in 45 minutes. As winners we'd be going out for supper. It sounded fantastic!<br />
<br />
45 minutes later, after a much-needed, hot shower we all met in the reception area and piled into a taxi. The taxi took us down the road to a little local restaurant which turned out to be closed. Another plan was hatched and we were put on the back of motorbikes again and scooted up the road to another local resaurant. We sat down and were brought piping hot rice wine to warm us up. It was just the thing we needed. After a ridiculous amount of shots of rice wine a huge, steaming hot pot was placed on the table. The rice wine flowed and the hot pot rapidly diminished and finally, feeling full and utterly content we hopped into a taxi and headed back to the warmth of our beds. A fantastic day concluded with a smile.<br />
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The next day we wandered around town and visited the Crazy House for a dose of the absurd. The morning started off with a meeting with the leader of the Easy Riders over some green tea. We said we wanted to do a motorbike tour the next day and it was quickly organised. We then took a very leisurely meander through the town and ended up at the Crazy House. Not much has changed since the last time I was there, but that's a good thing as it remains as absurd as ever. It was surprisingly good to revisit the Crazy House and it brought back great memories of the Easy Rider tour I did the previous time I was in Da Lat and made me eager to do the tour the next day.<br />
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Da Lat is full of pleasant surprises. The next morning we walked over to Peace Cafe to meet our Easy Rider companions for the day. You'll never guess who turned up. Or perhaps you will...<br />
<br />
Dunhill! You couldn't have scripted it better! The star performer of the last Easy Rider tour I did had made a comeback and was now taking Chris and I on a tour. It was fantastic! The laugh, the smile, the knowledge of the history of the country - Dunhill was just as awesome as I remembered him. The tour was fantastic. We visited some of the same places as the last time, but added a few more. It's always good to be doing something new and all my fears of doing an identical tour to the previous time were quickly allayed. We took in some fantastic views, stood under a raging waterfall and visited a beautiful pagoda among other things. It was a great day out and really rounded off my experience of Da Lat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nwPn3YXViq0mT3V50nd6pezBaVR-jpamupdhPAmb6j4A31sJeriLDX5GWAIsZr_Vi7gJhe3vjqO2b4nIaxPbYtF3U2UJK4phzd5CaUwbD81icsWaqmgcLinSMuN4DTxT-YeHOvEYLgR4/s1600/DSCF2076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nwPn3YXViq0mT3V50nd6pezBaVR-jpamupdhPAmb6j4A31sJeriLDX5GWAIsZr_Vi7gJhe3vjqO2b4nIaxPbYtF3U2UJK4phzd5CaUwbD81icsWaqmgcLinSMuN4DTxT-YeHOvEYLgR4/s320/DSCF2076.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The return of Dunhill!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The next morning we hit the road to Nha Trang. The bus trip was nothing short of memorable, if perhaps, for the wrong reasons,. The poor kid who was sitting directly behind me was terribly carsick. The road down to Nha Trang from Da Lat is probably the most winding road in the country and the poor guy felt it. He spent the better part of four hours barfing into a plastic bag.<br />
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We spent the afternoon lazing around the streets and beaches of Nha Trang then headed out in the evening to play a game of pool and have a beer. The roughest night of my trip certainly wasn't planned, but somehow it pieced itself together. One beer and a game of pool somehow morphed into a beer, a game of pool, a free mojito and 3 buckets of rum and coke. It was brutal, especially when you consider that rum is cheaper than coke, thus more rum goes into a bucket than coke. It tasted like rum with black food colourant. It was messy, very messy...<br />
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The next morning we were up bright and early to catch a boat tour of the islands. Needless to say the last thing I wanted was to be on a rocking boat. But I'll leave it at that. The boat trip started slowly with a visit to an over-priced aquarium which we chose to skip. We'd be snorkelling at the next island so there was no point in seeing fish in a tank. A swim was just what I needed to break me out of the haze and I was feeling much better after we left the second island. A huge lucn followed and it completely sorted me out. I was feeling right as rain by the time we stopped at the third island. At the third island things got extreme. The boy band came out to play us a few songs, but the lead singer was a Ho Chi lookalike. He was such a cool guy and rocked out on the drums and then the guitar, singing all the time. It was rock 'n roll at its finest with Ho Chi taking the lead. Pure genius!<br />
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Karaoke followed, which was a bit of a let down as we were now forced to listen to all the other tourists warble away at the tops of their lungs. The Irish contingent did the tourists proud, though with a swinging version of some Mexican song.<br />
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The floating bar followed and I dived into the water to cool off. Despite my best efforts to avoid the bar I had 4 horrible shots forced on me. I let a lot of that brutal liquid wash away into the sea and steered clear of the bar. I opted to lie in the water and cool off. I was still recuperating from the night before.<br />
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After a brief stop at the fourth, and final, island we headed back to the harbour. The Irish blokes were now well on their way and sang along to all the old classics that got blared over the stereo. They were great company and one couldn't help but smile at their rendition of Wonderwall by Oasis.<br />
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We arrived back at the hotel and booked our bus ticket out for the next day. We collapsed on o our beds just in time to catch the start of the day's play at Wimbledon. It was a brilliantly relaxing end to a packed day. We packed our bags the next morning and checked out. We then headed to the beach to kill time before our bus trip to Hoi An. We played cards and read under a palm tree on the beach then wandered back to our hotel to catch the bus.<br />
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More in part 2<br />
Oliver<br />
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P.S. I ran out of batteries for my camera on the Nha Trang boat trip. So I don't have any pictures of Ho Chi to upload from my camera. I was able to snap a few on Chris's iPhone though. Here are some links:<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #575757; font-family: 'PT Sans', tahoma, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15px;"><a class="link" href="http://yfrog.com/kf5gzyj" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #3b9ce0; cursor: pointer; font-weight: normal; outline-style: none; text-decoration: none;">http://yfrog.com/kf5gzyj</a><br />
<a href="http://yfrog.com/gzkt1jbuj">http://yfrog.com/gzkt1jbuj</a></span><br />
<a href="http://yfrog.com/h264810013j">http://yfrog.com/h264810013j</a>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-17510125175549950942011-06-17T12:53:00.000+02:002011-06-17T12:53:30.631+02:00Being LazySo it's been a week since my last post, which is bloody slack of me. But when you're having a good time the best thing to do is keep going. That's not to say I'm not having a good time at the moment. I'm just taking a break to catch you all up.<br />
<br />
As you may know Chris has joined me in Vietnam for a month of travel. If you didn't know this already then you didn't read my previous blog. Shame on you! Here is some ocular proof that Chris is in Vietnam:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_wOKeHbIYyEAtThpqNsj3gMmX_DNQ-i8lOQlYeMe-VjNHQ0ydYftY7gh2vmg7HQj7Gn1UrDa70rrffACSgxUGsJKfo6oweM28jCgywEj_TW8dmLYtYFpRUQO4OwPQ_MkRfkSv7IA2NBX/s1600/DSCF1885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_wOKeHbIYyEAtThpqNsj3gMmX_DNQ-i8lOQlYeMe-VjNHQ0ydYftY7gh2vmg7HQj7Gn1UrDa70rrffACSgxUGsJKfo6oweM28jCgywEj_TW8dmLYtYFpRUQO4OwPQ_MkRfkSv7IA2NBX/s320/DSCF1885.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Musing in HCMC</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Seeing as it's taken me so long to write this blog entry I have a lot to fill you in on. I'll start at the beginning, a logical starting point if ever there was one. Chris joined me on Friday last week in the amazing Ho Chi Minh City. I was waiting at the airport for him to arrive when he popped up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. It's great that he spotted me, because I sure as hell hadn't seen him. What a terrible job of meeting him at the airport I did. He wasn't particularly bothered and neither was I. We headed back to the city centre to get Chris acquainted with the crazy pace of Vietnam's biggest city and with the local beer.<br />
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Needless to say, Chris was knackered so we both called it an early night with plans set for the next day. The following day we visited some of the tourist hotspots and historical sights in HCMC. That night we spent at the local steetside pub, pissing it up with the locals. We had planned on going to Apocalypse Now after pre-drinks, but pre-drinks evolved (very quickly) into 4 litres of bia hoi a piece and all thoughts of Apocalypse Now (and even moving) rapidly dissipated. It was an amazing night out that didn't really get very far, but was definitely better than anything we could have planned.<br />
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The next day was a very relaxed affair. We meandered around for a while and spent a few hours in the parks before heading down to catch the sunset from the Saigon River. It was there that we met Frederigo (pictured below). We caught motos back from the Saigon River to the park opposite Pham Ngu Lao street. A flower show had been set up in this park and the whole park was lit up with neon lights and adorned with bamboo displays. We found a local who spoke a little English and she explained that the Vietnamese people were voting for their national flower and all the flowers on display were the candidates. It was an amazing festival to be part of. The people seemed so excited to be choosing a national symbol and we were lucky enough to drop right into the middle of it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWyrgnXvZqVfreSUznWUCaK2rUKQ4gW-WJGW-lqZfFPTAzORGKxMBW6ic1zCqpMo1igd7wEPr_qCLW-VE5pzanphoGUrcQFpmmdZXxQXVe020TLIH1XiptGg_5Bb9cELZ2tdcNGwm3ZHB_/s1600/DSCF1937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWyrgnXvZqVfreSUznWUCaK2rUKQ4gW-WJGW-lqZfFPTAzORGKxMBW6ic1zCqpMo1igd7wEPr_qCLW-VE5pzanphoGUrcQFpmmdZXxQXVe020TLIH1XiptGg_5Bb9cELZ2tdcNGwm3ZHB_/s320/DSCF1937.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The omnipotent Frederigo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhR2nYgYc59qphVww4sotz5zDP_Jpn9CwNjtqwYPu66L4f4zHwk05qfbPBvsbYSCoqJzpbXY7SQZ3wSq_VQOKjTPr8gJ07A4SUZDltDa_40aoWX_sEscQHH65iKxRXvz06WaxmCHR8oOTU/s1600/DSCF1940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhR2nYgYc59qphVww4sotz5zDP_Jpn9CwNjtqwYPu66L4f4zHwk05qfbPBvsbYSCoqJzpbXY7SQZ3wSq_VQOKjTPr8gJ07A4SUZDltDa_40aoWX_sEscQHH65iKxRXvz06WaxmCHR8oOTU/s320/DSCF1940.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The festival of flowers in the park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The next day was one of the best I've had in Vietnam. Chris and I got up at the crazy hour of 08:00 and headed to the local bus station. We were going to the Cu Chi tunnels and we planned on going there solely by local transport. It turned out to be the best decision we could have made. It was incredibly easy to catch the correct buses and it was a lot cheaper than going with an organised tour. The journey there and back cost only 18 000 dong each (roughly R6). The Cu Chi tunnels were everything I'd hoped they would be and more. We watched an old propaganda film from the late '60s and were then promptly led to the entrance of the tunnels. The entrance we were led to was a tiny rectangle roughly 40x30cm. It was crazy to think that not so long ago this was the only means by which people could enter and exit the tunnels. Fortunately that's changed to accommodate tourists and slightly fat people. You can now enter the tunnels through proper staircases although the tunnels remain the same.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWo1NCW1xhDN_Thgxhk1RwlD_M6AS47gcU7m0IYZ1ky0W2qI-Qw9j3vOtONc1QGySg3FxXaEyrfKYG2L6MTyW5G0uEYLAzeMYlQ4fh8e3kw9rkNBqWyrQvX8TpB6mHmJcQ4TFOa6kGhfzj/s1600/DSCF1986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWo1NCW1xhDN_Thgxhk1RwlD_M6AS47gcU7m0IYZ1ky0W2qI-Qw9j3vOtONc1QGySg3FxXaEyrfKYG2L6MTyW5G0uEYLAzeMYlQ4fh8e3kw9rkNBqWyrQvX8TpB6mHmJcQ4TFOa6kGhfzj/s320/DSCF1986.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An idea of size. That was big.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Entering the tunnels was fantastic! And not a little unnerving. Our first tunnel experience was a very short hop between two rooms underground. It was a quick 3m walk on our haunches. But our guide didn't plan on letting us off easy. The next tunnel we went through was slightly longer at about 10m and included a right-angle turn. A few more short tunnels between rooms followed and then the guide stopped us all.<br />
<br />
"Anyone with heart problems or respiratory problems or anyone afraid of the dark or small spaces go through this tunnel," he said, "The rest of you follow me."<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhbAte5W5n-8ZNOM8RD0UoV6gB7kumm1ELjqD3n4mHKbVuUQQpDGGgODTLMSRLm8BM5odLragLGfnpPvAfHJIVj-02tdhBfYUJJLU4_BL0cSy0ZmqHzTwPYipYi1MLqIXzoWTFM_2g4aqU/s1600/DSCF1980.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhbAte5W5n-8ZNOM8RD0UoV6gB7kumm1ELjqD3n4mHKbVuUQQpDGGgODTLMSRLm8BM5odLragLGfnpPvAfHJIVj-02tdhBfYUJJLU4_BL0cSy0ZmqHzTwPYipYi1MLqIXzoWTFM_2g4aqU/s320/DSCF1980.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going in...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We knew something big lay ahead. And it was massive. The guide took us through a tunnel that measured roughly 150m in length. There were numerous twists and turns and even a narrowing of the tunnel. In the middle of the tunnel there was a section about 10m long without any lights. The tunnel tilted down, narrowed and turned a corner at this very point. It was bloody terrifying! At this stage we were about 6m underground, with no lights and no idea where we were going. Turning around was impossible so the only thing to do was to plunge ahead and hope you didn't crash into the person in front of you. Sight was completely eliminated and we were forced to rely on touch and sound alone to navigate. Knowing that the tunnel had narrowed around you didn't exactly make things easier.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqLO6ochdSePgXs2wSFI-EUHevTaaZqmKpLSLfPCqWQ1ktssa3ZGw_AAudgvOdSH2tRupxMrUUTjwrC6CQ9iPfaBvzeEj9jwxkyXD-_sw47HK8KQNSRG8obhK3arEHyMaRB1CIaT8pc3D/s1600/DSCF1982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqLO6ochdSePgXs2wSFI-EUHevTaaZqmKpLSLfPCqWQ1ktssa3ZGw_AAudgvOdSH2tRupxMrUUTjwrC6CQ9iPfaBvzeEj9jwxkyXD-_sw47HK8KQNSRG8obhK3arEHyMaRB1CIaT8pc3D/s320/DSCF1982.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Into the abyss</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We climbed out of the tunnels with our adrenaline pumping, sweating like pigs and laughing like maniacs. It was superb!<br />
<br />
I should have ended my blog at that point had I written it earlier, but as the title implies, I was too damn lazy to write it up earlier. I blame that entirely on Mui Ne. Those damn beaches are so alluring and relaxing that you couldn't be asked to move yourself and share your experiences with the world (Or rather the 18 people who read this).<br />
<br />
Going back to Mui Ne was awesome! I felt like the prodigal son returning. I was greeted warmly by all the people who remembered me and was pleasantly surprised to know that they had actually remembered me. I remembered them, of course, but to be recognised and greeted so warmly was such a brilliant surprise.<br />
<br />
Mui Ne welcomed me back into the fold and I fell straight back into the relaxed pace of life. Getting up late and going to the beach for a swim then relaxing in the shade in the afternoons. Mui Ne reasserted its hold over me almost instantly. I like to think it had the same effect on Chris who joined me in all my strenuous relaxing and beachgoing. That was an intended oxymoron by the way.<br />
<br />
On our final day in Mui Ne (yesterday, as I write this), Chris and I hired motorbikes and headed out to see the surrounding area. We went to the red sanddunes just outside Mui Ne and were unimpressed. We then cruised along the beach to a tiny fishing village about 20km outside Mui Ne. We watched some local lads flying kites in the growing wind and decided that we should get to the Cham tower before the heavy weather set in. We cruised back along the coast and Chris's petrol seemed to evaporate. He went from having a nearly full tank to driving in the red in roughly 20 minutes. I told him not to worry we'd get there and back easily. I was, naturally, correct. We got to the Cham tower without so much as a splutter from his moto and promptly set about jumping between old war bunkers on the hilltop. The Cham tower took a back seat as Chris tried to take a photo of me jumping between two remnants of the Vietnam-USA war. I must have jumped the gap roughly 40 times before Chris got that damned photo. It was my first taste of parkour in Vietnam and it was done roughly 50m from a historical site, on top of another historical site. It was awesome!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHG-oaAFxqZpLEzoLYQI-NrZvciW9QHH7FTS0YTGIRa9c-zado_EKKmGudpis-FW895YnbRiMofuiD144vFN0Koq6vLOKNgn2C66D_U6x_QgDl27UQ8ML-qNJc4raXXYBhH7kpAdKNgAXi/s1600/DSCF2038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHG-oaAFxqZpLEzoLYQI-NrZvciW9QHH7FTS0YTGIRa9c-zado_EKKmGudpis-FW895YnbRiMofuiD144vFN0Koq6vLOKNgn2C66D_U6x_QgDl27UQ8ML-qNJc4raXXYBhH7kpAdKNgAXi/s320/DSCF2038.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The final shot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>When doing parkour make sure your dong is secure<br />
Oliver<br />
<br />
P.S. That rhymes, courtesy of Chris.Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-48804839052875511642011-06-09T15:04:00.000+02:002011-06-09T15:04:36.333+02:00The Rest of CambodiaI had intentions to write about the rest of my time in Cambodia at the end of my last blog, but I thought given the nature of my previous blog it would be best to write another blog post about the rest of Cambodia instead. Wow, what a sentence that turned out to be!<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>So here goes. After visiting S-21 and the Killing Fields I spent another day in Phnom Penh, just walking around. I visited a few markets and walked along the Tonle Sap River for a while, just taking in the ambiance of the place. My second day in Phnom Penh was really chilled out. I went back to my guesthouse in the evening and booked my bus ticket to Kompong Trach.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The next morning, bright and early I headed to the bus station to catch my bus. Kompong Trach is not a tourist destination, there is only a single paragraph on it in the lonely planet and the only reason that paragraph is there is because of it's proximity to the Vietnamese border. But in that paragraph there was a little jewel of information. 2km from Kompong Trach is Wat Kiri Sela, a buddhist temple built into the side of a limestone karst mountain. I was instantly intrigued by this mysterious wat and simply had to go there. The lonely planet described the wat as having hundreds of caves and caverns under the mountain and a 'hidden valley'at the exit to one such cave. They described the walk through the cave as a 'stumble back in time to the Jurassic period'. The deal was sealed so off I went.</div><div><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKfqcRISaywRuVpuCMjtnEAOAcq_6WKeur7i34_KHC2-ZeCNOWex_AiHNmBQNXWSuhmkwV5VRggc6IdLqGMEvuFMsua1w3xlhk5cwl2NOkjS7Q1MirbEYGcwE25imaPjDOOkLeQkTWAC2K/s1600/DSCF1864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKfqcRISaywRuVpuCMjtnEAOAcq_6WKeur7i34_KHC2-ZeCNOWex_AiHNmBQNXWSuhmkwV5VRggc6IdLqGMEvuFMsua1w3xlhk5cwl2NOkjS7Q1MirbEYGcwE25imaPjDOOkLeQkTWAC2K/s320/DSCF1864.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The one-road, one-tourist town of Kompong Trach</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>Kompong Trach was a one-tourist town and that tourist was me. The locals seemed shocked that a tourist was in their town and I was stared at constantly. It's a strange feeling, being stared at, and it's somewhat disconcerting. But their stares weren't malicious, just curious and they were some of the friendliest people I've met. Nobody spoke English in Kompong Trach so I had to get by with my limited Khmer. Basically all I could do was say hello and thank you. I did a lot of miming in Kompong Trach.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The beauty of getting away from other tourists is that you get charged the local price for everything. There's no <i>farang </i>mark-up off the tourist trail. Because of this, Kompong Trach became the cheapest place I have ever been to. The first meal I had there cost me only 25c (American) and I left feeling completely full and satisfied. When one gets off the tourist trail one doesn't expect to have the same quality of food as they are used to - I thought I might have to become accustomed to tarantulas for dinner. It was to my great delight that I was proven wrong. In fact, I had one of the best meals of my journey in Kompong Trach and for only 75c. I'll dream forever more of that fantastic pork and ginger dish with steamed rice.</div><div><br />
</div><div>It looks like I'm rambling again. What you really want to hear about is Wat Kiri Sela, I'm sure. The day after I arrived in Kompong Trach I borrowed a bicycle from the guest house and headed off to Wat Kiri Sela. Nobody could really point me in the correct direction, but thankfully the lonely planet gave clear directions. Hoping I was going in the right direction, I headed down a gravel road in the direction of a karst mountain. On the way I met a boy who was heading to the wat. He spoke good English and was going to the wat to guide tourists through to the hidden valley. Score. I said he could guide me. The wat wasn't far from the main road and before I knew it I was at the base of the karst mountain in the centre of the wat. My young guide pointed at the cave entrance and said I should follow him through to the valley.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Caves are generally very dark places and this cave was no exception. The only light that penetrated it was from it's two openings - the one we had entered through and the one to which we were headed. In the distance I could see the light coming from the exit, but the valley was impossible to make out. We walked through the cave and my young guide pointed out limestone formations that looked like animals and common objects. All of a sudden we were at the exit and what confronted me was one of the most beautiful natural phenomena I have seen. The cave opened up into the centre of the mountain. The valley was not so much a valley as it was a depression in the centre of the mountain, but it was fantastic nonetheless. Sheer limestone cliffs towered around us and vines and lush vegetation hung down from the mountaintop. We spent the next hour wandering through the little caves and caverns that are peppered around the hidden valley. It was an amazing place to be and I was lucky to be the only tourist there to experience it.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5rFFEFD8UNZCAj8EocCANoTwrm_LkOzZwPZ3hmKMrM09Lcu-LCEyB8J9QXH37nbehHpuIxU5JWLc6dupbmJSp4b0csVLP_piKJlPFlREzMJ02e_avqpW0OUGyi95611js6hFnXhyphenhyphenkSxB/s1600/DSCF1862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5rFFEFD8UNZCAj8EocCANoTwrm_LkOzZwPZ3hmKMrM09Lcu-LCEyB8J9QXH37nbehHpuIxU5JWLc6dupbmJSp4b0csVLP_piKJlPFlREzMJ02e_avqpW0OUGyi95611js6hFnXhyphenhyphenkSxB/s320/DSCF1862.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking out of a cave... </td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxWal1QLY00-P7Wa1PLq0IORnVIpf776BCwwQ7xDpbV4Zxeewf1wLq8IQVOpzv7bzdKcLU38Hdv44dkZaHh73FfJp9ZmSDZlnjvCcD3fjgmzOXBRJlBV390HX1KIqUGHhcsbKnDxnZPW8/s1600/DSCF1854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxWal1QLY00-P7Wa1PLq0IORnVIpf776BCwwQ7xDpbV4Zxeewf1wLq8IQVOpzv7bzdKcLU38Hdv44dkZaHh73FfJp9ZmSDZlnjvCcD3fjgmzOXBRJlBV390HX1KIqUGHhcsbKnDxnZPW8/s320/DSCF1854.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Into a 'valley' that looked like this</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
</div><div>Thoroughly please with myself, I headed back to Kompong Trach and inquired about a bus to Kep, a beach town 30km from Kompong Trach. I was able to gather that a bus comes past every day at 10AM and 4:30PM. I was also able to gather that nobody sold tickets for the bus. I would need to wait until the bus came past and then flag it down. If you've ever flagged down a bus in Southeast Asia you know that it can be very hit-or-miss. I was a little apprehensive about missing the bus. Kompong Trach was great, but I needed to be able to leave.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I got up early the next morning and packed my bags. The previous day I had waited until 4:30PM to see if the bus came past and sure enough it did, 10 minutes early. Armed with this information I guessed that the locals must have got the times right when telling me when the bus would come past. At 9:30 I went outside and waited. A moto driver was sitting beside me and said that the bus would only come at 11. I was now really uncertain as to when the bus would come past. So I waited. 10 o'clock came and went. I thought the moto driver had got it right, so I resigned myself to leaving at 11. An hour longer is really not that much. At 20 past 10 I was getting thirsty so I went to get myself some water from the shop next door. I can back and spied a chair which looked very inviting after having been standing for an hour. I picked up the chair and was taking it outside when the bus cruised past. "Shit!" I thought. I dropped the chair and waved at the bus driver.</div><div><br />
</div><div>He noticed. The bus stopped and I climbed aboard. I was on my way to Kep.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Kep is a beach resort town. And it isn't cheap. It was the polar opposite of Kompong Trach, yet it was charming in it's own right. I found a guest house that had cheap rooms and settled in. Kep has a very narrow strip of sand called Kep beach it's claim to being a beachside town is a little exaggerated. I've seen more sand in sand pits at playgrounds. But Kep's fame comes from it's seafood, pitched as the best in Cambodia.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Kep lives off this reputation and takes great pleasure in punching tourists' wallets in their kidneys. My own wallet spent the second day in Kep in the bathroom, pissing blood. I felt very sorry for inflicting that damage upon it, but bloody satisfied with what had inflicted the damage. But more on that in a moment.</div><div><br />
</div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzbHXSLyqjUGTpNa5Ez1LvUJ7MQnCC20c4T0fQpIFW3pmjWOLRrXhQQc8IvzVuj7BxynHmXYKUUUYR7UL-6KnbM5OCmUHkFFiJDvBEemttIvaw4V3OKkyOGkwrp_ScZsw7Bh0aPAGDNbUm/s1600/DSCF1874.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzbHXSLyqjUGTpNa5Ez1LvUJ7MQnCC20c4T0fQpIFW3pmjWOLRrXhQQc8IvzVuj7BxynHmXYKUUUYR7UL-6KnbM5OCmUHkFFiJDvBEemttIvaw4V3OKkyOGkwrp_ScZsw7Bh0aPAGDNbUm/s320/DSCF1874.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kep Beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table>On my first day in Kep I went through my orientation and acclimatisation routine of walking around for a while and taking in as much as I can. This was a little trickier in Kep as it is a lot more spread out than most towns and to find a cheap room I had to get right out of the town centre. My orientation ended up being a walk down to Kep beach and then a walk back to my guesthouse to get out of the sun. My first experience of kep prices was dinner that evening. $2.50 for fried rice is unheard of in the rest of Southeast Asia, but not in Kep. It was the cheapest thing on the menu, besides cooldrinks and my poor wallet started whimpering at the thought of what lay ahead.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The next day I headed down to Kep beach again, this time on a bicycle. I lay on the rough sand for the entire morning and listened to the wavelets trickle up the beach. At midday I decided to get out of the heat and headed to my guesthouse to sit in the shade of a palm tree.You may find this back-and-forth strange, but I had a reason for it. I was deliberately doing it to build up an appetite for lunch. "Oliver you are a strange guy," you might be thinking. But there is method to my madness (I think). I was building up an appetite for seafood.</div><div><br />
</div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1ytn6X5EITUK8UYJpTpTYCreBYNpspDQYILbpY8l00OcNa3i7anJfNL-hkm9BAS_2J7sEmH4yaOTADzPBEEpRagD1rMM56iYSi0vn3uqIe4zvMCtVxZkm4havNw2MtGdjz127RdMGFTS/s1600/DSCF1878.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1ytn6X5EITUK8UYJpTpTYCreBYNpspDQYILbpY8l00OcNa3i7anJfNL-hkm9BAS_2J7sEmH4yaOTADzPBEEpRagD1rMM56iYSi0vn3uqIe4zvMCtVxZkm4havNw2MtGdjz127RdMGFTS/s320/DSCF1878.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Munching on crab at the Crab Market</td></tr>
</tbody></table>At about 2 o'clock my stomach started growling. I knew I was ready. I jumped on my bicycle and pedaled furiously down to the crab market. At the crab market there is no such thing as a cheap meal. Every dish costs in excess of $5. (Yes, that's not much by our standards back home, but in SE Asia that is at least 3 times the cost of a meal). The freshest seafood you can imagine is on the menu, some of it caught just offshore the previous hour. But if you go to the crab market, you'd be a fool to order anything but crab. And so I ordered grilled crab. 45 minutes later a plate with 5 massive crabs on it appeared in front of me. Who can complain about paying R9 per grilled crab, really?</div><div><br />
</div><div>By now I was famished and I tucked in with gusto. Eating crab at Kep will definitely go down as one of the top 5 culinary experiences of my travels. It was fantastic! The crab was incredibly fresh and the meat was fantastically tasty. It had been cooked to perfection and by the end of the meal I was too full to move. My wallet started simpering when I payed for the meal and pleaded with me to spare it from any more torture. I was happy to oblige, I didn't need dinner; I was too full.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Meanwhile, back at the ranch...</div><div><br />
</div><div>Actually nothing was happening back at the ranch (except, this sunset pictured below) I just really wanted to say that line. I went back to my guest house and booked my ticket to back Phnom Penh. The nest morning (yesterday morning, as I write this) I jumped on the bus and headed back to the capital. Upon arrival I booked my bus ticket to HCMC. This morning I headed to the bus station with a huge sense of excitement. I was going back to my favourite city in the world and Chris was going to be joining me the next day. I could barely contain myself.</div><div><br />
</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUjHAHJ6W1CM4JtTePNONlHOLRzuI2bXX7n1JA-rFA5wCraruoZEBsakAleviMxypFmY7BNqZut1efJdBU3ladkbBi23lYM6ZF5NzgJ3mAQNFr0e5hBhBvsuJU2-wHbqvOiSin3RfFpVY/s1600/DSCF1880.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUjHAHJ6W1CM4JtTePNONlHOLRzuI2bXX7n1JA-rFA5wCraruoZEBsakAleviMxypFmY7BNqZut1efJdBU3ladkbBi23lYM6ZF5NzgJ3mAQNFr0e5hBhBvsuJU2-wHbqvOiSin3RfFpVY/s320/DSCF1880.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And here I am, back in Ho Chi Minh City! Sitting, typing to all of you (my avid fans) and eagerly anticipating the arrival of Chris. He's currently on a flight to Kuala Lumpur where he will change planes and fly to HCMC. i'll be meeting him at the airport tomorrow and a whole new leg of my journey will begin. Vietnam with my brother. Stay tuned.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Meanwhile, back at the ranch....</div><div>There I go again!</div><div>Oliver</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-80825244487170740322011-06-08T10:03:00.000+02:002011-06-08T10:03:15.009+02:00Why do Cambodians Smile?I found myself pondering this very question on the bus journeys from Phnom Penh to Kompong Trach, Kompong Trach to Kep and Kep back to Phnom Penh. It's not a rhetorical question. I want the answer to it, I just can't think of a suitable explanation.It may seem like a strange question to ask, but hopefully during the course of this blog you'll understand why it needs to be asked... and answered.<br />
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It was my visit to the Killing Fields and S-21 that prompted me to ask the question. On my first full day in Phnom Penh I decided to take in some history and arranged a tuk-tuk to Tuol Sleng, aka S-21, and then the Killing Fields. Tuol Sleng used to be a school until the Khmer Rouge regime took hold. Under the Khmer Rouge it was turned into a prison to house 'enemies of the Khmer Rouge' - a loosely defined group of people which included intellectuals, women, children and even some Khmer Rouge officials. Although Tuol Sleng was officially defined as a prison it bore a lot more similarities to a death camp. More than 20 000 people were taken to Tuol Sleng and only 7 people left with their lives.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old classroom, turned into a torture facility</td></tr>
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Walking around S-21 was one of the most painful, heartbreaking experiences I have ever had to endure. It has been left mostly as it was found when the Khmer Rouge regime was toppled and it serves as a chilling reminder of this amazing country's bloody history. I walked into rooms that used to be classrooms and found only steel beds on which prisoners were tortured and killed. In the courtyard, objects that used to be used by children to exercise had been converted into objects of torture. Classroom walls had been knocked down to create mass holding cells and in other rooms tiny cells (0.8m x 2m) had been built to separate prisoners. Torture devices and crude shackles were contained in yet more classrooms and the walls were covered in paintings depicting the violence that unfolded there less than half a century ago. However, what truly tore at my heart were the pictures of the faces of all the people who were murdered at Tuol Sleng. Thousands of faces stared back at me with such a huge range of emotion ranging from open defiance to utter terror. They seemed to appeal to me for help. Their expressions all asked the same thing of me - <i>Never let this happen again.</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The faces of thousands of people who died at Tuol Sleng</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blood still stains the floors of S-21</td></tr>
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I left Tuol Sleng feeling a sense of shame - I had come to Cambodia as an ignorant tourist, aware of the brutality that had unfolded here only 30 years ago, yet uncaring. As I walked out of the main gate I was struck by the realisation that leaving Tuol Sleng was a privilege that had been taken from so many people. As I walked out of Tuol Sleng I was greeted with smiles from all sides. Why?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVwwaJK3R52cphkfftTiIe3vGlW72mj9kWi8V6qUkXQTaNYCsoWlK8ne2XQcfP163r-hQsJ_YsMCEvJVkYjEZj097O-4rak68DumNm63YiRKPzYKTF7P0fs7-mDpp1Vz_UTnS3RwpMIeM-/s1600/DSCF1837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVwwaJK3R52cphkfftTiIe3vGlW72mj9kWi8V6qUkXQTaNYCsoWlK8ne2XQcfP163r-hQsJ_YsMCEvJVkYjEZj097O-4rak68DumNm63YiRKPzYKTF7P0fs7-mDpp1Vz_UTnS3RwpMIeM-/s320/DSCF1837.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stupa at the Killing Fields</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The next stop of the day was the Killing Fields. It's hard to imagine a more brutal history than that of S-21, but the Killing Fields is one of the few places that can claim to have a more violent history. 15km outside of Phnom Penh, in the beautiful countryside, there is a large stupa in the centre of a lush patch of grass. At the centre of this stupa there is a column about 3 stories high. In this column are the skulls of more than 15 000 people who were killed and buried at the Killing Fields. Behind the stupa the ground is pock-marked with craters. These craters were all mass graves, the largest contained 450 people.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzR3hpV3qunDn1zy9NDucXoeq9Ahyphenhyphen_AWC_RKlE1CXa_147jqQ7FK9g5fc-lAdT6f-QYfgED6MPgUQnxk6vF98X7qrXxAGx2mhWCpg9uIjG_MQZZ7sSblDDweyHs6kklKGY8BjpmsOjjL6z/s1600/DSCF1823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzR3hpV3qunDn1zy9NDucXoeq9Ahyphenhyphen_AWC_RKlE1CXa_147jqQ7FK9g5fc-lAdT6f-QYfgED6MPgUQnxk6vF98X7qrXxAGx2mhWCpg9uIjG_MQZZ7sSblDDweyHs6kklKGY8BjpmsOjjL6z/s320/DSCF1823.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never let this happen again</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The Killing Fields of Chhoueng Ek. Prisoners from Tuol Sleng were taken there to be executed. 2 or 3 times a month a truck, loaded with prisoners, would pull up. The prisoners would be taken, one-by-one, to the edge of a grave and forced to kneel. They would then be bludgeoned on the back of the head so as not to waste bullets, or make a noise. Most of the time the prisoners were killed instantly, but many of the prisoners survived the bludgeoning and were buried alive. Nobody escaped the brutality of the Khmer Rouge. Mothers were forced to watch as their babies were held by their ankles and beaten against a tree. Not a single person who was taken there left.<br />
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Why do Cambodians Smile?<br />
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This single question has been bouncing back and forth in my mind for the past week. After seeing the Killing Fields and Tuol Sleng I can see no reason. The Khmer Rouge regime killed nearly 2 million people. Almost a quarter of the entire population. There is not a single Cambodian alive who has not been affected by the Khmer Rouge.<br />
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There are, of course, other questions that I have asked myself that remain unanswered. What drives people to commit these crimes? How did they justify their actions? Are we really such an advanced species when only 30 years ago a supposedly educated man inflicted these horrors on an entire country? Why do we never learn from our mistakes? What the fuck is wrong with us?<br />
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And yet I keep coming back to that bothersome question. The one that can't be answered.<br />
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Why do Cambodians smile?Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-6741231492474002772011-06-01T14:57:00.000+02:002011-06-01T14:57:48.012+02:00The Temples of AngkorThe Temples of Angkor. I'm not really sure how to begin. I'll start by saying they were the most stressful experience my camera has ever had. I ended up taking roughly 600 photos during my visits to the temples. If you consider I'd only taken 1100 in the 2 months leading up to this you'll realise that's a lot for my poor camera to handle in just 3 days.<br />
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My last blog entry left with me telling you about my grasshopper experience. I'd like to add that eating a grasshopper was one of my top 10 goals for my trip. I'm really glad I got to tick it off. But let's get back to the Temples.<br />
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There's a cheeky tactic for visiting the Temples of Angkor that I made full use of. If you buy your ticket after 5PM you're allowed in for the sunset and your ticket is still valid for the following day. I wanted to do more of the Temples so I bought a three day pass. The cheeky tactic still applied. Making use of this tactic, on my first day in Siem Reap, I went to the ticket office and bought my ticket. I then jumped back in the tuk-tuk and headed for Angkor Wat the largest religious structure ever built. The first view of anything is always the best. My first view of Angkor Wat was just a peek at the main spire jutting out above the trees. My breath was instantly taken away. Nothing can prepare you for the sheer size of Angkor Wat. I'd heard so many stories about it's size and grandeur, but that first sighting completely exceeded my expectations!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigyX36igdzCos5Zit0r5BdAOqanqAUqhyEgbTAnHwI47nAn5NILJu7RkGGxDSHsSrk07XgR8ENnCGMpfCRDKSVzLx9fQPOomkETeb2NqtUftfp6RIcb3J1lC3w86uJiVlG7c2KMcYwzhZk/s1600/DSCF1232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigyX36igdzCos5Zit0r5BdAOqanqAUqhyEgbTAnHwI47nAn5NILJu7RkGGxDSHsSrk07XgR8ENnCGMpfCRDKSVzLx9fQPOomkETeb2NqtUftfp6RIcb3J1lC3w86uJiVlG7c2KMcYwzhZk/s320/DSCF1232.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angkor Wat catching the setting sun</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We drove past Angkor Wat and headed to Phnom Bakheng (Bakheng Hill) which has a temple on it's peak. From this temple the best view of the spires of Angkor Wat is afforded to the viewer. As the sun set Angkor Wat lit up with an orange glow and became more and more striking. If the climb up the hill hadn't been enough to take my breath away, the sunset over Angkor Wat did the trick. Thunder rumbled in the distance lightning struck far away and clouds started to roll over, but the brilliance of Angkor Wat was not diminished in the slightest. It stood there, almost taunting nature to do it's best to bring it down. It's been standing for 800 years, a testament to the strength of the empire that built it.<br />
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I left the hilltop buzzing with energy. I could hardly wait for the next day when I would actually go inside the famous temple.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUtGpfSHEIBzxNv7qCHCNwYyKaI79HV_XrdUJK7SL80KjnXM8ch05Sm5jbD0Dh_yJ53J3ndYjn5jdSO0E0r1OPskVnQ3OIMCeQLUixbhEDD2_xOBfFSWMio3Lb8ZpNJVaGTCDtKgdE3Bjo/s1600/DSCF1336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUtGpfSHEIBzxNv7qCHCNwYyKaI79HV_XrdUJK7SL80KjnXM8ch05Sm5jbD0Dh_yJ53J3ndYjn5jdSO0E0r1OPskVnQ3OIMCeQLUixbhEDD2_xOBfFSWMio3Lb8ZpNJVaGTCDtKgdE3Bjo/s320/DSCF1336.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angkor Wat needs no adornment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I woke up early and joined the rest of the group which had been formed the previous day. Five of us in total. It's a lot cheaper to share tuk-tuks than to go it alone. We headed to Angkor Wat for a sunrise viewing. It was cloudy so the likelihood of actually seeing the sun rise over Angkor Wat was slim. We didn't see the sun rise, yet it was perfect nonetheless. Angkor Wat needs no adornment. It is the most impressive structure ever built. Seeing the temple up close was much better than seeing it from afar. As you've probably gathered by now, it is huge, but what makes it more impressive is the amount of detail that it exudes. The walls surrounding the outer cloister are covered in bas-reliefs depicting scenes of the empire's history. Scenes of great battles and the crowning of god-kings are intricately carved into the walls and statues adorn each corner.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bayon and one of it's many faces</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After a couple of hours of wandering around Angkor Wat feeling completely awestruck we left to avoid the hoards of Chinese tourists descending on the temple from all sides. We jumped back in our tuk-tuks and went into the Angkor Thom enclosure. Angkor Thom was the walled city in which the ancient Khmer people lived at the height of the empire's power. It boasts some spectacular temples. The first one we stopped at was Bayon. I find it difficult to describe Bayon. My advice to most people visiting it would be to avoid taking any form of hallucinogenic drugs beforehand it's crazy enough already. Bayon, like most other temples, is enormous. But that is where the similarities end. Bayon is famous for the hundreds of faces which are carved into the spires and face the four cardinal directions. walking around it and looking up at the eerie, smiling faces is a surreal experience. An experience so surreal I ended up buying a T-shirt to remember it.<br />
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Baphuong temple was where we headed next. It was closed to tourists as it's undergoing a bit of reconstruction internally. I'm going to sound like a stuck record, but it was amazing. And gigantic. It was a pity we couldn't go inside, but seeing the temple from the outside was stunning enough. A little aside: Baphuong was a Hindu temple and Bayon was a Buddhist temple. The Khmer king at the time proclaimed that Buddhism and Hinduism can co-exist in harmony and so he allowed the temples to be built next to each other.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxDrX-JRWOJP_yUxeY56K9-8tX_wn8o0Eq8wIRG1huAXepDfPBnj7ShRA0DhY6nQ9AyEiczNLUqhyphenhyphen2KBnjJG-zVvAzsyfDINtg524VmwFROORht8QKurlLfTcToZXCjBtZwMuH7qmbTms/s1600/DSCF1392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxDrX-JRWOJP_yUxeY56K9-8tX_wn8o0Eq8wIRG1huAXepDfPBnj7ShRA0DhY6nQ9AyEiczNLUqhyphenhyphen2KBnjJG-zVvAzsyfDINtg524VmwFROORht8QKurlLfTcToZXCjBtZwMuH7qmbTms/s320/DSCF1392.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking at Baphuong down the main drag</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After Baphoung we walked to the Terrace of the Elephants which sports statues of elephants and a number of intricate carvings of, you guessed it, elephants. The terrace looks out over an array of what I assumed were burial chambers for the god-kings. They were either that or just a field of (relatively) small temples. A short walk took us to the Terrace of the Leper King, which is believed to have been built for a possibly leprous king. Hence the name. Bet you didn't expect that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbWGjlOQPZscF3MQJH24cseJj1nUGVwGb3y3t3_9-NZJ6y6EO7r3MwDN3bX3UOp6HVecOKzGQWXioLqK8kSPsPpdGszUMZJetpKpOIeahdQxA_BTjZK8kBJ9dnigkm1Yn6-KcYL303iZYz/s1600/DSCF1489.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbWGjlOQPZscF3MQJH24cseJj1nUGVwGb3y3t3_9-NZJ6y6EO7r3MwDN3bX3UOp6HVecOKzGQWXioLqK8kSPsPpdGszUMZJetpKpOIeahdQxA_BTjZK8kBJ9dnigkm1Yn6-KcYL303iZYz/s320/DSCF1489.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Preah Khan doesn't look so big from the entrance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We finished Angkor Thom with a cold beverage then set off for the next temple. Preah Khan was that temple. We arrived at Preah Khan not really sure of what to expect. And what we saw was incredible. Preah Khan it turns out is the second largest temple built by the Khmer. It doesn't look it when you walk down the main drag as it lacks the height of Angkor Wat, Bayon and Baphuong. But as you walk through it unfolds around you and the scale is revealed. The architects were clever when building it. The centre chamber used to house a statue of the king's father. Each doorway leading to the interior is smaller than the previous one. The idea behind this is that the subjects would be forced to bow upon entering the main chamber and seeing the statue. Preah Khan also gave us a taste of what to expect from the next stop as it had a tree wrapped around one of the buildings. We took a break in the centre of Preah Khan, away from the now overbearing heat. WE rested and soaked up the grandeur of the place.<br />
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"To the tuk-tuks!" I cried.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgld39Z8UxMBbsgtkWGW0cGMGtq4_Z14GfaZmsDgSkKZU3vinC_0pXxtCB1W8K_4NKYksGDQ_vtczqtDV2sMP55g_DC2SwlsaSiDFZu54kirzHhyphenhyphenjfhfRUDI81qg1SDMBEMtF1dnTVkufms/s1600/DSCF1560.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgld39Z8UxMBbsgtkWGW0cGMGtq4_Z14GfaZmsDgSkKZU3vinC_0pXxtCB1W8K_4NKYksGDQ_vtczqtDV2sMP55g_DC2SwlsaSiDFZu54kirzHhyphenhyphenjfhfRUDI81qg1SDMBEMtF1dnTVkufms/s320/DSCF1560.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A blend of nature and religious fervor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I didn't actually say that, but now I wish I did. Off we went, cruising in our tuk-tuks, to Ta Prohm, the sister temple to Preah Khan. Ta Prohm is the perfect blend of nature and architecture. Over the centuries trees have grown in and around the buildings of Ta Prohm. The buildings and massive trees intertwine and the power of both nature and the ancient Khmer empire is blatantly apparent. Ruins support trees and trees support ruins in a harmonious display of coexistence. Obviously the Khmer didn't build the temple with that in mind, but I think they would be proud to look upon it today and see what it has become. It is a beautiful temple and the forest surrounding it and becoming one with it truly makes it more astonishing. There were a lot of tourists visiting when we arrived so we waited for the masses to dissipate a little before really looking at the temple. This proved worthwhile as it quietened down and the sounds of the forest started creeping back. It made us feel as if we were the people discovering it for the first time.<br />
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The midday heat had set in by the time we left and we decided to have one last stop. Ta Keo was that stop. It is a lesser known temple but by no means less superb. It is a single building built somewhat like a Mayan pyramid. We climbed to the top and were gifted with a fantastic view of the surrounding forest. As always the carvings on the walls were very detailed and the building was monolithic. I keep having to thin of synonyms for massive to keep things spicy. After Ta Keo our day was done. I'd snapped roughly 400 photographs in 7 hours. My camera's batteries died.<br />
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The next day of temple viewing started at a more reasonable hour, but it was still early. The group of 5 had now been cropped to just 2. The rest of the people were heading off within the next couple of days and couldn't fit three days of temple viewing into their timescale. The further temples were on the cards this day and we started off with the furthest, Kbal Spean 60km away from Siem Reap.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9itqz6oI5M9fgo7za7FeLgc38puRaubO8-F_17srQQHGnPBwPSEuBt1Finl3uFFPZbPPSk4qvsUUcOgYtJrGi1PNjJj_j-aC-uGYN0FXCeg_v-KSOH03Quwo5FvpDKRN8gamhVG8wCzc/s1600/DSCF1619.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9itqz6oI5M9fgo7za7FeLgc38puRaubO8-F_17srQQHGnPBwPSEuBt1Finl3uFFPZbPPSk4qvsUUcOgYtJrGi1PNjJj_j-aC-uGYN0FXCeg_v-KSOH03Quwo5FvpDKRN8gamhVG8wCzc/s320/DSCF1619.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The carvings in the river</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I wouldn't call Kbal Spean a temple as such. It is, in actual fact, a river with hundreds of depictions of the Hindu gods carved into the rocks nearby. The riverbed is comprised of thousands of lingas (sacred objects for making water holy) which is why is is nicknamed The River of a Thousand Lingas. The walk up to Kbal Spean was a brilliant 1.5km hike through a dense jungle. At the bottom of the temple the river runs off a small cliff, forming a beautiful waterfall. The water was so cool and it was refreshing to splash over my face and feet. After cooling off a little bit we headed upriver and were greeted by the incredible sight of the riverbed adorned with thousands of linga. Around the river were carvings of animals and deities. We ventured further and found another small waterfall which cascaded over even more lingas. There were more carvings and more lingas further upstream. It felt good to dip my feet in holy water. I didn't burn like I thought I would, I'm obviously angering different gods.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7GxtRdPB9gHDvFDew8Hon_UvMDSV4hHUUqiXn6ZMsp6sREyP6i1jwSCe2FVbBG2yi2qlqzGjGkm2zwo5biC7Ke776WPXsz8rGzPrtHmt7DvaZrknV8V9F4RCbm3T24I0-RTdjXdqRY9g/s1600/DSCF1661.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7GxtRdPB9gHDvFDew8Hon_UvMDSV4hHUUqiXn6ZMsp6sREyP6i1jwSCe2FVbBG2yi2qlqzGjGkm2zwo5biC7Ke776WPXsz8rGzPrtHmt7DvaZrknV8V9F4RCbm3T24I0-RTdjXdqRY9g/s320/DSCF1661.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The intricacy of Banteay Srei</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A small temple followed Kbal Spean, the temple of Banteay Srei. Banteay Srei is the most intricate of all the temples. The walls are all exquisitely carved to the finest detail. Depictions of gods and demons abound and the brickwork is very fine. The locals believe that the detail is too fine to have been carved by men thus the temple must have been made entirely by women. The belief is carried in the name which dedicated the temple to women. However, it turns out it could just be an ancient typo. Banteay Srei is actually dedicated to Shiva. We'd spent ten minutes walking around before the heavens opened. By the time we got back to our tuk-tuk we were soaked to the bone.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIU24xJFfmVWT6IqytgEuguap_DKbA0s56o9SbWCBnXa4o61bDF8fbt0_4_WSsgeDdPMMTgT1s7XFR3j1r0zBjciuE_O-mGT4KdOKMjkxeubf51Ki6xlCnfLgeoOLH3RKYe_LaJoSNNN2/s1600/DSCF1685.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIU24xJFfmVWT6IqytgEuguap_DKbA0s56o9SbWCBnXa4o61bDF8fbt0_4_WSsgeDdPMMTgT1s7XFR3j1r0zBjciuE_O-mGT4KdOKMjkxeubf51Ki6xlCnfLgeoOLH3RKYe_LaJoSNNN2/s320/DSCF1685.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The nameless temple, understated yet brilliant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>On the drive to the final temple of the day we dried out. This is testament to the Cambodian heat. I don't know the name of the final temple we visited, there are over 200 temples of Angkor I can't be expected to know each one. It was, however, one of my favourites. It seemed somewhat understated, yet it was as grand as any other temple. It wasn't the gargantuan structure that Angkor Wat is and it lacked the strangeness inherent to Bayon or the natural aspects of Ta Prohm. What it did offer was a fantastic view of the surrounding areas and it was from the top that I spotted rain coming. We saw the rain and crammed in as much of the temple as possible before we felt the first drops fall. We climbed down the stairs and headed to the tuk-tuk. Not 5 seconds had passed after climbing into the tuk-tuk before it rained like it had never rained before. Rain bucketed down in torrents and visibility dropped dramatically. I have never seen anything like it in my life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtFUEZxOgMhBhvW6VhbTP3BJdjBQrQt1hm-BF4S97pEWad5TwhjREVQlFkjIK3DI1Lpu0mHpz6OM89-QfvtO1I6o-KHvc13inWkhLQA5AiERk44-QVh79TS0ccSPgcQzxUaWtBOLYr2IYO/s1600/DSCF1720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtFUEZxOgMhBhvW6VhbTP3BJdjBQrQt1hm-BF4S97pEWad5TwhjREVQlFkjIK3DI1Lpu0mHpz6OM89-QfvtO1I6o-KHvc13inWkhLQA5AiERk44-QVh79TS0ccSPgcQzxUaWtBOLYr2IYO/s320/DSCF1720.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bakong, part of the Roluos group</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Somehow the rain had stopped by the evening and the next morning I awoke to clear skies. It was to be my last day of temple visiting and the temples in the Roluos group were the ones we were headed to. These temples were among the first to be built by the Khmer and the difference in the architecture is apparent. We visited three temples in the Roluos group. Lolei - the baby, Bakong - the biggest and Preah Ko - a mixture of the others. Lolei was tiny in comparison to other Angkorian temples and only had four spires. If I hadn't seen the rest of the Temples of Angkor it would have been amazing to behold. Bakong had a lot in common with the temples built in subsequent years. It makes one think of it as a dry run for what was to come. The centre spire was large and the views from the top were beautiful. Preah Ko was the last temple we visited. It was a ground-level temple, which is to say it had spires rising from the ground (not from the top of a building). It had statues of lions along the main walkway and before the steps leading up to the spires. It was a good temple to end with as it had a blend of a lot of the aspects of other Angkorian temples.<span id="goog_1341310754"></span><span id="goog_1341310755"></span><br />
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You're probably really tired of hearing me ramble by now, but luck is on your side. My fingers are getting lazy and I'm about to finish typing this. I hope you enjoyed my ramble about the Temples of Angkor. I sincerely hope that you all get to see them one day. Nothing I say can do them justice.<br />
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OliverOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-13826253240209754922011-05-28T05:28:00.000+02:002011-05-28T05:28:44.248+02:00Southern Laos - The Most Relaxed Place on EarthOnce again, it's been a while.<br />
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I know how much you crave these tardy blog posts, so I've sat myself down at a computer in Cambodia and started with the catch-up. No, I'm no longer in Laos. But I will be typing up a blog post about everything I have yet to blog about in Laos. I've only been in Cambodia for 20 hours so I can hardly add anything of worth.<br />
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I believe I left you all (waiting with baited breath, no doubt) about a week ago in Vientiane. So, here begins my catch-up, or rather - yours.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGhjnAgpvsfozG1q7My6VotzZCkjg2zu9CbqlAMCwIw8gecy4g8Mw9JD8HBd0Bmy-XvO98mCfwqGWy66gvT8I8s49x55eQJ5uH2T-W0th7XCCpPFpqeE61mKl8eTqL7d23oHCoCxgfxl4/s1600/DSCF0956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGhjnAgpvsfozG1q7My6VotzZCkjg2zu9CbqlAMCwIw8gecy4g8Mw9JD8HBd0Bmy-XvO98mCfwqGWy66gvT8I8s49x55eQJ5uH2T-W0th7XCCpPFpqeE61mKl8eTqL7d23oHCoCxgfxl4/s320/DSCF0956.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wat Mixay, Vientiane</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Vientiane, the capital city of Laos, home to only 300 000 people, is one of the smaller cities in Southeast Asia. It is a beautiful city, but for some reason I didn't really like it. It lacks the charm inherent to Luang Prabang and it isn't nearly alive enough to be anything like Saigon. Sadly this makes it fall somewhere in the middle, a bit of a grey zone. The French influence is very apparent and you can't help but wonder, when wandering, if Vientiane is an Asian city trying hard to be French or a French city striving to be Asian. It was a puzzling phenomenon to say the least. Next to a French-style bakery one can find a mobile shop selling distinctly Asian dishes, my favourite being deep-fried mango (Yes, they have that and yes, it is amazing).<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUo7eHKlkzs9dcomI4fLjVKpfOdyJJOANEts7H7Aab1ls1GXsrktezYbJnfCuix1DdlTkZ32ItIhrjNCT5_vlZ0nhGcFwdq5wSy3eTm_z-ZeF_sQMi3scXNlebp8JQMl154Z_OtAZ7VXw/s1600/DSCF0978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUo7eHKlkzs9dcomI4fLjVKpfOdyJJOANEts7H7Aab1ls1GXsrktezYbJnfCuix1DdlTkZ32ItIhrjNCT5_vlZ0nhGcFwdq5wSy3eTm_z-ZeF_sQMi3scXNlebp8JQMl154Z_OtAZ7VXw/s320/DSCF0978.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Haw Pha Khaw museum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Schizophrenic though it may be, Vientiane had a lot on offer in the sightseeing department. Being a tourist it was my obligation to see sights and so I did. I donned my finest <i>farang</i> tourist gear and headed out, taking photos like a Japanese tourist. My first stop was at an old wat which had been converted into a museum, housing over a thousand buddha images. The museum building was, for me, more interesting than the buddha images. It was a fantastic, old wat with beautifully adorned windows and doors and a flowing garden out front. <br />
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After the museum, I did a quick hop across the road to Wat Sisaket, the oldest wat in Vientiane. It was, sadly, just another bleeding wat. I've seen so many. It did have a 'library' which used to contain buddhist scripture. The scripture has long since been removed, and the library (which is nothing more than a cramped room) has been gathering layers of dust over the years. The library is outside the main wat compound, around a corner and virtually no tourists bother to go there as it isn't immediately visible. It was by chance that I stumbled into it on my way out. The reason I was heading out was the Arc de Triomphe. Vientiane has one. An Asian version of the French monument, actually called Patuxai. It is apparently a few metres taller than the actual Arc de Triomphe, which is typically Asian. Perhaps you're starting to understand why I thought Vientiane was schizo... The views from the top of Patuxai are the best on offer in Vientiane. A full 360 degree view of the city is gifted to all people who climb the seven stories to reach it. And the view truly is fantastic. The city unfolds around you, monuments can be spied off in the distance and the buzz of cars drifts up to you from the main boulevard.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDKwY-kzbiBwsln0UiynCIcTs5zoo6iiGP50KJOpIgX6gsHkyOfnw1RL0iQvvBmSnS8A7cvS_JiWRv6j7HZ5ZQoPw5jYenAOLkUTQ0E9m5rkrc917vugWRJ6FcX7NuqhreBMNCz76XPrZF/s1600/DSCF1014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDKwY-kzbiBwsln0UiynCIcTs5zoo6iiGP50KJOpIgX6gsHkyOfnw1RL0iQvvBmSnS8A7cvS_JiWRv6j7HZ5ZQoPw5jYenAOLkUTQ0E9m5rkrc917vugWRJ6FcX7NuqhreBMNCz76XPrZF/s320/DSCF1014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patuxai, Asia's Arc de Triomphe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I left Vientiane behind after just 2 days. I left on a night bus to Pakse. My plan was originally to spend a day in Pakse and then head to Champasak the next day. It was early morning when I arrived in Pakse and I knew that buses and <i>sawng thaew</i> (converted pickup trucks with 2 rows of seats in the back) leave every morning for Champasak from the new market. Pakse didn't look too charming so I headed straight to the new market to find transport on to Champasak. I found a guy who was taking his <i>sawng thaew</i> to Champasak and asked when it departed. He told me 10 AM. It was 7AM. I spent the next 3 hours in the bustling morning market, it was a distinctly Asian experience and was truly brilliant. At 10 o'clock I (and 22 other people) climbed into the back of the <i>sawng thaew</i> and headed for Champasak.<br />
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About an hour later I arrived in the sleepy town of Champasak. There is only one road through the whole town and the main traffic on it is herds of water buffalo. It was such a perfect place to be. There were almost no other tourists.<br />
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The nearby Wat Phu Champasak was the main attraction. It is a very large temple which predates Angkor Wat and is believed to be the blueprint from which Angkor Wat and other Khmer temples were built. About an hour after I arrived I went to find a place from which to hire a motorbike. I found a guy who would rent one out and bargained for a half-day price. Fifteen minutes later I was on a motorbike, cruising to Wat Phu.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrm0V9jkEzszXt5vMlAzfNXzgeKsqoRgrLqUA5rcd0HsEs521NkUr60dzh3-Pq3c2O88BxMa_lBiOp-PPQv8HzvENCMYXhx5JScgqWvxjeIOfN_3M3BZiE3IRPee7bDo8rs7YclB5YgiWE/s1600/DSCF1048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrm0V9jkEzszXt5vMlAzfNXzgeKsqoRgrLqUA5rcd0HsEs521NkUr60dzh3-Pq3c2O88BxMa_lBiOp-PPQv8HzvENCMYXhx5JScgqWvxjeIOfN_3M3BZiE3IRPee7bDo8rs7YclB5YgiWE/s320/DSCF1048.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The main walkway to Wat Phu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Wat Phu blew my mind. It is a powerful structure, built on a hill to overlook the Mekong and its flood plains. It is almost unimaginable to believe that it has been standing there for over a millennium, in a constant battle with the ravages of time. It is being restored, but much of what is there has been standing since it was built. A brisk walk up to the top of the hill gifts you with fantastic views of the Mekong River and surrounds. The vastness of the compound becomes apparent when you look over it and see the massive <i>barays</i> (man-made lakes) stretching out in front of you. Walking around the upper complex you will find intricate carvings of an elephant, a crocodile and buddha's footprint in the rocks. There is an aqueduct which brings water from a spring near the peak of the mountain and buddha statues protected from the elements in little caves.<br />
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What was also mind-blowing was that there were almost no other tourists there. There were some local tourists from Vientiane and an Englishman who was cycling in and around Southeast Asia.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMxwAy9c4CJSKT3oh0cz3NdpcRYq7aacY3PnzO9ymysb2G99R3paLaAvXiNx5u6-zlYhpP8afp1khkuOaZqHsX_vItdM7Fyu-SRpMuxN6QMW2wYN_GQfF9ngQe-BoUHfMzN44mKVxp8SkE/s1600/DSCF1074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMxwAy9c4CJSKT3oh0cz3NdpcRYq7aacY3PnzO9ymysb2G99R3paLaAvXiNx5u6-zlYhpP8afp1khkuOaZqHsX_vItdM7Fyu-SRpMuxN6QMW2wYN_GQfF9ngQe-BoUHfMzN44mKVxp8SkE/s320/DSCF1074.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view from the top. Those square lakes are barays.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipUx7dWVWjp_8iCUbmSauPiy6knB5QnggUuSQ0xMXDT8OqjgDOejNLwJFFCeUTSE_oWgElZLvijbXAoqXer4zBvJi7vdocSJwkdzo1oVh7FD3ZacZnP6Wt_BDYnK9YX_miEViAgVL1lTm/s1600/DSCF1085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipUx7dWVWjp_8iCUbmSauPiy6knB5QnggUuSQ0xMXDT8OqjgDOejNLwJFFCeUTSE_oWgElZLvijbXAoqXer4zBvJi7vdocSJwkdzo1oVh7FD3ZacZnP6Wt_BDYnK9YX_miEViAgVL1lTm/s320/DSCF1085.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A crocodile carved into the rock</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_oo8a1WrKUT_OrBhyphenhyphencyJSm598XOCJSm_ETnW5SbmGvKDQoAiUniFyc7Lle-3kb5seCar5J-R6qZXe1U7fO7BWLpcUuYTdlVD8u1R5F9Q8rVXjZ73SboJU4JOl8uWzaUQEDMZ0bgXkAm2D/s1600/DSCF1086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_oo8a1WrKUT_OrBhyphenhyphencyJSm598XOCJSm_ETnW5SbmGvKDQoAiUniFyc7Lle-3kb5seCar5J-R6qZXe1U7fO7BWLpcUuYTdlVD8u1R5F9Q8rVXjZ73SboJU4JOl8uWzaUQEDMZ0bgXkAm2D/s320/DSCF1086.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The main temple building</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-bR88_eGoGf9e-5fU4lzHdTbyIyO64IqOUtFv6ysuwJbwHYSdQdpf5522Xk9cjbSf_tuj2zVDXav8c14v0jqSxc4W4IJtNxyCSDJ4Qtc0TE0bqrjdujmVkJVOtqnE4cPtXbM9gijyBDa/s1600/DSCF1103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-bR88_eGoGf9e-5fU4lzHdTbyIyO64IqOUtFv6ysuwJbwHYSdQdpf5522Xk9cjbSf_tuj2zVDXav8c14v0jqSxc4W4IJtNxyCSDJ4Qtc0TE0bqrjdujmVkJVOtqnE4cPtXbM9gijyBDa/s320/DSCF1103.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A look down on the main temple building</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The next day in Champasak I spent doing the only thing one can do in such a place, read. The town is always quiet and once you've found your spot on the Mekong, under a tree you're sorted. I arranged my ticket to Don Det and just relaxed the day away. There was nothing else to do, it was superb.<br />
<br />
Don Det possibly the most relaxed place on the planet. It is a tiny island in the Mekong River, part of Si Phan Don (4000 Islands). I arrived on Don Det just before midday and the whole place was silent. There was not a breath of wind nor the sound of a car. Boats puttered around on the river, but everything else was still. This was Don Det life. I walked down the sunrise side and found a place to stay. Almost all accommodation on Don Det is in the form of single-room, wooden bungalows over the river. On the balcony of each bungalow there are hammocks for lazing around in. I did what any sensible person would do, I lazed.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAq3Wf9ugqdGoGx4Uvdtt1_k_nWH2le_dd-cOlDbc6Kj_0r38686jma_hzBO7A_R9nxk8zorImxdBsuSOByUbDvGpoO8BWoshYVVHENhDEqCMLxi3Ah3DcwZPwpbOkMcGdsuqDuDODhgjM/s1600/DSCF1134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAq3Wf9ugqdGoGx4Uvdtt1_k_nWH2le_dd-cOlDbc6Kj_0r38686jma_hzBO7A_R9nxk8zorImxdBsuSOByUbDvGpoO8BWoshYVVHENhDEqCMLxi3Ah3DcwZPwpbOkMcGdsuqDuDODhgjM/s320/DSCF1134.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don Det bungalow, hammocks are a necessity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>On day one I lazed and read. On day two I lazed and read and booked my ticket to Siem Reap. On day three I lazed and read. I was almost finished both my books and was trying to read slowly to make the last pages stretch to the next day. On day four I rented a bicycle and pedaled my way over to Don Khon, the island directly south of Don Det. On Don Khon I went to the spot where one can see Irrawaddy dolphins, there weren't any. I then pedaled my way back to Tat Li Phi (Spirit Trap Waterfalls) and was instantly amazed by what I saw. Tat Li Phi is a series of waterfalls, not tall but long. They stretch for almost half a kilometre and thousands of tons of water cascade down every second. They are some of the most fantastic waterfalls I have ever seen. I chilled out at the waterfalls, just listening to the water crash down. It was a perfect way to bring my time in Laos to an end. A beautiful place in a beautiful country.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhntjDQ12OiXc9Y4s47dllYVETCOlHX4vEI9Nm41jua76pPEYPJvnk1_jbc7NIVZFcy0ZB4WZfQ3lhfuKtKdLsKmP3NIY1_N33_wSolQ9FgFWH17r7g4wEMlWd0sHfMxpHw8Xp5dZHaj4DG/s1600/DSCF1185.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhntjDQ12OiXc9Y4s47dllYVETCOlHX4vEI9Nm41jua76pPEYPJvnk1_jbc7NIVZFcy0ZB4WZfQ3lhfuKtKdLsKmP3NIY1_N33_wSolQ9FgFWH17r7g4wEMlWd0sHfMxpHw8Xp5dZHaj4DG/s320/DSCF1185.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A small part of Tat Li Phi</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The next morning (yesterday, as I write this) I picked up my bags, jumped on a ferry and left the island. 2 hours later the bus arrived to take me to Siem Reap. At 11 o'clock I was out of Laos and into Cambodia. At six in the evening the bus dropped all the passengers who were traveling to Siem Reap off in the middle of nowhere. 75km from Phnom Penh, 250km from Siem Reap. We waited for 2 hours. Another bus came and picked us up and took us to Siem Reap. 16 hours after departure, at midnight, the bus arrived.<br />
<br />
Oliver<br />
<br />
P.S. During those 2 hours stop over I ate a grasshopper. Here's a couple of pictures:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOZtfSdDAvDY3B739znteJbJaKriPXZbWd8k6h4BK0jCq3osSIiixCclm9ZoV3Whxc_JMZnD2jpMWYYM5vYjTZ6JDygEa_X9CcJhzxyNx0xAhEXNafR8-vXNIsqizfkx8RiZEjKwPHxSco/s1600/DSCF1204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOZtfSdDAvDY3B739znteJbJaKriPXZbWd8k6h4BK0jCq3osSIiixCclm9ZoV3Whxc_JMZnD2jpMWYYM5vYjTZ6JDygEa_X9CcJhzxyNx0xAhEXNafR8-vXNIsqizfkx8RiZEjKwPHxSco/s320/DSCF1204.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stage 1 - mental preparation</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9smKVyDuoS5rRzRcFngSCUJMqkN9QGTBoeI5pbugfa1iTmcua8OEggrEWl5W-_MUqpq4p4pJte4fMdr4mJrCx2aSFKgCuJmbLFdRqoBt1SrBJM65AibrIBoe07e5vmHIpVui-ahomuRYn/s1600/DSCF1205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9smKVyDuoS5rRzRcFngSCUJMqkN9QGTBoeI5pbugfa1iTmcua8OEggrEWl5W-_MUqpq4p4pJte4fMdr4mJrCx2aSFKgCuJmbLFdRqoBt1SrBJM65AibrIBoe07e5vmHIpVui-ahomuRYn/s320/DSCF1205.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stage 2 - execution</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-20128147275419411692011-05-19T07:19:00.000+02:002011-05-19T07:19:04.564+02:00Lao TimeHello internet my old friend, it's been a while.<br />
<br />
And hello to all you you people who keep coming back to punish yourself with my blog. You masochists, you. This little blog, which will probably turn into a not so little blog during the course of the 2 hours I plan on spending writing it is coming to you from a new country. Vietnam is done... for now.<br />
<br />
A week and a day ago I left the city of Hanoi on a train bound for Vinh (still in Vietnam by the way). I was literally the only tourist on this train and I was treated as somewhat of a celebrity by the locals who plied me with rice whiskey and wanted to know everything about me. All of the time trying to communicate with hand signals as not one of them spoke a word of English. In Vinh the experience was continued as I was, once again, the only tourist there. On a routine wander around after arrival I was invited to sit with some locals who bought me beer and gave me tofu and peanuts. I couldn't stay long however as I had to get up early to catch the bus to Phonsavan (in Laos).<br />
<br />
The bus for Phonsavan departed really early and was scheduled to take 10 hours, including the border crossing. As is the norm, it took roughly 12 hours excluding the border crossing. And I managed to sit next to the World Champ at Personal Space Invasion for the whole journey. Just my luck.<br />
The border crossing was nothing short of epic. To get to the border one has to drive 25km up a spectacular mountain pass. The bus drove up the pass in bright sunshine and about a minute before reached the crest the heavens opened in a downpour second to none. At the border post it was raining so hard that the road had turned into a temporary river. Regulations stop the bus from driving right up to the Vietnamese side's entrance, so I had to run about 150m in the heaviest rain I have ever seen. By the time I reached the border post, 20 seconds later, I was soaked. I had wanted to take pictures of the crossing, but as you can imagine getting a camera out in a downpour in not the easiest or the best advised thing to do. I put my passport on the top of the pile of passports in from of the Vietnamese official and it got handled first and given back to me. Somehow the rain had stopped and I meandered over to the Laos side and got my visa without hassle.<br />
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Laos is a beautiful country. If not the most beautiful country I have ever seen. The drive through the mountains to Phonsavan proved it. Laos is lush and around every turn there is a stunning view down a valley or of a mountain. But more on that later.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjl1XBWWFioECYVzZu_ZQbQ9ERWlAESgkvuAE6zmEIhv_-hRL5bdOtfC0AgaV5yowBmcNI4RZMaPd7SlyOaRxBKFIrF980PUbqMEj85oic6Cph0k_ZQ1uKSGCl7IRUbCoBDwc51F9wk_16/s1600/DSCF0890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjl1XBWWFioECYVzZu_ZQbQ9ERWlAESgkvuAE6zmEIhv_-hRL5bdOtfC0AgaV5yowBmcNI4RZMaPd7SlyOaRxBKFIrF980PUbqMEj85oic6Cph0k_ZQ1uKSGCl7IRUbCoBDwc51F9wk_16/s320/DSCF0890.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The most beautiful country?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFUXqD4PCU2oMLaWaySIKa02HzvJmbCDIlWRbfPbt1ABFnQT1-Xo8MyLq8gubpt-I6s77B5hoiKzEuonAWHyhcPE_oB9kMLpC0PHx3HxReCF_kxLoi8k3rmZj2d_iytADL1QjWbiqk8de/s1600/DSCF0826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFUXqD4PCU2oMLaWaySIKa02HzvJmbCDIlWRbfPbt1ABFnQT1-Xo8MyLq8gubpt-I6s77B5hoiKzEuonAWHyhcPE_oB9kMLpC0PHx3HxReCF_kxLoi8k3rmZj2d_iytADL1QjWbiqk8de/s320/DSCF0826.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the better-preserved Jars</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Phonsavan is one of the more populous cities in Laos, with a population of around 60 000. That said, it is a one-street town and the only reason it's worth visiting is the nearby Plain of Jars. The Plain of Jars is divided into about 300 sites, 7 of which have been cleared of UXO (unexploded ordnance) - from when America bombed the shit out of this country - and have been declared safe for tourists. I went to Plain of Jars site 1 the morning after crossing into Laos, before other tourists made an appearance and was blown away (there's a pun in there, it was completely unintended I assure you. I only noticed it when I read back on this post). The Plain of Jars site 1 has roughly 350 jars all dating back about 2000 years. There exact purpose is still a mystery but they are believed to be funerary urns. The people who built them are unknown and are believed to have disappeared. To every question you ask you'll likely get the response "It's a mystery."<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSL4UE2U71DdmptxxBhpEYaC05zjlX6Lm49f03pOUZVe0zMynHSrHvL_nuOaPYJRgdZjr_xDBy9KzyIlxG2WKTm73lKvypXLPnTHc3EwZVwsgPAXM1Wd2iMhhkclJoRKww4sI3Zy8zE2Xr/s1600/DSCF0840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSL4UE2U71DdmptxxBhpEYaC05zjlX6Lm49f03pOUZVe0zMynHSrHvL_nuOaPYJRgdZjr_xDBy9KzyIlxG2WKTm73lKvypXLPnTHc3EwZVwsgPAXM1Wd2iMhhkclJoRKww4sI3Zy8zE2Xr/s320/DSCF0840.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An idea of scale</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Walking amongst these ancient artifacts and knowing that you know about as much about them as archaeologists do and that at any given point you're probably not that far from an unexploded bomb is a somewhat surreal experience. Beating the tourists to the site was a brilliant idea as I was able to take it all in before anybody else arrived. Naturally it made it easier to take photos and I was pretty trigger happy with the snapshots.<br />
<br />
Sadly once you've seen the Plain of Jars you've pretty much done everything in Phonsavan worth doing. After a morning in amongst the the Jars I headed back to Phonsavan and booked my ticket to Luang Prabang for the next day. About 5 minutes after I arrived back the rain started up and didn't stop until the evening. It was such luck that I was able to see the Jars in a dry part of a day that was 90% rain.<br />
<br />
Lao time is unlike any other time (African-, me-, etc). If you think African time is slow, add 20% to that and you'll get Laos time. "How long will the bus take to get to Luang Prabang?" I asked.<br />
"About 6 hours. You leave at 7 AM and get there around 3 o'clock." came the reply.<br />
"Sounds good to me."<br />
After nine hours on the bus you're thinking, "Where the fuck is this place?"<br />
And then, mercifully, 10 and a half hours after departure, you see it. Way off in the distance, but it's there. You can almost touch it...<br />
Nope.<br />
Another hour, thank you very much.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS5-eGnEgChkG5xKbvMJbX_N46h7SkDLFvhGQl7TxfbNGpETdJ_1-T-QzviU8fVj8pyKs0khIIOq-H5uD_hyphenhypheniX2Jh6NxXFDLS810UElWmt2JN-2Xp-NogyHhuOT__l2taId6Jo2NCPSUP2/s1600/DSCF0902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS5-eGnEgChkG5xKbvMJbX_N46h7SkDLFvhGQl7TxfbNGpETdJ_1-T-QzviU8fVj8pyKs0khIIOq-H5uD_hyphenhypheniX2Jh6NxXFDLS810UElWmt2JN-2Xp-NogyHhuOT__l2taId6Jo2NCPSUP2/s320/DSCF0902.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every road in Luang Prabang looks like this.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>And we're here. Luang Prabang. The most impossibly photogenic city in the world. Every street and alley you walk is picturesque. And everything you do, you do at 50% pace. It's Laos PDR at it's best (Please Don't Rush). It's a really small town that takes about half an hour to walk around, but there is so much to see you'd be hard pressed to see it all in just a couple of days.<br />
<br />
But rushing around and trying to see everything is just not on. This is Laos after all. You must meander, with a book in hand, through the streets and alleys. Stopping as often as possible to read that book or sit in silence and watch the Mekong river do it's thing. There are Wat all over the place in Luang Prabang and you'll almost certainly be 'watted out' by the end of your stay. (Wat are buddhist temples, by the way).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKV9cIw2R9LA8t8CJEPcq3SdZ9O-wxTq8LwWvP4O0-dULlT49kdFperdQbmfnLiVyTzktcqvFm7DaQban8cOkQ82VQJobC99eGCdpr3o-V1AHfY1-l_SOh1yLEKPfVkKR13hHAuFYZJgMF/s1600/DSCF0919.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKV9cIw2R9LA8t8CJEPcq3SdZ9O-wxTq8LwWvP4O0-dULlT49kdFperdQbmfnLiVyTzktcqvFm7DaQban8cOkQ82VQJobC99eGCdpr3o-V1AHfY1-l_SOh1yLEKPfVkKR13hHAuFYZJgMF/s320/DSCF0919.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wat wat?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sadly for me, the rain played a major role in what I could see and do. It bucketed on the first day I wanted to explore and I was confined to a balcony overlooking the market. Which was an experience in itself. There was a break in the clouds for about and hour so I headed around the city (literally. When I say I headed around the city, I mean I actually walked around it). I was trigger happy with the camera once again and got some really cool shots of the beautiful alleys and some of the Wat. At the end of my meander around I stopped and watched some local men playing Boules. It was drawing a crowd of spectators and the men were laughing and joking while playing a cracking game. If there is a metaphor for Lao life it would be this. It was the middle of the day, yet these men weren't interested in working, they just wanted to have some fun.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcM7mlhU2N8Q2tRSb7y8rjwGl-fg9ajlitEMPW7qbAMWq6TDfIE7ocKNz0OkCXUBUGau2tQLsdrn9cIgHLdV_ORdlGC0bd-sPpG1lPMemp6wHMymYrc3N6bRmlb0rSrwwTXM4Wq2vXecrt/s1600/DSCF0945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcM7mlhU2N8Q2tRSb7y8rjwGl-fg9ajlitEMPW7qbAMWq6TDfIE7ocKNz0OkCXUBUGau2tQLsdrn9cIgHLdV_ORdlGC0bd-sPpG1lPMemp6wHMymYrc3N6bRmlb0rSrwwTXM4Wq2vXecrt/s320/DSCF0945.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The night market</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The greatest attraction in Luang Prabang, in my opinion, is the food. At night buffets open up in the market and you can get a hug plate of great food for only 10 000kip (Roughly R10). You can expect your tastebuds to be awakened by a trip to Luang Prabang. After you've gorged yourself on a brilliant vegetarian buffet head down to the night market and grab yourself a fruit shake for 5 000kip. Take a moment to watch as that fresh pineapple you just chose gets turned into a fruit shake right before your eyes.<br />
<br />
On another of the days which didn't rain I headed out of town to see what I could find, away from other tourists. I found a place with looms set up and women weaving away. It was incredible to see how much effort goes into making those beautiful cloths that we barter so furiously over. It makes you wonder how they can sell those cloths so cheaply, hundreds of hours go into making a single cloth. It was a humbling experience and it put a lot of what I've seen into perspective. The sheer amount of effort that goes into it and yet we barter so hard over what, in our currencies, amounts to mere cents.<br />
<br />
After visiting the weaving centre I headed back into the city's heart and found a shady spot to read away the afternoon. It seems that the most I did in Luang Prabang was eat, read, and walk. That night I went back to the night market, this time armed with a camera for some more trigger-finger stretching. The next morning I would jump on a bus to Vientiane - the capital of Laos and where I am writing this blog post from.<br />
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Luang Prabang will definitely go down as one of my favourite cities in Southeast Asia. It is a beauty-filled city with friendly people and the most relaxed pace of life you will ever experience. It makes doing nothing a reward for doing very little and it laughs at you for taking life too seriously.<br />
<br />
Kip jokes aren't as funny as dong...<br />
...<br />
...<br />
...jokes<br />
OliverOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-50742889137415155032011-05-10T07:56:00.000+02:002011-05-10T10:15:16.750+02:00Sapa - A SynopsisMy last blog post came to you from the hill town of Sapa. In it I mentioned briefly that I had arrived and was impressed by the place, not much else. This blog entry will be dedicated almost entrirely to the magnificent town of Sapa.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs9udqQDo7TxVhbVFZMvu6cQ18JoGVGkL2sQl8iesS3HnN9A3_z1t243BAFUzmnPaPzs8rC_WwaGOHz27FuI0YF6q5_hAiP9e0dxGTZtbNiljpjrurSyI6ATeq49fZYNSoPc6XMAUG2MM7/s1600/DSCF0715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs9udqQDo7TxVhbVFZMvu6cQ18JoGVGkL2sQl8iesS3HnN9A3_z1t243BAFUzmnPaPzs8rC_WwaGOHz27FuI0YF6q5_hAiP9e0dxGTZtbNiljpjrurSyI6ATeq49fZYNSoPc6XMAUG2MM7/s320/DSCF0715.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mists swirl up the valley</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We arrived in Sapa on the morning of the 6th and were instantly blown away by the beauty of the place. Rice paddies are cut into the surrounding hills and mist swirls up the valley in the morning. It is a small town inhabited almost entirely my minority people such as the H'mong and Dzao. The markets buzz and the people always smile. You get hassled almost non-stop, but it is oddly enjoyable.<br />
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I will be writing this blog post somewhat like a synopsis of events that transpired in Sapa. In order to do this best I will be writing about each day separately. Let's begin... at the beginning...<br />
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<b><u>Day 1</u></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJ88fxuwIuoQXqdPqmNP2S_P4hVchvZiYXtYZKv50emKQqEGfzSIy_GHn2QxgGIJ49RWNFJI2Sf3oON72kCML2q1nXQseEidWO4FTJNn7m1tF7fSt4TrnhKaxZC8qSbd3yfEdtBjSWlHc/s1600/DSCF0779.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJ88fxuwIuoQXqdPqmNP2S_P4hVchvZiYXtYZKv50emKQqEGfzSIy_GHn2QxgGIJ49RWNFJI2Sf3oON72kCML2q1nXQseEidWO4FTJNn7m1tF7fSt4TrnhKaxZC8qSbd3yfEdtBjSWlHc/s320/DSCF0779.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Duc and I, chilling in Moon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Once we had settled in our hotel which sported a view that few places rivaled we headed into town to orientate ourselves. Orientating oneself in Sapa is not exactly very hard to do. There is one road of significance in the entire town. On this road there are bars, hotels, restaurants and the market. Once we had got our bearings we did the most important thing that every traveler must do. We found a good place to eat and ate. The name of the place was Moon and it is owned by a man named Duc. Duc is without a doubt the coolest guy in Sapa. He played covers of Metallica and Guns 'N Roses on his old acoustic guitar while we ate breakfast. He sat and chatted to us and told us about what to do and where to go in Sapa to get the most out of our experience.<br />
We spent the rest of the day walking around Sapa, stopping regularly to sit and take in the amazing views. We chatted with some of the local H'mong women who gave us wristbands then meandered through the market to see what was on offer.<br />
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<b><u>Day 2</u></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrDxssK7jo-QdjAM_pkklgbrQ1bTHE1mhNQB9c-wmpcRM2qqofecpPokFeF84Kzl-YFDfcXISLk9eRkhEE8rROpwjas8EzblIkeRdYpDrYY5QtLPVzgafUAbCiw_hyphenhyphenTqv_hgC68wp7ArfE/s1600/DSCF0766.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrDxssK7jo-QdjAM_pkklgbrQ1bTHE1mhNQB9c-wmpcRM2qqofecpPokFeF84Kzl-YFDfcXISLk9eRkhEE8rROpwjas8EzblIkeRdYpDrYY5QtLPVzgafUAbCiw_hyphenhyphenTqv_hgC68wp7ArfE/s320/DSCF0766.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view down on the rice paddies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Day 2 was our first big day out in Sapa. Or rather out of Sapa. We spent almost the entire day trekking down to a nearby village and back. We set out fairly early and had breakfast at Moon with Duc, bought some provisions for on the trek and headed down the mountain side. We walked along the main road for about an hour until we reached the turnoff we were looking for. We turned off the road and weaved our way down the side of the mountain on a gravel road, passing rice paddies and homes. This was a spectacular walk down and almost every corner we rounded we were greeted by a fantastic view. We stopped often to snap photos and admire the scenery. At the bottom of the track we crossed a wide river on a very wobbly suspension bridge and ended up in a small village. We had wanted to head back to Sapa in the valley, rather than on the main road, but the road we were looking for didn't exist. The map was pretty certain it did and we spent nearly an hour trying to locate it to no avail. A bit disappointed not to be doing the loop we'd planned on doing, we trudged our way back up to the main road and back to Sapa. It was a steep walk back and by the time we reached the local bia hoi joint we were ready to put our feet up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNguL0hLbb_jW1bOsZMbUwbUeBG0KTeRv12TmjZNP-PvS-lkCTVIWM-9BXPMTpoqUMydiY0nZUTDc1KMOvRgV5prXUiTiZdSM-ZB0036fp2WZaHL6JqJrD1YnC2yszKZgLQy9nfEjdmUeo/s1600/DSCF0773.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNguL0hLbb_jW1bOsZMbUwbUeBG0KTeRv12TmjZNP-PvS-lkCTVIWM-9BXPMTpoqUMydiY0nZUTDc1KMOvRgV5prXUiTiZdSM-ZB0036fp2WZaHL6JqJrD1YnC2yszKZgLQy9nfEjdmUeo/s320/DSCF0773.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The river and rice paddies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>And put our feet up we did. At just R7 for 1.5 litres of beer we felt happy to put away 3 litres of the stuff. Thankfully bia hoi is weak stuff or we wouldn't have managed to walk the hundred metres back up the hill to our hotel. On the walk back we did have to make a pit stop to empty the tanks, though.<br />
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</div><div><b><u>Day 3</u></b></div><div>We spent our third day in Sapa relaxing. After breakfast at Duc's we headed into the market to get some fruit then back up to the balcony at our hotel where we sat and read for most of the day. I took the opportunity to catch up with the rest of the world a bit and actually watched the news for the first time in Vietnam. It was good to see what was going on in the rest of the world and it felt refreshing to reconnect a loose connection. It came loose the next day again, but it was good while it lasted. After a very relaxed day we headed down to the bia hoi joint, sat with the locals and relaxed some more, this time with a beer in hand.</div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHBSfjdKgiZOj7_KKt9RyHk8yR6v8x4jVeykUjmKEb1VZXGPRsWcq42iVXNU4jFYLNvBgMLvnb162N-sq9B3ycWos0v1MKsZ0ufd8KwRtaQiqASaNE8za0HwZ3FDlaZ4jBtY1qbs3psXy/s1600/DSCF0738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHBSfjdKgiZOj7_KKt9RyHk8yR6v8x4jVeykUjmKEb1VZXGPRsWcq42iVXNU4jFYLNvBgMLvnb162N-sq9B3ycWos0v1MKsZ0ufd8KwRtaQiqASaNE8za0HwZ3FDlaZ4jBtY1qbs3psXy/s320/DSCF0738.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No such thing as a flat path in Sapa</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b><u>Day 4</u></b></div><div>The final day in Sapa. We were catching a night train back to Hanoi on this day and had to catch a bus at 17:30 to get to the Lao Cai train station. Time was limited so we rented motorbikes for the day and headed north, further into the mountains. Jeremy Clarkson said the road between Hoi An and Hue was the ride of a lifetime. The pass out of Sapa is better. The road may not be in the best condition, but the views are magnificent and the switchbacks and curves are incredibly fun to drive on a motorbike. All in all the pass is about 50 kilometres long and winds up and out of Sapa before plummeting down towards the Chinese border. We rode for hours, stopping to take pictures of the many waterfalls which cascade down the mountain side, and eventually ended up in a little village at a crossroads. It was at this little village that we were served the worst coffee in Vietnam, but it didn't matter we were loving being on the bikes. We were a little nervous about missing the bus so we headed back. Driving those roads once more was exhilarating and the bikes came alive on the steep roads. It was a bit of a battle driving up the pass as the bikes seldom managed to get over 40km/h even at full throttle, but the drive was unbelievably good.</div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-u1-OEY5N3FhtXOIRcO8o9sxKWL5pumowfqbazxNuYzUZgH_DgF7qnyEcjWimHVisWfdAKXIk4IfEveiMn3HqmjWpPvgip6z1PclLAE9wQNezwHNhPfoYY22_sronXDs8uPpv7paAg5rX/s1600/DSCF0792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-u1-OEY5N3FhtXOIRcO8o9sxKWL5pumowfqbazxNuYzUZgH_DgF7qnyEcjWimHVisWfdAKXIk4IfEveiMn3HqmjWpPvgip6z1PclLAE9wQNezwHNhPfoYY22_sronXDs8uPpv7paAg5rX/s320/DSCF0792.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The drive of a lifetime</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Our paranoia about missing the bus turned out to be completely unfounded as we arrived back at 14:45. As there was not much more to do in Sapa we headed to the bia hoi joint again and waited for the bus to arrive.</div><div><br />
</div><div>We arrived back in Hanoi this morning and headed to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum where we saw old Ho's embalmed body. It's a crazy place and no pictures are allowed so I can't share the experience with you, but it was really strange seeing the man this country has deified. It was an almost surreal experience walking through the mausoleum and being able to look at the perfectly preserved body of a man who wanted to be cremated.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Oliver</div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-33537900233473441012011-05-07T11:51:00.000+02:002011-05-08T04:30:52.932+02:00Vietnam's Biggest SurpriseMake yourselves comfortable, this could be another long'un.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;"></div>Jeremy Clarkson, upon seeing Halong Bay, described it as 'Vietnam's biggest surprise.' After seeing Halong Bay I can say with certainty that that statement is the best description of Halong bay. You can look at millions of pictures and read thousands of books and nothing will prepare you for your first sight of the thousands of karst islands towering above the sea. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I first need to write a little about Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WKrjca8nWnxjDsFEUh1XuhpTHxGCrxAEMyc1B_gz95ciAi-YvaYFo9ZAkhgdfP_afDkzus7kBKQFTbFuvRfT3ksDnSdDFi_PAmlPpgbdmn1cfFrrUCLcogWLIdvGsuotFIrpHuDPU-3V/s1600/DSCF0625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WKrjca8nWnxjDsFEUh1XuhpTHxGCrxAEMyc1B_gz95ciAi-YvaYFo9ZAkhgdfP_afDkzus7kBKQFTbFuvRfT3ksDnSdDFi_PAmlPpgbdmn1cfFrrUCLcogWLIdvGsuotFIrpHuDPU-3V/s320/DSCF0625.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A back alley in Hanoi, before sunset</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The easiest way to describe Hanoi would be to compare it to a similar city, in this case the best comparison would be HCMC. Hanoi is nothing like Saigon. Comparison done. About the only thing Hanoi has in common with HCMC is the craziness. Hanoi is at full throttle all day and most of the night. Sadly, the similarities end there. Hanoi lacks the charm that is so abundant in HCMC. It is much more business-like and the attitude of the people reflects that. Basically Hanoi is all the craziness of HCMC with none of the smiles and laughs. And everything is 50% more expensive than in the south.<br />
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On Wednesday morning, bright and early a bus came and whisked us off to Halong Bay for our 2 day cruise through the karsts. We jumped on the boat at midday and had lunch on our way to the first stop on the tour, 2 huge caves full of stalagmites and stalactites. The cave is one of the first limestone islands you come to, so a full view of the other karsts was not provided just yet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQBgL9M6ZyJvIhbEstIBWdxVdR66tlc6Me51OEVLvDKokfkkThsBEbmxRAYVL26HWw_XJJ7BauORFtlJaFmC_Ro8eKX5N7P9ih9879PhlhWltdU9pz89Ahvl-Nd64kWXPEYjEWTEY0kVP/s1600/DSCF0647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQBgL9M6ZyJvIhbEstIBWdxVdR66tlc6Me51OEVLvDKokfkkThsBEbmxRAYVL26HWw_XJJ7BauORFtlJaFmC_Ro8eKX5N7P9ih9879PhlhWltdU9pz89Ahvl-Nd64kWXPEYjEWTEY0kVP/s320/DSCF0647.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first cave, lit in crazy colours</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The first cave is more popular with the tourists and was lit with lights in many different colours. The cave was spectacular, but the multi-coloured lights detracted from the brilliance of it and furthermore a fountain had been installed near the exit. Millions of years of erosion by the dripping of water and crashing of waves and they've gone and put a fountain right in the middle of the cave. The idea is ridiculous, not to mention damaging to the cave in the long run.<span id="goog_1995446831"></span><span id="goog_1995446832"></span><br />
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The second cave was much less visited by tourists and was far better than the first. It was not lit by ridiculous lights and it felt a lot less tainted by people. We had only 40 minutes to explore both caves as we had more to do and see that day so we headed back to the boat to avoid being left behind. We left the cave and the island behind and cruised into the karsts. The karsts are truly amazing. There is no proper way to describe them without failing to do them justice. Limestone mountains with sheer cliffs jut out of the sea and tower over everything beneath them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisL49kt0zf5vBHH6Dfp_vNqLvQ8UQg74_9WT2ExPR8mqq4HU-170FXmpOrzfdV03vq8AnUT1wGxa4v9zLZZswtMoK8Z4FtOVCHhzD1OWdxlsT2iWX7JSXzp2wAFvYuLWXobSP9rYrKDEDm/s1600/DSCF0703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisL49kt0zf5vBHH6Dfp_vNqLvQ8UQg74_9WT2ExPR8mqq4HU-170FXmpOrzfdV03vq8AnUT1wGxa4v9zLZZswtMoK8Z4FtOVCHhzD1OWdxlsT2iWX7JSXzp2wAFvYuLWXobSP9rYrKDEDm/s320/DSCF0703.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The karst islands of Halong Bay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The inhabitants of Halong bay have a story almost as dramatic as that of the islands. Many of the people who inhabit the floating villages spread throughout Halong bay are born there, live there and die there, some never setting foot on dry land apart from the karsts. The next stop on the tour was at one of these villages where we were taken through a cave to a place where we could swim. It is at this point that I would like to add that the tour itself was not that good. The tour operators were misers of the worst kind and everyone on board was still hungry after every meal. For breakfast on the second day we had to share an omelet between 5 people. Sadly, this is a common occurrence in Vietnam. It is a deliberate tactic caused by an agreement between tour/bus/boat operators and restaurants/locals. The restaurant has a monopoly on food in an area and the bus/boat/tour operator brings hungry customers who are then forced to buy food. In this case the boat operator was also the snack stall owner so it was in his best interests to keep everyone hungry so they'd buy snacks.<br />
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The tour itinerary may not have been the best and the food may have been slim, but the only reason I went was to see the karsts and they certainly didn't disappoint me. Just being able to see this natural wonder was good enough for me. Spending a night on a boat amongst some of those limestone towers was a fantastic experience.<br />
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The next morning, after breakfast, we started our journey back to the harbour. The karsts were bathed in early-morning mist and were even more stunning than the day before. We stopped at the same village as the previous day to do some kayaking in exactly the same place as we'd taken the boat which was a bit annoying, but an experience nonetheless. After a measly allowance of 20 minutes on the kayaks we headed out of the karsts and back to the harbour for lunch. For once we were served a hearty meal and I polished off about six bowls of rice.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfbkHU6yUrsarZdTm1N0be5JUnPn0RdOvS377xP4isq4F87tenYZ1Pc4suJAaQWUlJmanS9gXwttZcIrWRipOiNjV-DZDvlrNOxELCS12wUBr1kaE6OFTjFqcEXmDV4NgsYYRKG0UWslo/s1600/DSCF0707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfbkHU6yUrsarZdTm1N0be5JUnPn0RdOvS377xP4isq4F87tenYZ1Pc4suJAaQWUlJmanS9gXwttZcIrWRipOiNjV-DZDvlrNOxELCS12wUBr1kaE6OFTjFqcEXmDV4NgsYYRKG0UWslo/s320/DSCF0707.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The karsts wrapped in a mist blanket</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After a gratifyingly filling lunch, I waddled my rice belly over to the bus to commence the journey back to Hanoi. The bus driver nearly killed everyone on a number of occasions on the way back by playing chicken with trucks and other buses, but somehow we arrived intact.<br />
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We arrived back at 17:00 and had to catch a night train to Sapa at 20:35, so we showered and caught up with the rest of the world while we waited for the train. At 19:30 we made our way to the train station, found the right platform and got on the train. I was passed out within minutes of the train leaving the station and at 4:45 this morning was awoken and told we had arrived at Lao Cai on the Chinese border. We jumped off the train and onto a bus heading to Sapa and waited for it to leave. An hour later the bus departed for Sapa and 45 minutes after that we arrived.<br />
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In the past few days I've seen some of the most amazing sights and some of the most beautiful vistas Vietnam has to offer. Sapa is high in the mountains and we climbed through mist and fog to get here. Upon arrival at our hotel we were treated to the most magnificent views I have ever seen. Terraced fields occupy the sides of the surrounding mountains and mist was rising up the valley. We stood on a balcony above it all, breathed in the fresh mountain air and took in the incredible view. What a place!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0C6HxapGMqJ36EYtM3SQ44vzJ92SRV3JcCABG0sWN9gO0LqvJJowQEYYkNKmm5feR4_2LDm18BAAPEwsMKrA1FJnayqX9GKiYwSJj8I2lwnIYcr9GX_92DWSOKn3ptXQLk9-S-BzgzJwM/s1600/DSCF0719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0C6HxapGMqJ36EYtM3SQ44vzJ92SRV3JcCABG0sWN9gO0LqvJJowQEYYkNKmm5feR4_2LDm18BAAPEwsMKrA1FJnayqX9GKiYwSJj8I2lwnIYcr9GX_92DWSOKn3ptXQLk9-S-BzgzJwM/s320/DSCF0719.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to Sapa!</td></tr>
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Oliver<br />
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P.S. I wrote this blog up yesterday, but wasn't able to add the pictures so everywhere you see the word 'today', substitute it with the word 'yesterday'. It may sound difficult, but I believe in you.<br />
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P.P.S Here are some more shots of the karsts for your enjoyment:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfd1y7C7yi-O_hkE_GZDjYaP0UjANu09cbEeJeQ4386nAr7vYuIyE6UEfJOxhvVzQ5t6ZIX-2EyxTW6N_3fh-YQh_Lm6_0p-Jwug3SaIGigtlDh8DcOTF56dkKgIl-oJenlCYqThFYZM0l/s1600/DSCF0687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfd1y7C7yi-O_hkE_GZDjYaP0UjANu09cbEeJeQ4386nAr7vYuIyE6UEfJOxhvVzQ5t6ZIX-2EyxTW6N_3fh-YQh_Lm6_0p-Jwug3SaIGigtlDh8DcOTF56dkKgIl-oJenlCYqThFYZM0l/s320/DSCF0687.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cruising through the karsts</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQR5rgvn5_3udY7EYfmBIo41ONtK0jmeS6YVY6bG0Ul_FjePmziTQxbi5Q-SILlQVNJkk17kM9mJc_IhQTsKybb3N-SHa1xgZWOCHBaxMRIDr7isY3N7ulXUs7xT9n4tij0aNHDDym4sa/s1600/DSCF0690.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQR5rgvn5_3udY7EYfmBIo41ONtK0jmeS6YVY6bG0Ul_FjePmziTQxbi5Q-SILlQVNJkk17kM9mJc_IhQTsKybb3N-SHa1xgZWOCHBaxMRIDr7isY3N7ulXUs7xT9n4tij0aNHDDym4sa/s320/DSCF0690.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A floating village complete with school and bank</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvF3XkqcPFQhmji8GTsovl2jfwls7OJRrpFPZz-VIHfPlSZFO09AO1vjo32agwdrfEUL_86a2AtxVbdYuY1aRJWYs-uvXvdsL1YFCaIApXoffxS5cXDaneyxSjBbaiB4BWhwnehTR1NJx/s1600/DSCF0691.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvF3XkqcPFQhmji8GTsovl2jfwls7OJRrpFPZz-VIHfPlSZFO09AO1vjo32agwdrfEUL_86a2AtxVbdYuY1aRJWYs-uvXvdsL1YFCaIApXoffxS5cXDaneyxSjBbaiB4BWhwnehTR1NJx/s320/DSCF0691.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At low tide you can kayak though that little opening</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeRKawWaXgl7rtaUb5HVXbASjEyPOcR0CEl-QwLHLcCuIEryXuaOpbBM1K5If4fbrk3YscLXml6G-yuUTf6U6cc42B_gKuA2tW9bohXGC0v9R372QzBMeM3r6-ROo6mCUtlqR_ONI1FjY/s1600/DSCF0696.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeRKawWaXgl7rtaUb5HVXbASjEyPOcR0CEl-QwLHLcCuIEryXuaOpbBM1K5If4fbrk3YscLXml6G-yuUTf6U6cc42B_gKuA2tW9bohXGC0v9R372QzBMeM3r6-ROo6mCUtlqR_ONI1FjY/s320/DSCF0696.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You may not be able to see it, but on the right hand side<br />
of the pic there is a cave that you can go through.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-88915575593207933312011-05-01T08:34:00.000+02:002011-05-01T08:34:04.763+02:00A MonthToday is an important day in my travels, it signifies the end of my first month in Vietnam. I thought I'd type up a blog post to commemorate the occasion. I'll be writing about a few things I've learnt on my travels and hopefully give a few tips for traveling in Vietnam.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Useful Phrases</u></b><br />
<b><u><br />
</u></b><br />
<b>Cam On</b> - pronounced 'cam ern' - This is the second most useful phrase you need to know when traveling in Vietnam and probably the one you'l hear yourself saying way too often. The meaning is simple, <b>thank you.</b> You can't get bye without it and almost every conversation with locals you have, you'll find yourself blurting it out like a stuck record.<br />
<br />
Equally as important as a a thank you is the phrase <b>Khong, cam on</b> - pronounced 'kom, cam ern' - meaning <b>No, thank you</b>. Believe me, after you've been approached by 20 moto and cyclo drivers 5 minutes after leaving your hotel this phrase comes in handy for telling them your feet are a cheaper option for getting around.<br />
<br />
<b>Xin Chao</b> - pronounced 'sin jow' - Some could argue that this is the most important phrase you need to know. Simply meaning <b>hello</b> it certainly is a conversation starter and the locals will love you for putting in the effort to learn a bit of Vietnamese.<br />
<br />
<b>Tam biet</b> - pronounced 'tam bee-et' - For the quick getaway this phrase is your friend. Best coupled with a 'cam on' beforehand it means <b>goodbye</b> and will let you leave without waving like an imbecile to signal your intent.<br />
<br />
<b>Pho (Bo)</b> - pronounced 'fer (boh)' - Used when your stomach is growling. Sit down at any place serving food and say these words. A bowl of <b>rice noodles (and beef)</b> will be in front of you within minutes and you can ease those hunger pangs.<br />
<br />
All of these phrases will get you by just fine, but the phrase you need most of all is this:<br />
<br />
<b>Ca Phe</b> - pronounced as you would expect it to be pronounced - A lifesaver, the most important phrase in Vietnamese. <b>Coffee</b>. Grasp this phrase and you will experience joy like no other. Look for any stall with these words written on it, sit down, say these words and wait for the magic to happen. However, sometimes <b>ca phe </b>isn't enough. <b>Ca phe (nong/da)</b> will give you (hot/ice) coffee. <b>Ca phe sua (nong/da)</b> will get you (hot/ice) coffee with condensed milk for a little more dong. And for the very particular coffee drinkers, <b>ca phe den</b> will get you a cup of black coffee. If you travel in Vietnam, learn these words if you learn nothing else.<br />
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<b><u>Haggling</u></b><br />
<b><u><br />
</u></b><br />
A very important thing to learn is that everything can be bartered for and no price you get told is the going price. You're a foreigner you can expect to be charged up to 5 times the going rate. Never accept the first price you get told, you will almost certainly find it cheaper somewhere else. The most powerful bartering weapon in your arsenal is to walk away. Using this tactic will halve the price almost immediately with room left for further bartering.<br />
In a market in Hoi An I was interested in buying some banana chips. I was told they cost 30 000 dong (R10). I immediately said the price was too high and said I'd pay 5000 dong. Suddenly the price had halved and I was being offered the chips for 15 000. I said 5000 once more and miraculously the price dropped to 10 000 dong. It was then that I employed the coup de grace and walked away, saying 'cam on, tam biet'. The lady I was bartering with stopped me and said 'OK'. I bought the chips at a sixth of the original price.<br />
<br />
An aside: <b>Caving</b> - this is a term to describe giving in and accepting an offer. It is important to know that if you're prepared to barter for ten minutes you'll get what you want at the price you want it for. Don't <b>cave</b>! In general the person you're bartering with will <b>cave </b>first, you just have to be prepared to walk away.<br />
<br />
Another aside: Absolutely everything can be bartered for. The words 'too much' are golden. Everything from hotel rooms to sandwiches to can be bought at a cheaper price if you say the words 'too much' and then quote your price.<br />
<br />
Yet another aside: Bartering is seen as a game to the Vietnamese people. Keep laughing and smiling and treat your opponent like your best friend. If they quote a really high price, chuckle at it and say 'too much.' Never get angry. I've seen other foreigners get frustrated and lose their cool. This is frowned upon by the locals and is no way to barter. Some of the nicest conversations I've had in Vietnam have been with the person I'm bartering with.<br />
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<b><u>Just one more aside</u></b><br />
<b><u><br />
</u></b><br />
Just kidding. I'm going to tell you about <b>shuttlecock,</b> a game very similar to badminton, but played with one's feet. The Vietnamese people love it and every evening the parks fill with <b>shuttlecock</b> enthusiasts all playing for fun. Most people play it for the fun of it, not competitively and prefer to keep the shuttlecock in the air for as long as possible rather than trying to beat their opponent. I say its a game played with the feet but almost anything goes, only the palms of one's hands can't be used.<br />
It could almost be considered an art form as the players emphasise control of the shuttlecock by kicking it from behind their backs or through their arms.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Rules of the road</u></b><br />
<b><u><br />
</u></b><br />
There are none.<br />
<br />
Have a lovely dong...<br />
OliverOliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-43324268551093769022011-04-30T05:17:00.000+02:002011-04-30T05:17:17.696+02:00My Son and The Imperial CityLet's clear things up before I begin. I don't have a son, or any children for that matter. 'My Son' is a collection of Cham ruins outside Hoi An. Everyone says they're Vietnam's Angkor Wat, just a severely scaled down version.<br />
<br />
Today's blog post will be incorporating two cities as I've been lazy about updating my blog these past few days. We'll start with Hoi An and My Son, taking us back to Wednesday.<br />
<br />
Our trip to My Son had been planned the previous day. Gad and I would wake up at 4AM and pack our day packs, shower and get ready then head over to where Xan and Joe were staying. We'd meet them at 4:45, jump on the backs of their bikes and follow the tour bus to My Son. This would work out perfectly and we'd only end up paying the entrance fee for My Son. Brilliant!<br />
Needless to say, our plan didn't work out. We woke up at 4 and found an SMS from Xan and Joe saying there was a problem with the bikes and we'd now be leaving at 7. We didn't complain, we were glad to get the extra couple of hours of sleep.<br />
<br />
At 7 we jumped on the bikes and headed off. My Son was easy enough to find and it took us only an hour to get there. My Son was incredible. It is so difficult to describe. The sheer grandness of all the structures is mind-boggling and one can only imagine it's grandeur a millennium ago. The ruins hint at a time long ago and of the people who inhabited this incredible place. I am truly at a loss for words to describe it, the lsat paragraph has taken me fifteen minutes to write. Have a look at some pictures of My Son, they'll help me explain it to you.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNx29DhLETcaw2tT8Dp3e2nToXb01Rnu2znYG3ggrI2a2F9EtUWp_Pnmr90TZjTaY6CCHJbXhLWghVu4SlOGlp5pILp4QEBZNk0F7OcWYHklEFv6zI06FZwseKhuK9JSKrbZx6WM7vBXP/s1600/DSCF0521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNx29DhLETcaw2tT8Dp3e2nToXb01Rnu2znYG3ggrI2a2F9EtUWp_Pnmr90TZjTaY6CCHJbXhLWghVu4SlOGlp5pILp4QEBZNk0F7OcWYHklEFv6zI06FZwseKhuK9JSKrbZx6WM7vBXP/s320/DSCF0521.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first view of My Son</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6qbEjOqd1VKsi-esYlBDBvn5tP9mX2Sh47Tpb49AgiQwIyjAXgtVyF27msyzhJGtxG7rO16v75REm71yQMW3xGdy5kdCzw4EfBx7d7DLeWOTSkW_K2jJuqjRBi_YBddQ3xuItM7OvMp1/s1600/DSCF0524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6qbEjOqd1VKsi-esYlBDBvn5tP9mX2Sh47Tpb49AgiQwIyjAXgtVyF27msyzhJGtxG7rO16v75REm71yQMW3xGdy5kdCzw4EfBx7d7DLeWOTSkW_K2jJuqjRBi_YBddQ3xuItM7OvMp1/s320/DSCF0524.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An idea of the scale</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjtZKfZulz6OQBUM9F_FCV1Q8pFl2x3HfJfE2ZIiSYezl0Mbnq670na4JjQR14ARHYlK9SeRvg4IXACIgVZBPFNGMuuNd8VCs7qCetChBqSBMLTAZMzzWndfymkYujHSsjOVLdkghiTZAK/s1600/DSCF0532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjtZKfZulz6OQBUM9F_FCV1Q8pFl2x3HfJfE2ZIiSYezl0Mbnq670na4JjQR14ARHYlK9SeRvg4IXACIgVZBPFNGMuuNd8VCs7qCetChBqSBMLTAZMzzWndfymkYujHSsjOVLdkghiTZAK/s320/DSCF0532.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sight A, the main part of the ancient city</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXTv7qUbM8lGj_D9-u4xwsANYSqzp1wfX_X0A_WVN8HqRgvocD0jn0aydxSrF4TK4abxB-0iefBrR_iFU7WeXQ5om2vChoJEqumHYFAD_tLoH4LV44oosoIOnXG2RMqB0kI-SZIHhItO6/s1600/DSCF0533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXTv7qUbM8lGj_D9-u4xwsANYSqzp1wfX_X0A_WVN8HqRgvocD0jn0aydxSrF4TK4abxB-0iefBrR_iFU7WeXQ5om2vChoJEqumHYFAD_tLoH4LV44oosoIOnXG2RMqB0kI-SZIHhItO6/s320/DSCF0533.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many buildings in site A<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The day after our visit to My Son we headed to the ancient capital of Vietnam, Hue. It is in Hue that Ho Chi Minh's body is kept on display for 9 months of the year. Also in Hue is the Imperial City which was the home of the Emperors of the Nguyen - which reined from 1802 to1945. Our first day in Hue was spent getting our bearings and finding good places to eat and drink. Once our scouting was done we planned for the next day. We thought the best PoA was to head to the Citadel and walk around for the day, but only after we'd bought our tickets to Hanoi for the 1st. And so yesterday began with that course of action in mind. It took us more than two hours to sort the tickets out. This is because Gad has an open bus ticket and had payed for it in Saigon. Open bus tickets are supposed to be convenient. In each city you merely notify your guest house the day before you leave and they'll contact a bus to pick you up the next day. It's easy for me as I just book each leg separately, but Gad got sent to 4 different places to book the ticket and at the last place was told he had to pay an extra $9 to book the bus. The whole idea behind an open bus ticket is that you pay up front and you don't have to worry about availability of buses. In the end he managed to get his ticket, but not without serious hassle. We discovered that the extra charge was due to the Hue Festival which is taking place this weekend and the coming week.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A morning worth of exploring Hue had been wasted but we headed over to the Citadel anyway so as not to waste an entire day. In the Citadel we saw the Festival being set up and headed to the Imperial City. The Imperial City is probably one of Vietnam's biggest surprises. It is an enormous walled city in the middle of the Citadel and, despite having the shit bombed out of it during the war, still maintains it's incredible image.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbp7_7VLk4ZcZtjx35OmtF4FVgphTVbSbBY8Ztdc4O7MXZmNBtOGKrcmAh3tMyUsdrVLjy9LoiVL7F5QV4RzQW4HNcfeVLu9puG1Paz0F-CYReX_QQMYRo5lX32e1vU7BQqk-9e1oE9nZK/s1600/DSCF0583.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbp7_7VLk4ZcZtjx35OmtF4FVgphTVbSbBY8Ztdc4O7MXZmNBtOGKrcmAh3tMyUsdrVLjy9LoiVL7F5QV4RzQW4HNcfeVLu9puG1Paz0F-CYReX_QQMYRo5lX32e1vU7BQqk-9e1oE9nZK/s320/DSCF0583.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A giant bronze urn in the corner of a courtyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We spent the best part of 3 hours walking around this massive city, home to the Emperors, and taking in all the sights it has to offer. No photos were allowed in the emperors' main chamber which is a huge disappointment as it was the most spectacular room in the entire compound. A gold-plated throne stood in the middle of the room and poems were written on the walls, ceiling and pillars. There was a lot more that we could take photos of and all of it proved to be incredibly good. At My Son we had to imagine the grandeur many hundreds of years ago, at the Imperial City the grandeur takes no imagining. It jumps out at you from every corner of the place and shocks you to think that it was still in its prime only 65 years ago.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We walked around the Imperial City, lost in its charm and intricacy. We walked through chambers reserved for emperors and temples reserved for the ashes of emperors of old. We sat on the top of the main gate an looked out over the people of the city, as emperors did in years gone by. We were enthralled by the wonder of the place.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3EeNkksx_y2nOMyuO_N_NpwnhZwrDoNGipW8e9tkupaVy7UhyBAmyDU0sYJqB7NSoUpLMZh9_8dV3ylUyY_kvtOMvorPrN_FOLAaFw0TrsJkVBqyKq7iIidpyBm7nn-o95G8hyphenhyphen2AFMcD/s1600/DSCF0593.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3EeNkksx_y2nOMyuO_N_NpwnhZwrDoNGipW8e9tkupaVy7UhyBAmyDU0sYJqB7NSoUpLMZh9_8dV3ylUyY_kvtOMvorPrN_FOLAaFw0TrsJkVBqyKq7iIidpyBm7nn-o95G8hyphenhyphen2AFMcD/s320/DSCF0593.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the rear of the Forbidden Purple City compound</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After an incredible day out we felt the need to wind down with some cheap beer with the locals. Near our guest house we found a place, grabbed a beer and asked a passing tourist to capture the moment.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_sO1-C5yQFqgihSclIiqZJrI-rzONnHQMeAbFto8s38AOJYF22WSwGB6DW5jlWRrN_m4-FR1fKlXoHcP5UdS6S5Zsz0GkM6jiif9KFIB1R_hdMe4-4C_u5hXkSxGeoCwfezC725kDpmp/s1600/DSCF0614.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_sO1-C5yQFqgihSclIiqZJrI-rzONnHQMeAbFto8s38AOJYF22WSwGB6DW5jlWRrN_m4-FR1fKlXoHcP5UdS6S5Zsz0GkM6jiif9KFIB1R_hdMe4-4C_u5hXkSxGeoCwfezC725kDpmp/s320/DSCF0614.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A chilled lager with which to chill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The empire was built with millions of dong<div>Oliver<div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div></div></div>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-1544472680878012902011-04-26T17:03:00.000+02:002011-04-26T17:03:05.660+02:00Suit Up!The first thing you hear about Hoi An is that it is Vietnam's premiere destination for suit shopping. It certainly lives up to it's reputation. But before I go into any detail about my time in Hoi An so far let me tell you how I got here...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ0HrSngA0rg_p4pgWaOxDdJKciMyCplDzv-cKsTynKmEp9pVSlKV0steB2z-C5jikgmY_nZDpzqwdL0U_ZOnqXvsSnHp1jCcTQ03UBfXcXJJTUTKcpHhqsjcBaECSlFoBO313wXnfR9Sq/s1600/DSCF0456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ0HrSngA0rg_p4pgWaOxDdJKciMyCplDzv-cKsTynKmEp9pVSlKV0steB2z-C5jikgmY_nZDpzqwdL0U_ZOnqXvsSnHp1jCcTQ03UBfXcXJJTUTKcpHhqsjcBaECSlFoBO313wXnfR9Sq/s320/DSCF0456.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's a big lad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sunday was my last day in Nha Trang. The trip to Hoi An from Nha Trang takes 12 hours so the best choice is to take a sleeper bus overnight. This also saves on a night's accommodation. Sunday arrived as Sundays do, after Saturday and 24 hours before Monday (Rebecca Black would be pleased at my understanding of the days of the week.) I set off in the morning and booked my bus ticket for that evening along with four other Englishmen I'd met while traveling. The bus was leaving at 19h30 so I had another full day in Nha Trang. I had yet to see the giant, seated Buddha statue and decided it would be best to head straight there.<br />
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So to the giant Buddha I went (well, Gad and I went, but typing 'I' is so much simpler.) The Buddha is perched on a hill overlooking Nha Trang and there are some fantastic views from the top. To get to the seated Buddha you must walk past a pagoda, a sleeping Buddha and a giant bell which weighs one and a half tons. I was told that if you stand at the bell the monks would pray for you so I was quite keen to put their prayers to the test. Unfortunately we arrived during the monks' afternoon nap and not a single prayer was heard. Not particularly fussed, we walked the rest of the steps up to the seated Buddha and milled around on the top of the hill, taking pictures and looking like typical tourists. Craving coffee, we headed back down and found the pagoda was being opened. Wanting to take pictures, we asked if we could go in. A monk explained that we could not take pictures until we had done three 'wais' in front of the Buddha statue in the pagoda. A 'wai' is merely a dip of the head and torso with the palms of your hands pressed together in front of your chest. We did our 'wais', snapped some photos and headed off to the nearest coffee shop, 30 metres away.<br />
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After a great day on our feet in Nha Trang it was time to lift them and hit the sleeper bus. All five of our group had been put at the back of the bus with no aisle between sleeping berths. The berths aren't exactly very wide so a lot of spooning went down on the trip to Hoi An. It wasn't uncomfortable, but the road wasn't exactly smooth and every bridge is slightly raised above the road level and acts as an extended speed bump. Everyone on the bus would be asleep and the bus would cross a bridge, everyone would be flung a foot above their berths and be rudely woken by the landing. We probably crossed twenty bridges that night.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5U8VuxDh72pK9K03DJPuwCyrhgEGRIyI_G0gom0HnW_-Py9WflFptf83K-P7ierHqfZu2oFTqK4SvE0C0qL-GzUi7yH5gn3Ir7SvkqQZh8KfW7wUfvkz0r0IqS7MZ4s9ey1hvsqF3Zx5/s1600/DSCF0475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5U8VuxDh72pK9K03DJPuwCyrhgEGRIyI_G0gom0HnW_-Py9WflFptf83K-P7ierHqfZu2oFTqK4SvE0C0qL-GzUi7yH5gn3Ir7SvkqQZh8KfW7wUfvkz0r0IqS7MZ4s9ey1hvsqF3Zx5/s320/DSCF0475.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This kinda makes up for the spooning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Hoi An is an amazing place. I would cross all those bridges twice to get here and still be pleased. The ancient town's architecture is stunning, the market is alive with activity and the whole place lights up at night like no other place in Vietnam. Everywhere you go the streets are lined with shops for suits, dresses and shoes. It's little wonder why Hoi An has been attracting tourists for years.<br />
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Gad had come to Hoi An with a single goal in mind: to get a tailored suit. He'd been preparing since Da Lat and was really eager to get going. So, after checking into a hotel, we set off to scout for a good place to buy a suit. Scouting for a suit shop in Hoi An is simple, close your eyes and point in any direction - you will be pointing at a suit shop when you open your eyes. Being sensible people we didn't just walk into any suit shop, we spent about half the day comparing prices and suit quality and pretending to know more than we actually do about suits and how they should look. At this point I would like to add that I'm not getting a suit, not yet at least. When Chris joins me for a month in June we'll be stopping off in Hoi An to do our suit shopping together.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVtNNoXPZMtk3x7C_kafFjRsZhFaVute9ZG11PkSxe9u8fRGcNKy5_qcZ-Rb7J_OGCoOf4fyqjoHMEE1acGB9MT3UmyAphmOumKIoZxDf-24NMtb9Osv6w-f99kdq7IOHNm88qTCtyjeC/s1600/DSCF0501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVtNNoXPZMtk3x7C_kafFjRsZhFaVute9ZG11PkSxe9u8fRGcNKy5_qcZ-Rb7J_OGCoOf4fyqjoHMEE1acGB9MT3UmyAphmOumKIoZxDf-24NMtb9Osv6w-f99kdq7IOHNm88qTCtyjeC/s320/DSCF0501.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gad trying on his tailor-made suit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Gad settled on a place run by the famous Mr Xe, an incredibly flamboyant and openly gay Vietnamese man with a really good reputation for making fine suits. I will never buy a suit anywhere but in Vietnam. The prices are so cheap they make everywhere else's prices cry in shame in a dark corner. Gad is getting a cashmere suit with 2 extra pairs of pants, a waistcoat, 2 pure cotton shirts, a trenchcoat and 6 ties for under $300. And it takes only 2 days for everything to be ready. He's picking it up tomorrow morning, having been measured for it yesterday.<br />
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It's impossible to talk about Hoi An and not talk about suits, but I'll try add something extra. Hoi An severely lacks a night life. The entire town shuts down after 11PM, but that actually turns out to be a good thing. Very few people are out on the streets at night which means you're able to enjoy the beauty of the place with no other tourists around. And believe me Hoi An is ten times more amazing at night.<br />
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Lights start coming on around 5PM and more and more lights flicker into life as it gets darker. By 8 o'clock the town is lit almost entirely by lanterns and takes on a warm, yellow tone. After going to a night club, the walk back to our hotel was breathtaking. There was nobody out and it felt like the entire town was ours. The streets were quiet and the whole of Vietnam seemed, for once, to be resting. It was magnificent.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjewL-OJ0B9p-KNzaKeNEMTOudKk4H-Mvevsyg_tbKGV5-Rid3DYyg2vpSft1zLSSyuGWUUmurGB2wz07mPRU-TbSV-esYsR_CmDaTQIuSzdjEzjGxvgP9rlkWgaf4t-SEIWAHoyIEsh34D/s1600/DSCF0491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjewL-OJ0B9p-KNzaKeNEMTOudKk4H-Mvevsyg_tbKGV5-Rid3DYyg2vpSft1zLSSyuGWUUmurGB2wz07mPRU-TbSV-esYsR_CmDaTQIuSzdjEzjGxvgP9rlkWgaf4t-SEIWAHoyIEsh34D/s320/DSCF0491.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The market in Hoi An</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFxdRlAzerYWagkVy04yDKwtiRGU4NBqk21XyIZaNSAo13jpylmVsjFpi7YHTrXBRj0ccC_3yercB7QhA5z58EmAMtFb7EptSJ3WY_5Yk31V6VuucAjuQ8lXGULRV8ZDxBZz2-n38Dlue3/s1600/DSCF0499.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFxdRlAzerYWagkVy04yDKwtiRGU4NBqk21XyIZaNSAo13jpylmVsjFpi7YHTrXBRj0ccC_3yercB7QhA5z58EmAMtFb7EptSJ3WY_5Yk31V6VuucAjuQ8lXGULRV8ZDxBZz2-n38Dlue3/s320/DSCF0499.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This certainly makes up for the spooning!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742442654655065635.post-10595026481705997892011-04-23T14:46:00.000+02:002011-04-24T06:28:07.845+02:00Re-hitting the BeachesI'm back at the beach, as you would probably have gathered from the title of this blog. And by the beach I mean the city of Nha Trang. The drive from Da Lat to Nha Trang was out of this world. The bus cruised down and battled up one of the longest mountain passes I have ever seen. I've watched many a Tour de France and I can safely say that the pass we came down would probably kill everybody in the peleton. It wound for approximately 40 kilometres down the sides of mountains with waterfalls cascading down next to the road. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6y0jlaRvrF3jAEvHCt_bXK3BKUMsqZu8uXRYxFIs7M1pu-rhnGFCYjhuqjSOtlt91QJ1dkZtE9Rj_fP0Dx9uwiLNvZz3SIxXQ8v12ypPS-huTIle4gC8-rP99vCexYsAQWv8UQQ2Xgk0/s1600/DSCF0397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6y0jlaRvrF3jAEvHCt_bXK3BKUMsqZu8uXRYxFIs7M1pu-rhnGFCYjhuqjSOtlt91QJ1dkZtE9Rj_fP0Dx9uwiLNvZz3SIxXQ8v12ypPS-huTIle4gC8-rP99vCexYsAQWv8UQQ2Xgk0/s320/DSCF0397.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view down the pass</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The view from the top was stunning, but the bus driver wasn't stopping for anything but his lunch break so I had to snap that (left) while hanging out the window of a moving bus.<br />
The drive after the incredible pass was not too impressive and involved a lot of hooting from our bus driver and other cars.<br />
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I arrived in Nha Trang, met up with Xan and Joe and arranged a room for the night. It was late the time I arrived, so I couldn't do much more than find a place to chow some food. After a really good bowl of Pho I headed back to the hotel with Gad and was told about a boat tour of four islands in Nha Trang's bay. It was very reasonably priced and looked like a lot of fun so Gad, Joe and I booked for the tour. Later that night I overheard a woman on the phone telling someone how much fun it was. I had wanted to see the giant, seated Buddha today but decided to postpone that until tomorrow.<br />
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I'm pleased to announce that the boat tour has gone into second place in the great experiences leaderboard, after the Easy Riders tour. It was an amazing day out on the bay and the tour guide was such a funny character. Bao was his name and he made the whole experience even better. He was full of jokes to share with the tourists and had the craziest laugh. I'm also pleased to announce he has taken second place in the tour-guides' leaderboard, Dunhill is almost impossible to outclass.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkC3PC9Fb0IrcvFuiBJ1KiB4AJTgLuQwq1k87SX7ResyhJCu-54J9_ja4QbvF0SHjnZ51AGpAVe5GyiFm8IqpirYwar-vZJsJbw-RdHSO560Nqpa5RrAUaAekUdxhX6-qa883qltmz7Ghe/s1600/DSCF0413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkC3PC9Fb0IrcvFuiBJ1KiB4AJTgLuQwq1k87SX7ResyhJCu-54J9_ja4QbvF0SHjnZ51AGpAVe5GyiFm8IqpirYwar-vZJsJbw-RdHSO560Nqpa5RrAUaAekUdxhX6-qa883qltmz7Ghe/s320/DSCF0413.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Island number one</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The boat trip took us out of the harbour, under the cable-car to Vinpearl Land, to a small island far out in the bay. We stopped at this island and were told that we could snorkel there for an hour and a half. We were then given the least effective snorkel and goggle combination possible, but weren't really disappointed because there wasn't much to see. The water was post-card-esque (the only way to describe it) and was really warm. Needless to say, the swim was really refreshing and much-needed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7ctZ4JXu2706q88qYUboK6uIur_5dX-2WHU0qkZMRJiFnQ5upnxDHZ7Q8_1OxC0UYF0Jj3BP5PU2Rl8BJ4KdRW038GOdZf5yUX-O46morOhEgkYQNTMW5f5Bq1fPw1K6HyCcabwAhFl3/s1600/DSCF0424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7ctZ4JXu2706q88qYUboK6uIur_5dX-2WHU0qkZMRJiFnQ5upnxDHZ7Q8_1OxC0UYF0Jj3BP5PU2Rl8BJ4KdRW038GOdZf5yUX-O46morOhEgkYQNTMW5f5Bq1fPw1K6HyCcabwAhFl3/s320/DSCF0424.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bao and his boys...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>On the way to the next stop lunch was served, hundreds of plates of food appeared on the table and everyone tucked in like it was their last meal. While we were eating lunch we arrived at the next stop, a floating platform just offshore from the second island. We were told we'd have two hours on this platform and were bitterly disappointed to hear that. The platform was really small and there was no way to get on to the island. We were sure it was a tactic to get tourists to rent an overpriced jetski for 15 minutes or take a boat ride at a ridiculous rate. Thankfully, tour-guide Bao proved us wrong. A few minutes after lunch, he announced the arrival of a Vietnamese boy band. The boy band consisted of three old-timers on guitar, bass and drums with Bao the lead singer. Bao entertained us with some local hits (and one of his own songs about his ex-girlfriend who weighed 100 kilos and broke his cyclo) before introducing the main attraction, a 'lady-boy' dancer and singer. They played a few well-known western numbers before packing up and announcing that the floating bar would now commence.<br />
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The floating bar was nothing short of epic. Bao had told everyone they'd be receiving a free cocktail from him in the floating bar. The floating bar was a ring of buoys tossed in the water and manned by Bao. Joe and I were the first people to take the plunge into the water from the deck and head over to the bar with our flotation devices. Bao produced his 'cocktail' which was served in plastic cups and was probably 80% vodka and 20% orange juice. I was sure he'd only give us one 'cocktail' each as that is what he'd told us. This was not the case. Bao literally poured the first cup of that vile stuff down my throat and proceeded to give me six more in the space of 5 minutes. After a 30 second swim back to the boat I was well and truly tipsy. Joe, Gad and I dived a few more times and soaked up some sun before the bar was packed up and the boat headed to the next stop.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmKK69wfb8jamFqL0lHMOuNgzdoaJfPFyudSNMDnYhS964yoQprrNQOs7Ci2pLqcGgAvndB9-Bl_TrIV5DsZsr9kErAHXGgFa_L5YGIxq74x_mQYBZvW0SPXsy7PjreOJfC9jbD4_fWkO/s1600/DSCF0428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmKK69wfb8jamFqL0lHMOuNgzdoaJfPFyudSNMDnYhS964yoQprrNQOs7Ci2pLqcGgAvndB9-Bl_TrIV5DsZsr9kErAHXGgFa_L5YGIxq74x_mQYBZvW0SPXsy7PjreOJfC9jbD4_fWkO/s320/DSCF0428.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The third island</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We were charged to use the beach at the next island, but it was cheap and was well worth the money. We spent the two hours at the third island jumping and diving off a pier into the water below. Joe and I perfected the running swan dive and Gad got video evidence of it. There isn't much more to add about the third island except that we also sat in the shade of palm trees.<br />
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Between the third and fourth island, fruit was served. Watermelons and pineapples were devoured very quickly by all on board, but especially by us three who had worked up quite an appetite. At this point, to my relief, the 'cocktail' was wearing off and I could enjoy the sun beginning it's downward journey. The fourth island was a bit of a waste of time as it had an aquarium which nobody visited due to the ridiculous price of a ticket. Most of the people on the boat opted to have icecream and wait for the boat to leave for the harbour.<br />
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The trip back to the harbour was short and sweet. We said goodbye to Bao and thanked him for the great tour then got on a bus and headed back to our hotel. Upon arrival at the hotel I sat down and started writing this blog.<br />
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Keep your dong in your pants if you meet a lady-boy<br />
Oliver<br />
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P.S. I've been asked to add a little bit about Crazy House as I didn't really explain it's origins too well. Crazy House was designed to look like a giant banyan tree, by the architect Dang Viet Nga. Each room has a theme (bear room, eagle room, etc) and can be rented out by people wishing to spend a night in the Crazy House. The inspiration for Crazy House is rumoured to come from the paintings of Salvador Dali. The garden contains concrete mushrooms, animals and flowers and has a strange, surreal atmosphere. It's basically a really weird place which people like to look at.Oliverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13849128406354062297noreply@blogger.com0