BootsnAll Travel Network



Luang Prabang and drums, cycling, motorbiking to waterfall and getting to Vientianne

August 15th, 2006

It’s been quite crazy travelling from China overland to Laos. But here’s a quickie on where we stopped. We got our Laos visas at the border (Boten) UK citizens pay $35 and French citizens pay $30. Those from Sweden have it the sweetest at $31 and the Canadians get hit the hardest with $42! We went straight to Udomxai and stayed for a couple of nights; then to Nong Kiew staying 2 nights in a small cute hut by the river; then a boat to Luang Pradang. During this we met loads of great people. So much has happened but here’s just today.

Luang Pradang is covered with guesthouses and hotels; so many that we and the many friends we’ve met on the way can’t remember the name of. Two Israeli girls we met in Nong Kiew and here are staying in and have seen more than 3 guesthouses called ‘Pussy Guesthouse’. It’s baffling; I haven’t seen them. The night market here are great. The Laos really know how tourism work. Today, after having a fruit juice, Seb heard someone playing the drums. Seb has keen ears. Then he asked the woman who made the drinks where the drums were coming from and the three of us went searching. We got the door of this house. Two middle-aged women sat on the doorsteps. Seb played air drums and she led the way, into her house, through a large room and into a room of young boys playing keyboard, electric guitar and drums. Seb was soon on the drums drumming away. I’ve never heard him play and was quite impressed. The lady of the house offered us a cup of water. Not long after a good-looking teenager entered the room and the lady of house gestured that it was this boy who was learning. Seb then took the role of teacher and taught him a sequence. The teenager was a fast learner. It was a pretty cool experience. Here we were in a stranger’s house and Seb was playing and teaching a Laos boy how to play.

We wanted to rent a motorbike. In the heat and humidity; you can only go so far on a bicycle. Seb was up early and had rented a bicycle for $1 but after riding me on the back in the sun, we wanted a motorbike. The motorbike also allow for more distance and we wanted to go further. After asking around we found out that motorbikes were no longer rented out to tourists because one time someone got drunk, had an accident and made a scene so now it’s almost impossible to rent one in terms of renting stalls. Though there are individuals who would let you ride theirs at a cost. We found a guy who would rent us his motor for $20 who lowered it to $15. Later we found a guy who would rent it for $8. Our friends were going to visit a waterfall as part of a tour. We thought it would be fun to find this waterfall on the motorbike. It took us an hour straight and 40km to get there. The roads can get pretty bumpy and we had to ask a couple of times by making wave and water falling signals. The Loas woman in a village understood and managed to communicate with hand signals that to go straight, 4th road on the left. That was cool. We got there and saw our friends (I can’t spell their names), Seb swan, we hiked up to the top of this massive waterfall (I don’t know the name but all the tuk tuks and pick up taxis will offer to take you there) and yes it’s worth seeing.

We’re trying to figure out how to get to Siem Reap for the 31st Aug. We’re planning to go to Thailand before entering Cambodia. Actually I’m supposed to be researching prices, routes and forms of transport. We’ve booked a trip on a VIP bus (it has a toilet) for 8am tomorrow, a 8 hrs ride to Vientienne.

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To Amy: All is cool. Melodramatic but just a story. The monks are friendly and when one passes you can’t help but feel good.

To Em: Good to hear that you’re keeping an eye on me.

To other travellers: My blog is for me and what a place means to me. Everything has different meanings to everyone. I try to add info that may be helpful especially when I couldn’t find it anywhere else but this is my blog diary, my meanings – for more ‘relevant’ info buy a lonely planet book.

***

Quote of the day
Who is too old to learn is too old to teach Thinkexist.com Quotations
Proverb.
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Laos, Luang Prabang and how monks help a girl

August 13th, 2006

There was once a girl who came to a strange and beautiful land called Laos in the stunning town Luang Prabang. The people of this land smile at her and want to be her friend. People of other lands want to be her friend. But tonight, for many reasons only her mind can unravel, she feels very lonely. Feeling like this, she doesn’t want to meet anyone or see anyone. She doesn’t want the happy excited people to see how suddenly lost she feels right now. So she walks by the river but tonight it doesn’t give her the solace she seeks. As she wanders, she wants to cry and as tears drop involuntarily, she wants to run away from the streets full of busy people, so she can cry on her own. She sees some steps and two dragons float between these steps guarding her from the world below. She climbs them and gets to the top. Further is a temple but she doesn’t want to disturb the peace in there. Sitting on the top step, she allows herself to cry loud, hoping the heavy pouring would make the sadness go away sooner. She knows she should not be sad because this was a happy place. And the people she has met are enlightened, full of awareness, aware that everyone is in control of their own feelings, that whatever they feel, if it hurts or is negative, then it’s themselves to blame because no one controls their reactions other than themselves. But right now, she wants to be human, with human failings, who feels hurt and lonely; and she doesn’t want to deny them even if it’s her own doing. She wants to feel the feeling, without intellectual analysing and denial. Her feelings may be irrational but they exists. She lets them exist; letting them take over. Now she sobs uncontrollably, her face in her hands, hiding from this happy place. Slowly she realises a soft shadow next to her. She looks up, her long hair wet against her face. There stood a young monk dressed in orange. His face is one of concern but still peaceful. She realises 6 more from the age of 10-16 stood behind him. He kindly asks her if she’s okay and why she cries. She doesn’t want anyone to see her. She doesn’t want to explain her irrational feelings and how she let herself indulge in what she feels no matter how unintellectual or unenlightened. She doesn’t want to explain she sometimes just want to be human, to feel human feelings, have normal human thoughts, have needs, have wants, have expectations, like any human. She’s tired of feeling at peace, explaining away all human emotions except happiness. She didn’t want to explain how indulgent she was being; how she can pretend that she too is happy like everyone else but didn’t want to. She thought she knew things. Now she knows she knows nothing. In her search for meaning; she wants to know if having emotions, no matter how irrational, is wrong? If only the rational mind exists with its theories of how to live, to think, to be, she’s not sure she wants it. How can she explain this confusion to this monk who keeps asking? His wanting to help makes her cry even more and she just wants to run away. Later, after more walking, she comes back to the stairs which still promises more solace than the streets. This second time, no monks stand at the top. She climbs the stairs again, the dragons inviting and protecting her. She sits again on the top step. She sits for a long time; she’s not sure how long. Then when there are no more tears to be shed and with a fresh calmness of emotional tiredness, she descends the stairs. She turns to look at her resting place for the last time and there she saw at one end of a dragon stood the group of monks. They were keeping a kind and protective eye on her; this time learning that coming too close she might run so they watch and pray for her. She descends the last step and looks back. They watch her leave. Language barrier aside, she understands they cared and seeing what a sad creature she was, were protecting her with their gaze, standing by her side. She walked away feeling their strength, their positive energy, their innocent care. And even when the stairs were out of sight, the monks were still by her side, gliding behind her, gently pushing her forward towards the happy land full of happy people. And now, they will never leave her. I am that girl. You are that girl. We are the same. And I want to feel my emotions again even if it’s destructive even for a moment; to experience the kind protection of monks for that moment and now forever.

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Kunming and internet, Hungry Ghost Festival, nightmare, the dead and preparing for Laos

August 9th, 2006

It’s 10.15am and I’m in the Camellia Hotel’s business centre which has 6 computers and they charge you 10 yuan an hour compared to 3 yuan in local internet cafes for the convenience. Most internet places and restaurants, including this centre shut about 11pm. The other night I walked for 20 mins looking for an internet cafe because this one was shut. The streets were still busy with people; though I realised that even if I did find an internet cafe, after an hour surfing, the streets would be empty. I was surprised to see grown men looking through the dustbins. I didn’t feel threatened, they didn’t take much notice of me but felt I should be cautious. Seb was at the hotel thinking I was also in the hotel and didn’t know I had wandered out and it was selfish of me to not think about how worried he’d be if anything bad happened to me. When you’re determined to get somewhere yet half of you feel you should go back, it can be a frustrating feeling. I saw a woman tuk tuk driver and saw that as a sign. I jumped on and went back to the hotel.

When we were in PingXiang; my cousin told me of the Chinese Hungry Ghost Festival and that we could celebrate it if we went to ZhongZuo to visit her mother. Because of time constraints we didn’t go to ZhongZuo in the end. It was the most stunning place I’ve been to and to get an idea how stunning, you can get an idea if you take a bus from PingXiang to Nanning. I forgot all about it until last night. Yesterday night, both Seb and I were so tired after travelling that when I felt a male presence behind me stroking my back, I felt a little freaked; so freaked I jumped on to Seb’s bed and slept with the wall on one side and Seb on the other. I was sleeping in that half sleep state when you’re still aware of the room around you but you’re sure you’re asleep as well. That’s when I felt more than one pair of eyes on me, of women and children in the bedroom. I dismissed it as tiredness and a too-active-imagination. But normally with vivid imaginations, images tend to be a little more horrifying. This time, I wasn’t scared, they were just watching and even the man who stroked my back wasn’t aggressive. I finally I slept and had a nightmare. In my nightmare, I felt the presences again. I whispered to Seb ‘Seb, do you see them?’ and Seb said ‘Shhh, quiet, I see them.’ And the next minute I felt an invisible-but-seemed-so-real bag made of some sort of netting thrown over my face and I choked myself awake. I related my nightmare to Seb and then forgot it. The next day, coming into the room on my own, I felt I wasn’t alone. Last night, whilst walking back to the hotel we noticed on the pavements circles drawn with chalk and burnt ashes within. I had noticed them the night before but it didn’t click. But last night I remembered the Hungry Ghost Festival and that these piles of ashes were the result of families burning death money, clothes, food etc for their dead. And then I remembered the feeling of others in the bedroom, the nightmare and how mine and Seb’s arms, the right arm, have been feeling weird ever since we’ve stayed here, like someone was putting pressure on it as though trying to draw blood. Seb also has been losing feeling in his legs the same night I had the nightmare. It’s all very strange. This morning though, after Seb went around the room chanting something inaudible – no, I lie, I don’t know what he did but he said he did something, the presences were gone. Very weird. This was the first for me.

We’ve booked ourselves on a sleeper coach. I’ve been on one before but this will be the first for Seb. We’re leaving at 3.30pm and arriving in Mengla 14 hours later. We love China. This time round, knowing a bit more of the language, people are friendlier and more approachable. We both wanted to stay longer. The air is cooler and the weather perfect for cycling.

It’s now 13.26am and we’ve just checked out (check out 14.00) after some breakfast – the breakfast buffet at the Camellia is good, I especially enjoyed the noodles. We’re waiting around til it’s time to go to the bus station. So while Taiwan, South China and Tokyo are being whipped about by typhoon Maria, Saomai and Prapiroon, I’ve just watched a documentary on the Nanjing Massacre 1937, within 6 weeks the Japanese invaded, tortured and raped 300,000 Chinese people – click here for some photos. Today the Japanese remember the bombing of Nagasaki yet they deny ever the Nanking massacre ever happened. As Seb reminds me of what the Chinese are doing in Tibet; I know that not one Nation is good or bad; but I just want to remember the victims no matter who they are.

***

To Amy: Forgot to say thanks for commenting on Silent Witness. Hoped mum liked it. Glad to hear to watched it twice!

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Quote of the day
I like men who have a future and women who have a past Thinkexist.com Quotations
Oscar Wilde. Irish Poet, Novelist, Dramatist and Critic, 18541900
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China, Kunming and Bank of China, renting bike, hotels, language and prepare for Laos

August 8th, 2006

It’s 18.33, Tuesday 8th August. I’m at a massive internet cafe on ChunChen Lu in Kunming. Since arriving yesterday morning at 6.09am, Seb and I have been getting to know the area on our rented bicycles. This is the best way to get around. Most people ride bicycles, motorbikes are fewer than Vietnam and the city was less polluted. We could have gone to the various touristy places like the Stone Forest etc but we decided to chill and prepare for the 14 hour bus journey from Kunming to Mengla and across the Laos border. Getting to Kunming, we travelled from PingXiang to Nanning by bus and the most beautiful landscape tour for 52 yuan – I definitely recommend it. From Nanning we took a taxi (tuk tuk’s were hidden a little further so we didn’t see and can be less comfortable for people with big butts to endure the approx 10km to the train station) and got a sleeping compartment for 118-122 yuan (hard sleeper – the best soft sleepers for 4 were all full) on the next train, the one at 15.36 and arriving at 6.09 (the next one was at 18.09). We were lucky we didn’t have to wait long. After food, and an hour delay, we boarded the train. The waiting area on the ground floor was packed, hot and unbearable so Seb and I waited on the first floor away from people. I saw guards below noticing us and talking on their walkie talkie and minutes later another guard approached us (man, we couldn’t possibly be a security risk), checked our tickets and told us the waiting area was downstairs. I told him we knew but there were too many people. He was satisfied with that explanation and left. I didn’t know what to expect with the train. Sleeper coaches I’ve tried but not sleeper trains. We had tickets for a bottom bed and a middle bed; the bottom was more expensive, I guess because you didn’t have to be athletic and move like a monkey. We dumped our backpacks under the bottom bunk and I was to have the middle. There was no air conditioning, just a small fan in the ceiling. One Chinese guy was really friendly, tried to communicate about International telephone numbers etc but I kept saying we didn’t understand. Another guy, mafia-type, big belly, rounded face and forever will be remembered by Seb as the stinking and smoking b**stard occupied the other bottom bunk. Stinking and smoking b**stard stripped revealing fat belly and stinking nylon-cladded feet; he started munching roasted peanuts and making himself at home. I asked Seb if he wanted to change booths with my middle bunk neighbour a tanned thinner Chinese guy who was more than happy to swap. Later stinking guy and thinner guy shared peanuts. Seb met a 16 year old Chinese guy who spoke relatively good English and who wanted photos of us. I was trying to finish Paulo Coelho’s ‘By the River of Piedra I Sat Down and Wept’ which was slow starting, with a character who irritated a little but was much better at the end; and aiming to finish his other book ‘Eleven Minutes’ which I thoroughly enjoyed and recommend. ‘The Alchemist’, a story that touched me, Seb bought for me, I enjoyed so much, that when these two books were offered for very little in Ho Chi Minh City, I couldn’t resist. Later, I realised why the books cost so little, they were copies; obviously photocopied once you start reading, disguised by a good-looking front title page. 

Anyway, back to the train. I stayed in my booth most of the time, reading. Seb, I’d find wandering the place, talking to people and at one time, scared me to death by popping outside the train and calling me from the station platform. Again, I can’t say enough, how important cleansing wipes (wet tissue) and tissue is here in China. You’re lucky to find tissue and soap in toilets and restaurants. But we were prepared, with water, snacks and lots of tissue. In smaller places like PingXiang and Nanning, they can charge you a lot for tissue and cleansing wipes are hard to find but in Kunming, they’re everywhere.

In Kunming most do not speak Cantonese; we found one. Everyone speaks Mandarin. Also hotels can be 3 times more expensive, well, especially compared to PingXiang. Most hotels offer twin bedrooms from 188-300 yuan and that’s the bottom selection. After arriving at Kunming, we ate some food at a nearby restaurant. No food stalls for us for awhile as our stomachs were playing up. After food, we walked looking for a hotel. Most hotels near the station were way too expensive charging 70USD or more. I had read about the Camellia Hotel so we headed for it. They showed us a twin bedroom but it hadn’t been cleaned since the last occupants left and looked dingy. We decided against it. For 2 or more hours, we searched the area but came to the conclusion that the hotels that were available were too pricey for us and the ones we liked were full (The Hump hostel had a great atmosphere; we didn’t see the bedrooms and it was full). It was back to the Camellia Hotel. This time round the only available twin rooms were at 200 yuan. We took it; by that time, we were tired, desperate for a shower, food and rest. The room we did get, room 722, is much better than we had expected though we had difficulty finding it, the signs by the lift didn’t show it existed and after asking someone we finally found it located in between rooms 712 and 716!

Today we got passport photos done by a guy who made Seb and I put on a suit jacket because they were black and we wore white which was the same colour as the background and wouldn’t do; he clicked with his camera and then tapped fast on the computer and presto, 8 passport photos the same size as Seb’s photo in his passport (but not the same sizes they were offering which were either a little too big or a little too small), opposite the Camellia Hotel. After, we tried to get some money changed to Laos currency but after taking two numbers for their frustrating queuing system in the Bank of China and missing one and then being told by hawkers that the bank doesn’t change to Laos money, we left the building confident we’d find another solution.

Tomorrow we’re going to head for Laos.

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To Adam: Thanks for commenting. Though there are now over 2185 visitors to my blog and 11937 pages read, it’s nice to know some of the people reading are people I actually know. Also, I have a bad memory so if I don’t keep up the blog, I will forget and though I jot down things I’ve done to remember, I really don’t want to keep bits of paper on me all the time. Seb nearly lost his French journal – some of my journal/memories will at least be saved on a computer and accessible for when I get back. It saves carry a bulky journal about.

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Quote of the day
When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago Thinkexist.com Quotations
Friedrich Nietzsche. German classical Scholar, Philosopher and Critic of culture, 18441900.
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Quang Ninh, Bai Chay, Halong Bay and relatives, typhoon, beach, Chinese yuan and getting out before the storm

August 7th, 2006

Wednesday 2nd, Thursday 3rd and Friday 4th August.

I’m so behind with blogging and I’d really like to get all this down before I forget.

Will update when I get a chance.

Quote of the day
Photo of Lucille Ball
Photo $5.99
(92 x 115 in)
I would rather regret the things that I have done than the things that I have not Thinkexist.com Quotations
Lucille Ball. American radio and motion-picture actress and comedy star, 19111989

 

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Muine Beach, Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi

August 2nd, 2006

Thursday 27th July to Thursday 2nd August 

Thursday 27th July — Ho Chi Minh City

We came back to Saigon and 3rd cousin invited us to her place in Saigon for lunch. We go straight there. She lives on a busy little side road with her husband’s relatives. Seb and I were both surprised, even in the city centre, how primitive housing and the conditions were. We went to the market with her to buy fresh vegetables and meat. She left us in the market telling us to come back in an hour when lunch would be ready. We wander about this unseen neighbourhood. Eating with her daughter later, I find out that really this tiny room big enough for just one double bed we were sitting in on our bottoms eating off the floor was also her bedroom where her husband and daughter sleep with her. Her only other space is her working area that consists of one sewing machine. After lunch, we sat waiting for her; she was sewing the straps that died on my cheap copy of a North Face bag I bought 2 days earlier (I knew they were copies by the seams but I can’t believe after 2 days the straps buckled on me); next to her on a floor mat slept 2 young children of same height and age; the boy who was severly deformed, his bones not quite right and hugging him was a beautifully formed, pretty angel faced girl. This boy and the one who stared at us in the village are the products of Agent Orange. You still can see the effects of it even now.

We got back to Yellow House Hotel to find that our passports wouldn’t be ready til Monday. We were not happy. We didn’t want to stay in Saigon that long. The hotel suggested we go to Hanoi and they would bus our passports to us. I didn’t like that idea. There was no way I wanted to leave without my passport. Not only that, I had phone calls from mum and my bank asking for me to call. We went to dinner and discussed what we were going to do. Our imaginations ran wild with scenarios of them taking our passports and making copies (Vietnam is one of the copy kings of the world) and selling them off to a woman desperate to leave her farm where she prostitutes herself who looked like me and a guy running from European justice looking like Seb. I had called my bank fearing that someone had used my passport and my VISA details already and was on their way to Europe but no, my bank was just worried because of very frequent withdrawals recently. I confirmed it was me and that was that. After food, we decided we’d go to Muine Beach, 4/5 hours away for the weekend and then come back for our passports.

Oh man! Aho is here and we’re going to pack to go to Quang Ninh tonight!This is crazy! It’s now 4.33pm, 2nd August. 

Friday 28th July

We had booked 2 seats on a tour bus to Muine Beach with the hotel yesterday night. It was departing early so we were up at 7am. The computers are near the breakfast table so while they fried my eggs I quickly checked my emails. It reminded me of home when food is being cooked for you and you’re being really quick on the internet before it was time to eat. When the woman came through with my breakfast, I quickly logged off and ran to the table. At 7.30am a man came for us to walk us to the other end of the road and dumped us by the roadside with a dozen other Europeans. We were herded onto a coach. I noticed that half the passengers were locals. At 8.30am, at a dying snail pace, we end up just outside our hotel, we had managed to cover a whole block in an hour. I was beginning to think Muine Beach may not happen today. The great thing about this crawling pace is you get to see people walk across the road. You read a lot on how terrifying it is to cross a Vietnamese road. And if you just watch the traffic, it can look quite a scary task. I’ve never had any problems or qualms about walking across the road in Vietnam. For people who know me, yes, Nick, you know this well (he asked me to do one thing for him when I left Auckland, that is, to look before I cross the road), I’m blind and that’s the best way to cross the road in Vietnam. Look but don’t see and act like the French (as though no one else exists except you) and just walk slowly across and let the vehicles do their thing. I’ve had a mad motorbiker (carrying their 2 children and wife) cutting up the other million drivers in front blocking his view of me and still manage to swerve pass me as I crossed.

When we finally got to Muine Beach and off the coach, we were bombarded by men on motorbikes. You naturally block them out and walk away fast. I did. Seb can’t help but respond to them so I leave him to it. I caught up with a young girl walking a kid. I asked her if she knew of a hotel around here. I managed to catch 2 names when we saw Lucy’s Resort magically appearing in front of us. Lucy’s resort in Muine Beach is a beautiful place of small quaint huts, beautifully kept gardens of banana trees and orchids with its own private beach and very popular with the Vietnamese. We were so disappointed when the business-like lady told us that they were full. But Seb and I are always lucky. While we stood there discussing what we should do; the lady turned to us and told us they did have a room. It seemed that the family behind us had booked a bedroom too many and didn’t want theirs. The hut was clean, orchid flowers were beautifully displayed on trays of towels and necessaries and the fan was silent (to Seb’s delight). One gripe; no hot water. It seems quite normal for them to not offer hot water in some huts and offer in some; you pay a little extra for the hot water. By the time we found out, it was too late and we couldn’t be bothered to move.

I’m writing this at 3pm in Pingxiang at the more popular internet cafes around and the guy next to me is watching a Chinese period drama and I can see, at the edge of my eyeball, that what he’s watching is mildly pornographic. I’ve not seen a period drama with soft porn before – most of them, showing an ankle is as tantalising as it gets – and I can’t help but try to watch it without turning my head. I think he might have noticed me noticing and had minimized his screen twice. Damn, the story looked interesting as well. But at the moment, the main woman and man are playing various games. Oh, he’s closed the screen and is leaving. Damn. Most exciting bit of my day I think.

Back to Muine Beach. We were in the reception area when we met Johnny and Marcela from Denmark and Chile who were waiting for their bus. They told us about the waterfall up the river and the frogs’ singing. After dumping our stuff, we rented a motorbike and rode around. The most interesting was seeing the fishing village by the ocean. All over were weaved flat baskets full of dried fish and women crouched over sorting them out. Flies buzzed about the place and in the sea, fishermen steered round weaved bowls (fishing boats) catching fish. We watched amazed at a life we’ve never witnessed before. I didn’t notice but Seb did, that twice we were signalled to leave the area. We understood. I felt bad; I didn’t want to disrupt their lives or privacy but in just the act of observing we were. I can see how it might bother them. I wouldn’t like to be treated as a museum piece or circus freak just for people to stare and take photos. No matter how friendly the visitors, I wouldn’t want to be seen like zoo animals you come to see.

That night, we found 3 non-touristy very popular large foodstalls offering the same sort of foods: hotpot and barbeque. We chose the one with a large family of about 15 people already eating at the centre table. Ordering was simple. We’d point to what our neighbour, a couple, was eating and the food came. We were given a little grill to grill some beef and veg on. Once cooked, we’d wrap a bit of meat with a bit of veg in rice paper. After that we had a hotpot of veg, meat and beancurd, again for us to cook ourselves. The food was delicious. Seb kept looking at a plate our neighbour had and wanting to know what it was. It was squiggy white, like raw squid bits but these bits were round. We asked the friendly waitress and she couldn’t explain to us if it was meat or fish. It was the couple, the woman who told us very specifically what the plate was. Goats’ penises. A plate of goats’ balls. Nice. I asked Seb if he wanted some. He said he’d like to try one but didn’t fancy a whole plate full – I think there were at least a dozen male goats out there feeling not too good right then.

Saturday 29th July —

I was up at the heavenly hour of 5.30am and by that time Seb had already swam in the sea, took some photos of fishermen sorting out their catch for the day and got back to the hut. He told me about the fishermen and I wanted to see so off we went to the beach. While we sat, fishermens’ wives would come up to us offering us shellfish, crabs (green with 3 red dots on their shells), squid and prawns caught this morning. Soon we were eating portions of everything on offer. The best experience ever, to be sucking fresh barbequed seafood with lovely mixed sauce and freshly squeezed lemon – on the beach watching the sea.

We then tackled the river next to the hotel from the beach. I had my pink flipflops on and my long skirt tucked in my underwear so it wouldn’t get wet. The river is an orange sandy colour and I tredded carefully after Seb scared me with talk of leeches and sea snake. I lost my flipflop once and Seb kindly ran to rescue them for me. I soon realised that going to the waterfall was the tourist thing to do here as we passed lots of tourists being taken around by local boys. After an hour, we finally came to the waterfall. To climb to the top, I had Seb helping me climb the rocks. Then we walked back over the waterfall, above the sand dunes and high up along the river. After, Seb persuaded me to swim, in my clothes. I was persuaded. I wouldn’t call it swimming as trying to keep up while the waves try to knock you down. After that we made a mistake and ate at a touristy place, a place with English writing on it offering all types of western foods. The food was disgusting. So disgusting, I couldn’t eat it and we ate again later at the hotel.  

Sunday 30th July —

More swimming and just chilling before we caught the bus back to Yellow House Hotel in Ho Chi Minh City. This time we were given a room on the 5th floor which was a trek without a lift and it rained the night before so the roof leaked at 2 places onto the bed. We were desperate to leave Saigon now so waited for tomorrow for our passports.

Monday 31st July —

We got our laundry and our passports. Hurrah! We were meant to call 3rd cousin and meet up with her if we wanted to catch the train. Her buying the tickets would cost much less than if we bought them. But we couldn’t endure the 29 hours or so train ride and that was the speedy train; the slow would take 39 hours – so decided to catch a plane for $87 each. We had breakfast, grabbed a taxi to the airport and was on flight BL804 on Pacific Airlines. 2 hours later we were in Hanoi.

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Hanoi, Golden Sun Hotel, a motorbike ride around town, bun cha and more relatives. Bao Binh and our last night in Bao Binh.

August 2nd, 2006

It’s 2.15pm in Hanoi. I’m in the hotel ‘Golden Sun Hotel’, using the free internet access (2 computers), keeping out of the burning sun. The Golden Sun Hotel has just opened and belongs to the family who owns ‘Hanoi Guesthouse’ recommended to us by the receptionist at Yellow House Hotel in Ho Chi Minh City. We had a discount and the room we have is the best room I’ve been in. Tastefully decorated, it has windows all around and the best bit, it’s overlooking the beautiful Hoan Kiem Lake

We’ve been riding the rented motorbike all around town; checking out the Red River, the lakes and just getting purposely lost. Riding around Hanoi is worse than Saigon; the motorists are crazier and the pollution worse. The roads here are more restricted ‘one way’ roads which drives Seb crazy. Seb’s driving is mad. He’s probably committed 101 illegal moves in the first half hour. Cars come straight at him and he just about swerves out of its way. Once, 2 motorbikes at each end come at me from both directions at full speed and I think ‘dear lord’ and Seb swerves and we’re down the road going at a mad speed. But when I scream he just laughs. Road rage is in French jibberish which sounds like he’s making verbal love to them instead being in French. Yesterday we did the tourist locations: the Temple of Literature (not much writing seen there), One pillar Pagoda, Vietnam Museum of Ethnology etc. But then our front tyre died on us, luckily slowly so we managed to get back to the hotel in time. And for the last couple of days I’ve (yes, me again) been suffering badly from traveller’s diarrhoea; not nice, not nice. The cramps got so bad yesterday night that I couldn’t move and had to lay on the bed not wanting dinner so Seb went out on his own for food. I love my food so missing food shows you how bad it was. Seb has some imodium tablets so hopefully that would stop me imagining the worse every time I feel the spasm need to spray and I’m not near a toilet. When you’re endangering your life on a motorbike looking like someone who’s in Scary Movie with your mask and hat, the last thing you want is to feel the desperate need to spray the whole of Vietnam right there and then. No, not nice thought.

We had some ‘bun cha’, lovely spring rolls and white noodles dipped in sauce – I’ve had this before in London at my Vietnamese friend’s place so I knew what to do. Seb was sceptical but ended loving it. I would definitely recommend it. We found this dish by accident. We were driving around and I saw the Vietnamese spring rolls and asked Seb to stop. Everyone in the place were Vietnamese. After going to ‘Little Hanoi’ (it was like being in the Twilight Zone because everyone in there were Western tourists) recommended by Lonely Planet and other touristy places, I can confirm that it’s rare to find authentic Vietnamese food in these places; the dishes are westernised where pho is made with carrots and Chinese leaf and the Vietnamese vegetables are missing and what you get is cut cucumber! Please. Totally wrong and not tasty. We vowed to avoid such places.

I’m here waiting for Aho to call. My mother’s brother’s wife’s brother’s daughter – I met in China this February. We’ve been having problems calling as one number was missing from the combination mum had given me. But this morning the clever receptionist at ‘Hanoi Guesthouse’ phoned up for the area code for Quang Ninh (where Aho lives) and found the missing number, the number 3. When I met Aho, she spoke Vietnamese and a bit of Mandarin and couldn’t speak Cantonese so we communicated in a language we were both not fluent in, Mandarin. This morning, I had to ask the receptionist to translate. Aho and her brother will come to collect Seb and me tomorrow to take us to Quang Ninh, the province my sisters and I were born in. We came back to the hotel and there was a mix up; the receptionist told us Aho had called and was coming today. We had another night here! So I’m waiting for this to be sorted out.

Tuesday 26th July 1.30pm — Bao Binh

Just been to for a long one, trekked to the outhouse with small steps going up and 2 large vases full of water. The ant-covered walls encased a crouch-down toilet. There’s a plastic petrol bottle twice the size you get in UK with a big hole cut in it. This is where you put your used toilet paper when you finish wiping. On the wall hanging from a string is a roll of dark green toilet tissue. I had taken a small packet of tissue just in case. In Vietnam, as in China, Malaysia, Singapore and rural Taiwan, tissue is very important for such things. In one of the vases is water and a scoop to hold water to flush the toilet with. The scoop is unusual. It’s a big plastic bottle cut in half, melted at the edges so you don’t cut yourself and in the middle is a piece of smooth wood nailed to the sides, like a scoop you’d find to get water from a well but this was made as though on Blue Peter.

Last night Seb let me have a go on the motorbike. We found a deserted stretch of road near the house and I started the engine. It’s so big and heavy even with my feet touching the floor. I found it hard to keep it upright. I tried, must have moved a wheel cycle before the bike lurched into a nearby prickly nettled bush. Seb helped me out, securing the bike and then helped me to pick out the needles that once came out left bits of bloody holes oozing blood and stinging. Seb took over. That was my little and only interaction with a motorbike.

At lunch, everyone sits and eats around the table. My relatives speak Hakka, Vietnamese and Cantonese. And they change from one to another naturally. Seb is picking up language, they think. They have warmed to him and speak to him as though he knew what they were talking about. Seb explained that when I spoke Cantonese to my relatives, he understood but not when they speak to me. So I translate, with bits of French added in here and there. This morning Seb said he felt at home here. And Sang’s wife got on so much with him wanted his phone number but he reminded her that even if she called he wouldn’t understand her. When she realised this, she laughed.

At dinner last night, they took out photos of my family in the UK taken years ago. And they pointed to Sheridan, my boyfriend at the time and asked if it was Seb. I explained. They asked when Seb and I were getting married. I explained. 102 questions. I prefer it when they concentrated on Seb, without me in the picture.

3pm – It’s pouring outside. I was reading Bill Bryson waiting for Seb to finish his French squiggles in his diary so we can get lost on the motorbike. No way that’s happening now. Our ponchos are not going to help. It’s raining sheets of hard water with unexpected rumbling lightning. We are in a metal shelter with wooden holes. Seb reminds me of what Sang’s wife said about when it rained; the bugs and centipedes will find shelter here. I’m imagining scenes of bug eating crawling chaos and can’t help look around me. The others play marjong oblivious to our fears. Our clothes which they washed for us were given back to us at lunch time, washed and dried. We didn’t expect it but we appreciated it. The rain has stopped, 10 mins later and no fast swarming man-eating bugs and centipedes yet. But then I am blind. Maybe the newly wet mopped floor confused them making them think we’re just a hollow tree with no roof and not worth sheltering under. The sound of smashing rain on metal sheets sounded great when you’re sheltered and dry. I enjoyed the tantrums of rain, the quick outbursts so unexpected. I enjoyed how the sun shines now in its place drying everything again, probably confusing the bugs and centipedes crawling on their way here to devour us. I want to go out. I feel tired and my body is resigning every minute of resting for the rest of the day. The crickets sing loud then suddenly soft in spurts echoing the rain.

To Abi: Great to hear from you! Are you still in Chicago? Hope you and Ben are well. Will email properly when I get back to London.

Quote of the day
We shouldn’t teach great books; we should teach a love of reading. Thinkexist.com Quotations
B. F. Skinner.
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Bao Binh and market, water, ice stall, tree planting, moths, wormy food, hairy lychees, jackfruit

July 30th, 2006

I’m back at Yellow House Hotel in Saigon. It’s 21.57pm. Seb has gone for a walk. We’re taking it easy after a 4 hour coach journey from Muine Beach.

Tuesday 26th July —

Seb was up at 5am. He told me later he was desperate for a pee but found both the back and front door locked with a padlock. But he was woken up earlier by the rooster’s cries, the farm animals singing, the flickering TV playing karaoke and bugs dancing on his chest. I tried to sleep until Seb came up to my net and whispered ‘Are you up yet?’. I was now and got up to begin my zombie walk at 5.20 in the morning.

I needed a pee and hoping to avoid relieving myself for the whole day was not going to work. After, I brushed my teeth with some drinking water. I felt a bit guilty as everyone else is using the water from the hose in the yard. I used as little as possible thinking that would make me feel less guilty. My stomach had not been quite right since I got to Vietnam and it was now quietly behaving itself. I didn’t want to disturb its sleep.

I put on yesterday’s clothes. They kindly asked why I was wearing yesterday’s clothes. I didn’t want to explain that this was the best combination that kept me cool. I went and got changed. I transferred all the insect repellent patches to the clean clothes. All my patches end up on my pyjama top and bottom. I can safely say that I could easily impersonate Mr Blobby with the circles all over me. My relatives treat us with very strong sweet coffee for breakfast. I dipped my crispy bread in it. Nice. In Vietnam it’s normal to get up at 5am and finish work at 5pm. Sang’s wife asked us if we wanted to go to the market with her. We jumped on our motorbikes and went grocery shopping. At the market, we passed a basin of wormy-like finger-like squirmy sea things and Sang’s wife asked Seb if he wanted to try. Seb shook his head in horror muttering ‘no, no’. She laughed. I looked away with a suspicious feeling I’ve had these wormy things before but they were dead and fried and looked like a veg. I didn’t know what they were, now I knew. I tried not to think about it. We bought water and tissue for ourselves, important for survival here. My cousin’s wife bought food for dinner. She asked Seb if he liked the fish we had last night. Seb loved it. So we’re standing there staring at dead fish spread out and kissed by flies and Seb, I’m sure, wanted to change his mind. Luckily the fish she orders are the alive ones in a bucket. The fish lady sits squat as she takes out a fish and hits it on the head knocking it out. She does this with the next one but it fights so she wacks it again. And then she cleans, guts and scales them right in front of us quickly and skilfully. At the market we are a novelty. Everyone wants to know who we are. The women tell my auntie Seb is a good-looking guy. We ate some pho bo at a food stall nearby and Sang’s wife tells us how 4 years ago they had no water and had to collect water from a well 40 miles away and because they had to pay for it and had to use the majority of the water for crops, they washed themselves with a noodle bowl of water to conserve what water they had. Now it was easier, they had their own well. She told us of her pretty 18 year old daughter. After being beaten by my uncle, for something she didn’t do, committed suicide. She told us with tears in her eyes. This reminded me of my visit to Hainan Island in February when I wandered around my relatives’ village and came across a woman who was working on a machine that was churning out potatoes. Somehow she guessed who I was and when I confirmed it, she started crying there right in front of me. Sometimes you don’t realise the impact you have on those who enter your life.

Sang’s wife is close to the owner of an ice stall where they cut ice and sell them by the block. We parked our bikes outside and watched a young boy (the son most probably) cutting and selling the ice. We too bought a block from him. With the block of ice, the vegetables, meat, fish and a crate of beer, we had the task of getting all this back to the house on 2 motorbikes. Sang’s wife took the beer, we took the food. Seb had a basket between his legs and I carried a bag as well. This and bumpy roads made an interesting thrilling ride. Sang’s wife stopped twice; the first time to give a man outside his house the crate of beer and then a boy outside his house a bag of something else. It seemed she was shopping for others as well.

She had bought a bottle of petrol. We found out that 7th nephew used it for his weed cutting machine. We watched him and then followed him – he’s only 18 years old – like excited children and watched him do his days work cutting weed from the forest floor. Seb saw him and Sang cousin plant trees.

We go for a drive and again big moths the size of eye balls zoomed around us and into us. Seb had one in his ear and had to stop to make sure it was out. These moths were found in the living room as well swooping around the tube of light. Zapping them created a bigger pop and their bodies took longer to burn but there was too many of them. 7th nephew saw our plight, hung a plastic bag using a straw to hook it to the light. Amazingly, the stupid moths would flap close and fly into the bag and couldn’t get out. I don’t know how that worked but it worked.

I write this as I sit in the living area with the whole family around. 4th cousin and her husband have come over with some durian-like fruit called ‘jackfruit’ from their back garden and some hairy lychees. Seb had asked what the hairy lychees were called and I said jokingly ‘I don’t know, hairy lychees’. I’ve just looked them up and amazingly they are called ‘rambutan’ and ‘hairy lychees’! My 4th cousin explained that these ones are from Thailand and were much sweeter than the ones from Vietnam. We’ve also tried ‘mangosteen’ it seems. My relatives ask me what I was scribbling. I try to explain the concept of blogging and they tell me that there’s an internet cafe 20 mins ride away. Outside a teenage boy we saw the day before watches us. We were told that he’s the neighbour’s dumb son. He stares at me through the window. My relatives just ignore him.

It’s 22.57pm. I’m tired. Need to pack. Hoping to go tomorrow to Hanoi.

***

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Mark Twain. American Humorist, Writer and Lecturer. 18351910

 

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Bao Binh and hats, the house, farm life, relatives, market, the zapper, black centipedes and black bugs

July 29th, 2006

I’m now on the free internet (one computer) at Lucy’s Resort in Muine Beach. 

Monday 25th July —

7th cousin’s place is basic; we meet her husband; and daughter who sweetly brought us a glass of water. This is the first time Seb has seen a village and he was itching to go out and explore with his camera. But before he got a chance; my other relatives, 3 of them, arrived on a motorbike each. We introduced ourselves; the 3 are; Sang cousin, his wife and 4th cousin. Sang cousin is the eldest and over 50 years old; he suggests Seb takes a bike so Seb tries out one of them but after some fiddling he exclaims that the brakes don’t work. They laugh and explains that he has to use his feet to stop it. Seb’s not so sure. So they offer him another. I explain to my cousins that I need to buy some biscuits, sweets, fruit and drinks to bring to my auntie’s place. The hats here are made with rims that stick to your head so when you’re zooming along on your motorbike, it wouldn’t come flying off. Seb’s hat that he bought in Singapore shot off his head once and was rescued by my cousins. After that, Seb bought a hat from Vietnam that stuck. They lead us to the market; a bunch of tunnel like stalls hidden in an alley away from the dirt road. You find everything; meat, veg, fish, clothes, including flies buzzing around the meat. We ride laden with shopping until we get to country dirt roads and nearer to the house, the roads become muddy and uneven making it a bumpy and scary ride. Seb tells me to not move too much and hold on as he tries to prevent us from falling sideways into the ditch. Then we ride right, along on a tiny slip of a road and then left, between a hedge of trees, we come to the house.

The house is basically a big primitive barn; the external walls are large planks of wood nailed together but leaving gaping gaps in between; the roof is corrugated metal. Dogs bark at our arrival. We find out that they had 6 dogs, one female. The female and another was stolen. One called Dolly, the most active and the colour of hay, liked to follow Seb and I when we walked in the forest. Alloy which Chinese translated means ‘he came’ because the dog came to their house and stayed. Ahac is a black dog and the other, the name escapes me and seems to not get the attention that Dolly and Alloy gets. All are kept to protect the crops and the house.

I meet my auntie and my 7th nephew (the 7th son of Sang cousin). Dinner was waiting for us. My cousins explain that they were expecting us earlier and had bought some ban cuon for breakfast. Now they were added to the meal of fried fish, bamboo shoot, vegetables and pork, soup and salads.

One salad-like a-strip-of-a-vegetable Seb and I had tried on Sunday 24th July when we rented a motorbike for the day and just rode for hours getting purposely lost, trying to find Saigon river at some point, riding around Ho Chi Minh City going through places called Binh Thanh, Binh An, Phuoc Long (where we joked they do something quite enjoyable for a long time : 0 ), Tan Binh – the few names I can remember, stopping to take photos; drinking coconut juice and then eating the coconut pieces (the man and his son, coconut sellers by the roadside, showed us how to skin the insides of a coconut with a spoon in one scoop) from inside the coconut; watching local people living by the river fish and the best was stopping at a food stall and sitting on chairs and tables made for little children, outside by a wall, and eating pho bo (beef noodle soup) that is famous in Vietnam for a price (7,000 dong) that was 3 times less than in Central Saigon (22,000) – you find that the further out you explore and the more Vietnamese it gets, the food tastes so much better and more authentic and the further you wander away from the tourist areas, the lower the price gets. This is when you realise how much you’re really paying as a tourist. As a tourist in a very Vietnamese area; you pay more than the locals (we found out from my cousins) but still one third less than you would in the centre of town and touristy areas. At this tiny stall we saw a woman eat some white round balls and we wanted to try them thinking they’d be sweet; but no, we find out later that these were called ‘com ruou’ (fermented rice ball). Seb didn’t like them. I didn’t particularly like them either but I recognised the smell and taste of rice wine my mum made every now and then.

Anyway, this vegetable that we had in our pho (bo means beef) we didn’t know and when we asked my cousins, we were surprised to find out that this veg is in fact peeled banana skin. I tell Seb that the meal we’re having is typical of a Vietnamese/Chinese meal; that always includes a fish dish, a meat dish, a vegetable dish and soup. Seb loved the food.

After the food Seb and I go for a walk. I tell my cousins that we’ll walk for 3 hours and will be back. They laugh and said an hour is enough. They were right. The barn-house is situated in a forest of trees, bushes and plants – all random if you didn’t know better. We find out later that these trees were durian and red dragon fruit trees; pepper and coffee bean bushes; potatoe and ginger plants, to name a few. After 10 mins of wandering in the productive forest where our bodies were swamped by mosquitoes and our feet had to beware of ants, lizards and the nastiest ever, these black centipedes just longer than my middle finger (Chinese translated name is train worms) crawl about and after watching two of them fight each other in the mud I had enough and wanted to go back. Later I find out that if these centipedes are curled up, it is most likely that they’re dead – Sang’s wife had stamped on one near the open kitchen and it curled up and died. The planting is so random that it is easy to get lost in the forest surrounding the house.

I asked Sang cousin if we could borrow his motorbike and go for a ride. After telling us to be careful, Seb and I zoomed off. The needle told us that the motorbike was in need of petrol so we stopped at a petrol station to fill it up. The petrol man, a toothless, thin, and skin rubbery brown smiled and chuckled, helping us to figure out how to use the key to lift the seat and find the hole under the seat. It was only afterwards, we realised that the needle was not working; it was still insisting it was running on empty. At least now we knew it wasn’t. We rode around; people stared (at Seb I’m sure; there were no tourist/hotel for miles and miles) and smiled; kids waved; we had fun. We buy more exotic fruits, pomegranites, red dragon fruit and these green nobbly ones and hairy lychee ones I don’t know the name of; any fruit we hadn’t tasted before and wanted to try. We rode back to the house with a basket full of fruit and drinks. We find out later that my cousins grew most of the fruits we bought and we could have picked them here and that we paid more than the locals for them; yet less than in Ho Chi Minh. Sang’s wife became really excited when we were surprised that they grew these fruits that she led us to a durian tree that had that afternoon at 12pm dropped big lumps of durian fruit; 2 were still there because Sang cousin couldn’t carry all of them. We learnt in Singapore from Joanna that durian is best when they drop naturally to the ground. Sang’s wife takes the 2 durian fruits back to the front of the house and with a cleaver stealthily chopped at them, opening them and offering them to us. Seb and I ate it all until we were sick.

Then it was dinner again. Full meal of fish, meat, veg and soup. Lovely. We were stuffed. After, Sang’s wife told us to prepare to wash before the mosquitoes make a feast out of us. To wash means to have a bucket of hot water and a bucket of cold water (cold water from a tap). You add the hot water to the cold mixing to the temperature of your liking and you pour the water on your body with a plastic cup. This is done in a concrete hut the size of a cupboard just big enough for you to bend. And before you go in, you have to zap any mosquitoes inside with a zapper or you could come out looking like a pimply red prune.

The zapper is a great invention. When my sister visited last time, they didn’t have this contraption. I don’t know how she survived it. It looks like a tennis racket and can be charged with the pull out plug. You press a botton, slap mosquitoes and flying insects with it and the electrictiy zaps the buggers to smitherines. Before you sleep, the zapper is used. And for the first night, Seb and I would stop and listen to the dozens of mosquitoes zapped when Sang’s wife moves around the bedroom area. The bedroom area is separated from the living room area by more planks of wood; no doors; and has 3 double beds in a row. We had brought the mosquitoe vapouriser which plugs in and kills; also insect killer coils. We were glad we bought them but Seb and I loved the zapper. We played with it and get very excited when we hear the ‘zap, zap, zap’ go off telling us we’ve successfully hit the buggers. The more we hit the more we felt good. It is a game trying to bat moving targets that suck your blood. We took the zapper to the toilet with us. To pee, Sang’s wife told me to do it among the bushes; it’s good for their growth. To poo, we go to this concrete hut not bigger than the bathing hut further away from the house. Seb tried it first but said he wasn’t sure if he was using the crouch-down toilet in there the right way. The zapper is used everytime an area is going to be used. I saw Sang’s wife use it in the open kitchen. The kitchen is something I’ve seen before when I visited relatives who are farmers in China. It’s the type of old fashioned kitchen now found in a museum to depict how Hakka people used to live – I’ve seen one in Shenzhen with my parents who confirmed everything was perfectly correct. My relatives in China and in Vietnam still live like this. Even Seb was amazed. There is no fridge or cooker. The food is cooked over bricks with logs burning underneath. Primitive. Dishes are washed in a basin in the yard where chickens roam freely. To have hot water you’ve got to boil cold water in a pan. That first evening, Seb and I heard the terrifying cry of a chicken; Seb said it sounded like it was being slaughtered. He was right. The sounds stopped abruptly not long after. We saw that chicken ready for plucking and had that chicken for dinner. At 8pm after washing (Sang’s wife zapped the area before and I noticed earlier that black centipedes walked the walls so it was not a relaxing wash) I was ready for bed, it was dark and there were no street lights and not much to do other than read and write or play marjong with relatives for money. I took the zapper and zapped the bed I was sharing with Sang’s wife. The place is crawling with black bugs that look like smaller versions of ladybirds. If you didn’t wear slippers inside the house, you can feel them on the floor. It’s not a nice feeling because you don’t want to touch them and you don’t want to crush them either. You basically don’t want them anywhere near you. The bedroom area is dim so you can’t see much. All the beds had netting above. I zapped at everything and was shocked to hear the popping sounds of fireworks, of unseen bugs as I banged the zapper on the pillows, the blanket and the mattress. I couldn’t see or feel the bugs but they were there, inside the mattress and pillows and on the blanket. My relatives told me it’s the material. I didn’t believe it. The next night, I was swinging on a hammock watching a Chinese period drama dubbed in Vietnamese by one single monotonous woman’s voice. I slapped the zapper around me and when it got to my butt area (they like my feet, my knees and my butt) it popped everytime I hit it and I hit it many times. I was a little alarmed and then thought ‘no way’ but when I got up, sure enough, my butt cheeks were dressed with new bites. The zapper tells the truth. I had secured my bed and was in it ready for bed. Seb’s bed, much higher, next to the planks which means closest to the outside was filled with bugs at the ends of the netting above in the corners. His netting had holes as well. Seb tried to get rid of as many as he could but no way was he ready to sleep in it. I got out and with a sewing needle and thread sewed up the holes for him. Sang’s wife offered to change the netting but we said it would be okay. She tells us that in April and when it rains the black bugs and black centipedes fill the rooms and make everything look black. No wonder containers in the house all have lids. After knowing that Seb and I zipped up our bags everytime; no bugs in our bags thanks. They don’t bite but the black centipedes exudes a smell or gas that makes your eyes water, we were told. 7th nephew had often ran outside to sleep and rather battle with the mosquitoes not being able to handle his stinging eyes and the crawling bugs on his bed and around him. Seb, sleeping in my 7th nephew’s bed, was not going to get a good nights sleep.

It’s 12.18pm, 29th July. Seb has finished squibbling in his diary in French and has gone back to the room. My feet and arms are throbbing from being bitten 5 times just sitting here.  

***

Quote of the day
Motivation is like food for the brain. You cannot get enough in one sitting. It needs continual and regular top ups. Thinkexist.com Quotations
Peter Davies.

 

 

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Journey to Bao Binh and Monday 25th July, bus station and bread

July 27th, 2006

I can’t sleep. It’s 4.57am. It’s too hot to sleep. The problem with sharing a room with a fellow traveller is that you have to compromise. Seb doesn’t like noise. It keeps him awake so we opt for the quiet air conditioning to the loud whirring of the fan. Also, he doesn’t like air conditioning; so it being on is for my benefit. But the temperature it’s turned to, it might as well be not on, I don’t need a blanket and I still can’t sleep. So in my pyjamas and trainers, I’m tapping at this computer downstairs. One of the reception guys is next to me doing something on the other computer. I had hoped the sofa would be free so I can crash there but it’s occupied by whom I can’t tell as everything is still dark outside and in that area of the room. Every now and then I’m scratching my knees and my upper thigh at mosquitoe bites. It’s not attractive and the guy next to me can see but I don’t care, the bites are bloody itchy. Here’s the lowdown on the past couple of days.

Monday 25th July —

The night before my 3rd cousin (who I call 3rd sister) had called left a message for us that instead of coming at the proposed 7am, she was going to come at 8am. So we had an extra hour sleep. After a quick coffee and a bit of bread; I left Seb talking to 2 very pretty French girls, who choose not to speak English and choose to not see me at all quite blatantly that I do the same now, in search of as many ATMs as I could find. We had calculated that I needed 14,000,000 dongs still to collect for my relatives. I found 4 within the vicinity. Trying not to look dodgy; having to take my card out every time to get my next 2,000,000 dongs; I came back once to the hotel to see if my 3rd cousin was there yet – luckily she was running late and Seb was occupied by the ladies so I ran out again hoping to find another ATM; feeling if I go back to the same ATMs which are normally situated in stores, the owners would call the police; I finally got my 14,000,000 escaping police attention and dodging motorbike taxis or rental salesmen and the many who are selling their goods, constantly calling out to you like lawn alarms every time you walk near even though you’ve said ‘no’ to them how many times.

When I got back, 3rd cousin was there with Seb. We left taking a taxi to the bus station. The bus stationin Binh An is large, filled with buses sat in their own smoke and sharing plumes of pollution with us. There’s a line of brightly coloured umbrellas in the middle outlining food and other goods stalls.

I found another ATM at the bus station but, like the French in Vietnam with everyone other than their own (I’ve been told and have recently witnessed), chose to ignore my attempts of interaction and spat out my card. Great. I had an wad of untouchable 14,000,000 dongs in my bag and I needed some spending money.

After buying the tickets, we had to wait 30 minutes. We’d be sitting in the bus and people selling shirts, bread, chewing gum, lottery tickets etc came on, and attempted to woo the cash from your zipped pockets and purses. Seb bought a fan and a shirt; very thin and quality material; 3rd cousin saw it and told us it was second hand after looking at the almost washed out label; I told Seb who told me he knew; the material was thin and it was a good price. 3rd cousin bought a bag of bread. The bread is good here, soft yet crispy. I asked her if there was bread where we’re going imagining we’re going to some dark hole that never evolved. She said yes, but they’re just different over there. The journey took almost 3 and a half hours, non-stop, not good if you have a weak bladder. Luckily mine was behaving itself. In London, I’ve seldom had to calculate the sunny side of a bus; here, my 3rd cousin does. She tells me the seats I’ve chosen are on the sunny side, after I’ve put my bags away and got comfortable. She looks around and tells me that we can move later because it doesn’t look busy. She was right. After having the bearing sun on me for 10 mins, I moved to a seat on the other side of the bus; slept and then found the sun had followed me; I would sit back next to Seb again. There is no air conditioning so you have a choice; open the windows and have polluted air rush in or no window and breathing as though you have your head covered in a plastic bag. The window stayed open. City scenery slowly made way to more greenery including fields of corn that reminded me of ‘Children of the Corn’. We were not going to see another tourist or Western person for the next 2 days. I didn’t care; they tended to be French anyway; and Seb welcomed the idea of not doing the tourist thing.

A bus journey is something to experience. The driver constantly honked his horn; while ‘the conductor’ shouted at passing motorbikes and slow vehicles to get out of his way, also yelling out our destination to anyone who may be waiting by the side of the road and wanted a ride. One time, the bus slowed down and the conductor jumps off and with loud fast Vietnamese, grabbed the woman’s arm and hiked her up and off the bus roared again. Seb noted that the money goes into these guys’ pockets and not the bus company’s. Another time, we stopped outside the Vietnamese equivalent of a garden centre and a couple of men jumped off, heaved a dozen waiting bushes neatly sitting by the roadside on to the bus filling up the remaining space, jumped back on and off we went again. And if you’re lucky enough, like me, you’ll get to endure a journey where some woman’s foot is stuck through the gap between seats and windows; this one had a hole in her stocking giving me an eye full of her blackened toenails and a whiff of I-dare-not-conjure-up-in-mind-again smell. I nudged ‘it’ a couple of times but it didn’t make any difference. I had to endure the alien intruder for the whole journey. At one time, she hugged the back of my seat with me still sitting there. Personal space woman, ever heard of such a thing?! Everything is done at an amazing speed that you really have to prepare your things well ahead of jumping off or I’m sure you’d be pushed off and yelled at.

We finally arrived at a small village; a few houses and stalls – sometimes stalls look like houses and vice versa; you’d walk up to people eating thinking it’s a food stall and realise it’s a family eating their dinner in their open living room and vice versa – and it felt like we were far from civilisation. 3rd cousin told us we can wait at 7th cousin’s place nearby. We walk there in the dry burning afternoon heat. 3rd cousin had bought me a hat at the bus station when I told her I had lost mine. Lose anything in Vietnam and you’re unlikely to see it again. I realise why when I see how my relatives live.

It’s 6am, 28th July. I’ve got to finishing packing. We had hoped to get our passports back and head off to Hue or Hoi An but we didn’t so we’re going to Muine Beach for a couple of nights before coming back here. I’m tired and I don’t know what I’ve written. Will finish later.

***

Quote of the day
Life isn’t a matter of milestones but of moments Thinkexist.com Quotations
Rose F. Kennedy. American Author, mother of John F. Kennedy & Robert Kennedy; daughter of John Francis Fitzgerald, 18901995
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