There’s such a lot of world to see

I woke up bright, early, and refreshed on the morning of my first full day in Sydney. I managed to be one of the first up in the dorm (how odd it is to be back in dorm land after the exceedingly cheap hotel rooms of South East Asia), and yet again woke everyone up by creaking my way to the bottom. I’m determined to send a bottle of WD40 to the fols at Wake Up hostel. Still, undettered, I was dressed and out sharpish. I had big plans for the day.

My first stop was The Rocks, on the Western side of Sydney Cove. It’s the site of Cadman’s Cottage, the oldest house in Sydney,

which is a small but fitting tribute to the European History of the area, and also the rather wonderful Museum of Contemporary Art. The current exhibition is all about place and identity, with a particular emphasis on refugees and assylum seekers. I absolutely loved it. Maybe it’s because I’m in a continual state of flux at the moment, but I really identified with some of the pieces. Modern art doesn’t always grab me, but this did.

After having a wander through the rest of the old Rocks streets, and visiting The Rocks museum which gives a great insight into the area’s somewhat seedy past, I tool a train up to the seedy area of the 21st century, Kings Cross. This is full of backpacker hostels and strip joints (no comments, please, as to how one would lead to the other), and was certainly a different side to Sydney compared to the ones I’d seen to date. Not my favourite part, it has to be said, and I was relieved I didn’t go for one of the hostels in the area. One thing that might make me change my mind, though, was the rather wonderful Harry’s Cafe De Wheels, perhaps one of only two pie vans in the world that count as a tourist attraction (the other one, of course, being the one run by ex-Dollar star David Van Day in Brighton). The pies, one of which I sampled for my lunch with mash, peas and gravy, were scrumptious, and well worth a visit.

I’d walked my legs off again, so headed back to the hostel, for the first time in months about to cook my own tea. Hostels here in Australia have cooking areas, so to keep costs down, it makes sense to cook your own. It’s also a great social area – I got talking to a couple of other people there (including one guy who waxed lyrical non-stop for 10 minutes about pumpkin, declaring them the “backpacker’s friend”. Try not laughing during that, I challenge you). Luke from my dorm was also there and gave me my first Tim Tam biscuit, the legendary snack from Down Under. Tasted a bit like a penguin.

Back in my dorm room, I was reading my Lonely Planet and planning my next day, when in walked my Welsh room-mate. We got chatting about our days, and ended up nattering for the next couple of hours, no doubt driving the rest of our room mates to distraction. We were going in opposite directions to each other – Andy (as I found out his name was) had just come from NZ and South America and was heading to Asia, whereas of course I was doing the same trip in reverse. We absolutely clicked immediately, having the same ridiculous sense of humour, and a passion for the countries the other was about to visit. Before we annoyed anyone too much, we decided to head down to the hostel bar, where we carried on talking the ears off each other for the rest of the night. Turns out he’s an Evertonian as well (yes, there’s more than one of us!). We stayed there, enjoying the live music, the wine, the beer and the chat, until we were turfed out.

We giggled our way back up to our dorm room, making plans to go and explore more of Sydney together the next day, deciding that we had so much fun together it would make more sense than going alone. Still laughing, and no doubt waking up the rest of the room, we fell into our beds – well, I fell, having baggsied a bottom bunk when one girl moved out earlier that day, Andy climbed up to his top bunk. I think I was still laughing when I fell asleep.

OK, OK, I’m sorry! I know that recently I’ve been about as useful as a chocolate frog in a heatwave on the blogging front in the last couple of weeks. Rest assured though, this was purely because I’ve been having the most amazing time in Australia, such a whirlwind of a time, I literally haven’t had a chance to get near a computer.

So, where was I? If I recall correctly (and it was such a long time ago!), I was arriving in Sydney at the crack of dawn. Sydney airport only accepts incoming flights after 6am, so we had to circle for a while and then touched down literally one minute past 6. Bleary eyed, I somehow managed to find the one minibus in the city that gave me a free transfer to my hostel (I didn’t even know until I went to pay the driver), and before too long was checking into the Wake Up Hostel, right in the thick of the action near the train station in Sydney. Miraculously, the lovely people there let me check in despite the horrendously early hour, and I headed up to room 206 to settle down for some much-needed sleep. Ha. The dorm was an eight-bed room, four bunk beds. All the bottom bunks but none of the top bunks were taken, and all the occupants were asleep. I went for one near the huge window, intending to slink into bed, fully dressed, and snooze until I felt more alive. Ha. As soon as I stepped foot on the rung of the bed, I started to see why this was such a bad idea. The bed creaked like an old ship in a storm. To say WD40 was needed is the understatement of the century. The bed was rocking and creaking, I was giggling, and the girl on the bed beneath me just moaned (and, incidentally, hated me from that moment on – but who can blame her?). Finally in bed, I collapsed until later that morning.

And, when I did finally wake up, is there any better way or city to wake up in? Despite it being winter, the sun was streaming in, and I was in Sydney! I was determined not to waste another second, and so got up and headed out towards – where else? – the harbour.

It was a walkable distance from my hostel, which was great news, and also gave me the added benefit of seeing more of the city. It was actually quite a surprise. I knew that it was the oldest British settlement city in Australia, and yet I still didn’t expect to see so many old buildings. I guess because we always see the trendy, outdoorsy Sydney on the television, I expected it to be a very modern city. It wasn’t though; there were many 100-plus-year-old buildings, which gave the place loads of atmosphere, and made me like it even more.

I stopped off at a place I’d seen on a tv programme a year or so ago, St James’ Church. This is a Francis Greenway Georgian gem of a church, tucked away opposite Hyde Park, and a real place of peace in the midst of the city. Judging by the visitors’ book, I was the only visitor so far that day, which in one way is a shame, and in another a delight, as it kept it so very peaceful, as if I was discovering it myself.

After the stop off here, I carried on along MacQuarie Street, and before long, the graceful curves of the Opera House roof came into view. Shivers down the spine moment. It was truly amazing to see such a wonderfully iconic building there in the flesh, so to speak. I couldn’t stop smiling. I turned to the left and there in front of me was the Harbour Bridge, looking much bigger in real life than I expected – completely dwarfing the Opera House, making it look deceptively small. The sun still had his hat on, hip hip hip hooray, and so the beautiful cream and white tiles of the Opera House were reflecting the bright light.

I’d read that tours of the Opera House were available, and so I signed up for one. This, quite apart from its magnificent architecture, was a building with a history. Construction began in 1959, led by a young, virtually unknown Danish architect, Jorn Utzon, who had put forward plans for a $7m building. Many political storms, interferences and arguments later, Utzon quit in disgust in 1966, leaving a team of three Australian architects with only the outside shell of a building, desperately trying to design an interior. They came up with a solution of designing what is, in effect, a building within a building, at a cost of $102m. In my completely untrained opinion, the inside is a total let down. It looks like any average provincial 1960s theatre, with lots of concrete and wood panelling, and in no way does justice to the soaring exterior.

We had a comedy moment inside, though. Our tour guide had made it clear that we could take as many photos as we liked outside the theatres, in the lobbies, and out of the windows, but inside the theatres, photos were strictly verboten. No problem. We all dutifully complied but, inside the main theatre, a group of Chinese tourists were being shown around at the same time as us, and started snapping away with their flashes. Our tour guide launched himself across the theatre and started shouting at the offenders, one of whom took against being belittled in such a way, and started shouting back, having to be held back by his own tour guide. It culminated in our guide shouting “Buyow” at the tourist, which is an impolite version of “go away”, as I learnt on my China trip. Nice!

Afterwards, I sat and had lunch on a bench overlooking the Opera House, in the sun, still smiling. Life is really so incredibly good!

Despite my excitement at being in such an iconic, vibrant, exciting city, my lack of sleep was really catching up with me, so before long, I retreated to my hostel again. I said hello to the other occupants of my room – Luke, from Ireland, Susanna, from Germany, and another German couple, Scary German Girl, and Scary German Boy. Scary German Girl was the one who hated me. I crawled up to my bunk – this time not disturbing anyone as they were all still awake – and began to doze off and on for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Yet another two Germans came in, two jet-lagged guys who had just arrived from home and were only staying one night, and they did the same as I, crawled into bed and started to doze. During one of my naps, the eight and final occupant came in, a guy I cunningly deduced to be Welsh due to his Wales Rugby top (just call me Sherlock). I was pretty comatose when he came in, but managed to raise one hand in a wave. He sorted his stuff out and headed straight back out again, and I wouldn’t see him for the rest of the evening. Keep an eye on him, though folks, as he reappears later in my story.

And that was pretty much that for my first day in Sydney. But still, when you get to see such iconic sights in one fell swoop, not a bad day’s work, eh?

The next few days in Perth were just as busy as the first.  Mike kept up the standards of Rollos tours well, and I’m pretty sure he’s missed his true calling.  Best tour guide in town (goes to all the places the red bus doesn’t!).

The first stop, somewhat oddly, was the dead centre of Perth.  The cemetery (thanks mum for the joke!).  But hang on.  Before you start thinking that Mike has lost his marbles, this is apparently the best place to see kangaroos in Perth – wild ones, anyway, which is always, always better than seeing them caged up.  Dusk and dawn are the best times to spot them, but we were a bit later than that, so weren’t hugely optimistic.  However, the roos must have heard I was in town – because boy, did they put on a show for me.  Just coming round a corner, we looked up to one particular green lawn and there were loads of them – must have been a good 40 or 50 of them, just hanging out, eating, hopping a bit.  So funny, so strange, one of nature’s practical jokes.  I’ve seen them on tv, of course, but was lucky enough to get quite close up to them for the mandatory million photos.  One in particular had a joey in her pouch, so I was convinced she was going to either leg it or box my ears, but no, she seemed to like having her photo taken.  Result!

Then, just to make sure the tours were complete, Mike took me out into the hills surrounding Perth.  This would complete the list of the valleys, the beaches, the city, and the hills.  Every face of Perth was covered on this amazing tour.  It’s a different world up in the hills – very quiet and peaceful, although if I was settling there I’d have done the same as Mike and headed for the beach.  The houses in the hills are surrounded by bush, and so are always at risk from bush fires.  I was amazed to hear that the majority of bush fires are started deliberately.  Considering the damage, destruction, and heartbreak they can cause, this was a truly shocking thing to hear.

Our destination out in the hills was a little place called The Packing Shed.  Mike had discovered this on one of his previous jaunts out into the country, and I don’t know how he ever found it – it’s a real hidden gem.  We sat inside (too cold to be outside), soaking up the atmosphere provided by the lovely, lovely ladies who ran it.  Like a couple of old dears ourselves, we ordered a pot of tea for two and some cake each.  All fabulous, and we nattered for ages and put the world to rights.

Beverages were firmly the focus of the day that day, as the next stops were a beautiful winery with amazing views down across the valley, and, finally, a great brewery – and, best of all, by now the weather had picked up and outside seating was definitely on the menu.  More chatting – we’re pretty much in the same place politically, so we had lots to talk about!  Back at the house, I had a wonderful time chatting to mum on Skype for the first time since I’ve been away (thankyou LOADS to both Mike and Joan for your help sorting that one out – I appreciate it, from the bottom of my heart).

On Saturday, I had my first big night out in Australia.  Neil and Laura had a friend whose 30th birthday it was (how old!), and I was very kindly invited out to the party.  A big group of us first met in a pub, then were bussed out to the Duckstein Brewery in the Swan Valley.  It’s a real big German oompah type place, with lots of beer, wine, and German food on the menu.  We were in a marquee outside, so we were very glad of the heaters provided!  I loved trying the wine there (such a joy, still, after so many months of enforced beer drinking in Asia), and I liked the food as well, though Neil and Laura were a tad disappointed with theirs.  Should have gone for the good old steak, guys!  Much drinking and chatting later, we were once again on the bus (much livelier this time – wonder why?!), and then headed to a club.  Where I got the highlight not just of my trip, but I think of the year (or my life even!).  I got stopped by the bouncer, wereupon the following conversation took place:

Bouncer:  I’m going to need to see some id, love

Me:            (Barely able to speak with laughing): Do you know how old I am?

Bouncer:  I’ve got no idea

Me:             I’m going to be 30 in 10 days time

Bouncer:  Get in

Lovin it.  Must be all the stress that travelling brings on!

We all danced up a storm, and I loved dancing to Kylie in Australia.  Doesn’t get better than that.  We were there till late, and then back to Neil and Laura’s for the night.

The next day everyone was a bit tender around the edges (especially Neil, who could barely talk!), so it was a quiet one.  Laura and I took their dog, Bailey, for a walk, basking in the sunshine, and then it was back to Mike and Sheila’s for my first Aussie Barbeque.  Really ticking everything off the ‘to do’ list at a fast old rate!

On Monday, I took myself into Perth for the day, using their brilliant public transport system.  Clean, efficient, easy to follow.  A gem, as is the city.  It’s quite a small city, and the nice folks at Lonely Planet had helpfully suggested a walking tour that would take me to all the sights.  I followed that, and it really struck me how much I like Perth.  Yes, as a city it’s relatively quiet (especially in Winter), but it was homely and friendly, with some lovely old – and new – buildings, and friendly people – someone stopped me as he saw me looking at my map, and just wanted to make sure I knew where I was going.  How nice.  I had lunch down by the river, next to the very strange rocket-like bell tower which has got mixed reviews in Perth, and then did a spot of shopping.  What a good place.

And that was virtually that for my stay in Perth.  Neil and Laura came round for dinner that night (chicken in marsala sauce with mash – another one of my favourites!) – and then it was time for farewells and to go to the airport for my flight just after midnight.  It was sad to say goodbye to the Aussie Rolstons, but yet at the same time, I’m so happy that I’ve got to put faces to names that have been familiar for so long, and got to know another branch of my wonderful family.  I’m so very grateful for Mike, Sheila, Neil and Laura for making me feel so very welcome and feel so wonderfully at home straight away.  It was exactly what I needed after so long away from home, and I can’t wait to see you all again – soon!

Landing in Perth was strange. Flying there from Hong Kong we’d seen the most amazing sunrise out of the plane window – a fitting metaphor, I guess, from a new city, country, and continent in one swoop. It was a breath of fresh air to arrive somewhere so completely familiar, even though I’d never been before. The signs were in my language. It was even cold, just like back home! My first taste of the legendary Australia laid-back attitude was with the lovely immigration people. I’ve always wondered why immigration officials round the world are some of the most grumpy people you could meet, as if they’re doing you a favour by allowing you to come into their country. Australia, though, was a breath of fresh air. The woman was chatting to me about my plans and so on, and then asked me if I was staying with family while I was here. I told her I was, and she asked what relation they were to me. How to explain this one? Mike’s grandmother and my great-grandmother were sisters. I think that makes us 4th cousins, and I wasn’t going to work that one out so early in the morning. I simply laughed, and said it was a long story. Can you imagine doing that at any other immigration point in the world? The rubber gloves would be snapped on before you could say anything further.

My flight was early, but I only had to wait a few minutes before Mike was there. We’d never met before, but recognised each other from photos and, I guess, that family feeling! And with that, the tour began, and didn’t stop until I left Perth six days later. Mike explained that the airport was on the opposite side of the city to Mullaloo, where he and Sheila live, and began pointing out sights on our way. It was amazing to stop at my first Australian beach, and, even though it was really early in the morning and pretty chilly, there were surfers out in the water, trying to catch the big early waves. Rather them than me. Back at the house, I was made to feel at home instantly, such is Mike and Sheila’s wonderful hospitality. I met Sheila and their crazy dog, Gabi, when they came back in from their walk. I’d heard lots about Gabi, but nothing had prepared me for her playfulness. She’s as demanding and as sweet as a toddler, and all she wants from life is to play. And why not?

After a spot of lunch and some settling-in, Mike decided to get me out and about in Perth. As we headed to the car, he said the magic words. “Do you fancy going to see some of the wineries?” Music to my ears indeed. We headed out into the Swan Valley to two of the biggest wineries in the area, Sandalfords and Houghtons. My first proper introduction to Australian wine, it was wonderful – both were run by friendly, knowledgeable people who helped us on our quest to taste lots of lovely wine. From the final one, Mike got a couple of bottles to take home and I couldn’t believe the reasonable price considering the quality. I was going to like this country. Things got even better back at the ranch. Sheila, a brilliant cook, had made a delicious roast dinner, the perfect antidote to five months of noodle overload in Asia. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, the piece de resistance came out, apple crumble, my favourite which Sheila had remembered me writing about on here. How kind is that! Due to a combination of little sleep, much wine, and wonderful food, I hit the sack early and slept like a rock until the next morning.

I was glad I’d had the early night, as my feet weren’t allowed to touch the floor. It was a sunny winter’s day in Perth, so we made the most of the sun for a whistlestop tour. Our first stop was the beach at Mullaloo, Mike and Sheila’s local. The white sandy beaches and turquoise sea weren’t, according to Mike, at their best, but it was beautiful to my eyes.

Throughout the day I saw so much of the areas surrounding Perth. King’s Park, the huge public space overlooking Perth city, was a wonderful vantage point to get my bearings from. I’m really impressed with the public areas in Australia. They tend to be well looked after, and real communal areas. The cynic in me suspects they’d be vandalised within 24 hours back home. I was also lucky enough to get to see the spot where Mike and Sheila’s son, Neil, will marry Laura in November. A really beautiful place – the views are stunning! Perth looked like a sparkling, clean, homely city.

Mike pointed out the various suburbs of Perth, including some really posh areas, which we were soon winding our way through, stopping at the Royal Perth Yacht club, scene of our family’s legendary Australia Day celebrations when the gang were over last year. What a spot! The celebrity-style yachts were glinting in the sun, just calling me and waiting for my big lottery win. One of those babies is the first on my list.

Next, we headed out to Fremantle, an old port to the south of Perth. Our destinations this time were entirely gastronomical. We had delicious fish and chips, fighting off the seagulls as we ate, and then went over to the legendary Little Creatures brewery. Another lovely aspect of Australia is not only the independent wineries, but also the microbreweries, all brewing up their own special kinds of beer and ales. Little Creatures is famous throughout Perth and beyond for its good beer and atmosphere. We sat there in the sun, drinking good cold beer and getting to know each other better. Good times.

Our last stop was the beautiful, family-perfect Cottesloe beach. However, Mike didn’t sell it to me when he informed me it was the scene of the last fatal shark attack in Western Australia. I bravely dipped my toes in the water but frankly, even if I was the daredevil type, the water was too cold for swimming. We rounded the day off perfectly, with Italian ice-cream. And I’ll say this for the Italians. They can’t drive, but man, do they know their icecream.

Full, happy, and tired after a whirlwind tour of Perth, we headed back to the ranch. Yep, I DEFINITELY liked it here.

OK, so I posted a blog entry from Hong Kong Airport – fast becoming my favourite place in the world apart from the tailor’s shop in Hoi An, so we all know how the story ends, I got to Hong Kong safe and sound and with full typing ability – but what was the journey like?

Epic, that’s what. Months ago, back in Cambodia, I was speaking to a Canadian guy about the difficulty of what would appear, on the face of it, to be a hassle-free journey: Hanoi to Hong Kong. Geographically, the two places are relatively close together, both of them major cities. Shouldn’t really be a problem getting between the two. Wrong! The cheapest flights I could see were about $330, waaaay out of my budget. The other obvious alternative would be to get the train north from Vietnam, through China, and on to Hong Kong. I know the Chinese railways well enough to know that it shouldn’t be too difficult. However, this was August – Chinese holiday month, when virtually the entire 1.3 billion population goes on the move, and also I’d need to apply for another Chinese visa just for a day or so on the train. There had to be an easier way. The guy suggested I look at Air Asia, a new budget airline, who fly from Hanoi to Bangkok, and then Bangkok to Macau, from where I can get a ferry across to Hong Kong. This was a cheap option, so I booked it, glossing over the fact that it would involve a dash west across Asia before heading back north east, and also the fact that I would be spending the night at Bangkok Airport. No problem!

As the day of travel drew nearer, the implications started to become more real. The two Air Asia flights were booked separately, not as a connecting flight, so I wouldn’t be able to go through to departures. My resolve started to shake, but still, nothing I could do about it now. Economy rules all on a trip like this.

I got to the airport early – of course – with no hassles, getting a $2 minibus from Hanoi centre. I had to wait an hour or so before I could check in for my flight. Even then it was with crossed fingers. Air Asia, like a lot of budget airlines these days, have imposed a strict weight limit for checked luggage – 15 kilos. When I started out my backpack was about 14, now with extra purchases it was running at about 17. Luckily, in Hoi An I’d bought an extra-large day bag – almost as big as my backpack but looking deceptively smaller. Into this I deposited all my heavy things – my toiletry bag, loads of DVDs I’d been carrying around since Cambodia (wasn’t allowed to send them home from Vietnam, praise the communists suspicious little hearts), my Birkenstocks, all my books. I wore my heaviest clothes. I’d obviously guessed well, as my checked luggage came to 14.9 kilos. Result! I paid my departure tax, and wandered through to departures, looking to get something to eat and spend my last 50,000 dong (about $3). Heading up to the restaurant, though, I realised this would buy me one very small spring roll. The prices were shocking and the quality, I’m sure, would have been awful. Muttering in an old codger way, I gravitated instead to the duty free shops, where I bought a bar of Cadburys Dairy Milk big enough to see me through the night.

It was such a nice surprise to meet up with Jo and Hamish, friends of Doireann’s who I met in Hoi An, at the airport, and great to hear they’d be on my flight. They were great company for my last few hours in Vietnam, and we chatted the whole way through the (surprisingly comfortable) flight. Arriving at Bangkok, we went through Arrivals and I waved them off into the Thai night.

Knowing I’d have to settle down there soon, I did a recce tour of the airport to see what my options were. Not many, frankly. Rows and rows of plastic chairs, bright strip lights, and loud tv sets meant that I was unlikely to get much sleep. None at all, as it turns out. I bought some comfort food KFC, found an empty row of chairs, padlocked my bags to the leg of the chair, and stretched out. I managed about 2 seconds before I was wriggling about in pain and discomfort. I’d like to meet whoever designed those chairs and shake him by the neck. I’m sure they deliberately make them uncomfortable to sleep on. Whichever way I lay, I had plastic digging in my back or hip or neck. I also started to get cold. Pulling on my extra clothes and my pashmina, I shut my eyes against the fluorescent lights, and waited for the mercy of sleep. It never came. The next thing I heard was a screeeeeeeech screeeeeeech sound akin to nails being dragged down a blackboard. Eyes stinging with lack of sleep, I pushed myself up and looked around. A couple of cleaners, one with impressive striped hair like some kind of wildlife, were dragging whole rows of chairs to the side in order to mop underneath them, and then blasting the mopped areas with an industrial-sized fan. Working their way up the rows, they came and shouted at me until I moved. Stripy hair was the worst. Now I’ve never even considered murdering a badger before- but this was ridiculous!

I stumbled away to another area where, after a minute of the chairs, gave up entirely and lay on the floor. It comes to something when a cold, hard concrete floor is more comfortable than chairs. Sleep would not come to me that night. Eventually the airport started coming to life again. I had a breakfast of noodle soup, then waited at the start of the line to check in for my flight. A queue built up behind me, so I was incredulous when a man sauntered to the front of the queue and put his passport on the counter. Back in China mode, I knew he wouldn’t understand me, but would understand sign language. I told him where to go. No, potty brain, I mean the back of the queue.

The flight to Macau, though uneventful, was amusing just to witness the Chinese people approaching a plane in the same way as a bus – run for your life! Push your way on! No matter that everyone has a seat, guaranteed, what counts is being the first on. Laughing at this, I got talking to a lovely girl, Nicky, who was just heading home to the UK after 7 months on the road. I keep meeting people heading home, but right now the thought is completely alien to me. I’m not sure how I’ll feel when my time comes.

Nicky had done the trip in reverse 10 days earlier, and so was a good companion to have. We checked through the shiny new Macau terminal, and managed to get on a bus heading for the harbour. She pointed out the sights of Macau on the way, including my favourite, a casino inside a large plastic volcano. Classy! I was disappointed with the little I saw of Macau – I expected it to be a mini Portugal, one of my absolute favourite European countries, but instead it was just tasteless large developments thrown up with no sympathy for history or taste. New, yes, but good, no. Fortunately we got on a speedy ferry quickly, and were soon splashing our way towards Hong Kong at high speed; the journey only takes about an hour.

I can’t say how pleased I was to see the sun shining over Hong Kong. Just a few days earlier it had been battered by a typhoon, leaving hundreds of flights stranded; last time I was there it was overcast (I later learned this was from pollution). As we’d arrived in Chinese holiday week, the pollution had cleared, as had the typhoon, leaving scorching hot and sunny clear blue skies.

And is there anything better than landing back in a much-loved city that feels as familiar as home? My heart was skipping as we checked through, and I got my sixth stamp in my passport in less than 24 hours (1. Vietnam departure 2. Thailand arrival 3. Thailand departure 4. Macau arrival 5. Macau departure 6. Hong Kong arrival). Ignoring the “what country am I in?” feeling, I headed up to my hotel, arranging to meet Nicky later. We spent the next 24 hours revisiting the best of Hong Kong. I won’t go over them again (although I could, and gladly, but to save my fingers – just read my first HK blogs!) – but we went to the inspirational light show that night, ate more cheap and delicious noodles than I could normally eat in a year, and went up a miraculously clear Victoria Peak, this time getting the photos that were lost in the smog last time. Perfect. A great farwell not only to one of the greatest cities in the world, but also to Asia.

I was able to introduce Nicky to the best of Hong Kong Airport, with its free internet access and reclining seats. Funniest of all, though, was when she plugged in her hair straighteners and did her hair in the middle of a walkway, while I plonked myself down beside her. You know you’re a backpacker when…

Thankfully, my flight left on time, and I was soon entranced with Qantas’s miraculous in-flight movie system. I watched ‘Crash’ (brilliant! Watch it now!), and, full of food and happy reflections of Asia, managed to get an hour or two’s sleep before my flight landed in Perth. On to Australia, family, and a whole new continent.

Will this be my shortest blog entry ever? (Stop cheering). In a nutshell, I just wanted to yet again use and abuse the FREE internet access at Hong Kong Airport. Yes, against all odds, I arrived in Hong Kong (via Bangkok and Macau – I’ll blog more about the journey soon), and have spent another happy 24 hours here. Felt like home straight away. Even the airport is marvellous. I’ll say it again – come to Hong Kong. Take my car, please. OK, if I had one, but the intention is the same. Do it now and you won’t regret it.

Hmmm.  A tricky one, this. At the end of a month in Vietnam, I seem to have a different overall view of the country to most of my friends who were here at the same time. I don’t know if I’d say it’s been my favourite country in Asia – in fact, I’m sure I wouldn’t – but I still think it’s pretty great.  So many people are completely disillusioned with it that I wonder am I missing something but, you know what?  This is MY blog, for MY opinions (picture, if you will, me stamping my foot while I say that), so I’m about to offload them all right here.  

I still don’t know why the discrepancy is occurring.  A couple of people have had things stolen which, admittedly, would put a real downer on a place – I know a few other people who have been here in the recent past and have had things go walkabout, as well.  I haven’t, as far as I’m aware, had anything taken, so yes I’m probably lucky in that aspect.  A lot of people have issues with the scams, the hassles, and the bad attitude that tends to be around – especially around the tourist industry.  And yes, I have seen all these, and been at the wrong end of some of them.  But still, I like it here.  I don’t think I’m so stupidly optimistic that all I see is good in a place – in fact, cynicism is one of my worst faults – but I think that Vietnam deserves a chance.  And I’ve been in Asia for five months solid now, so I don’t think that it’s either naivety about the continent nor a honeymoon period.  My eyes are well and truly open, and yet I say – give it a chance.

My biggest gripe with Vietnam is one that’s entirely my own fault.  I don’t feel like I’ve got to see enough of the ‘real’ Vietnam as I have of other countries I’ve been to.  To be honest, I haven’t made the effort.  The tourist buses ply the well-worn route from north to south and vice versa, hitting the popular places, and nowhere in between.  This is so easy – and so cheap – that I’ve not tried at all to get off route, with the exception of going up to Sapa.  And yes, we were almost stung by an unscrupulous travel agent, but going to the train station proved how easy it is to get about under your own steam here.  I’m annoyed with myself, if anything, that I didn’t try to go it alone more often.

On the plus side, this has meant making loads and loads of new friends, and cementing some older friendships.  Because of the shape of the country (basically, long and thin), and the relatively standard time frames (here we get a one month visa, and most backpackers stay more or less the whole month), it’s very easy to meet people doing the same route in the same time as you.  Even if it doesn’t stay exactly that way, it’s likely that you’ll end up knowing people a couple of days ahead, and a couple of days behind you, and often overlap in lots of places with them – with most people converging at either Ho Chi Minh City or Hanoi at either end.  I’ve made some legendary friends here, not only because they are sterling people in their own right, but also because the itinerary has allowed us to spend more time together than might have otherwise happened in a different shaped country.  God bless geography!

This has, of course, meant that Vietnam’s been a very sociable country, and some of the highlights have been nights out with new-found friends.  So, in a way, I guess I traded off a deeper knowledge of the country for friends.  And I don’t regret it one little bit (and I’m not just saying that because they’ll be reading this).  I couldn’t do it for much longer – after all I’m getting very old now – but thinking back to Vietnam will always bring a smile to my face.

Because it’s one of the more touristy places, and is getting very well set up for organised tours (not my cup of Vietnamese leaf tea at all, but each to their own), it’s one of the places I’ve visited so far that I would, without hesitation, recommend to people at home to visit.  It’s very easy to get around here and, as long as you keep your wits about you, is a safe place.

There are scams, of course.  Friends of mine experienced horrible bus journeys, we suffered at the hands of unscrupulous travel agents, too many things were stolen.  Unfortunately, it seems to be those in the tourist industry who are taking advantage.  This is horribly wrong and cynical – I have no objection to spending my money in a country, but targeting visitors is one sure fire way to stop them coming at all.  And yet – if I can be allowed to understand it without condoning it in the slightest – these people have, within the last 40 years, suffered utterly at the hands of a Western superpower.  They are still, by our standards, exceedingly, hideously poor.  So, presumably due to a combination of the two, they see us, no matter what kind of a low budget we are on, still able to afford both a passport and an air ticket to visit another country – beyond the wildest dreams of a lot of the Vietnamese people, for whom life is very much a day to day struggle.  Like I say, not condoning, nothing can excuse it, but perhaps understanding could help to change things.  Getting mad at someone who hassles you on the street (and I’m pointing the finger more at myself here than anyone else – I shouted at a cyclo driver who physically grabbed me to put me in his cyclo) will not, ever, change a culture.  What can be done?  I’m not sure, but I’m sure wiser people than me would have some ideas.

As well as meeting so many friends, there have been some memorable highlights in Vietnam that I will treasure.  Crossing the road through the insane traffic in HCMC and Hanoi and – miraculously – surviving.  The Easy Rider motorbike tour in DaLat.  Drinking in the lush scenery in Sapa.  Kayaking in the pouring rain in Halong Bay.  Best of all, though, was meeting the wonderful, welcoming family of tailors in Hoi An.  Not only did they make beautiful clothes (all arrived safely home now, thank goodness), but they welcomed us into their family in a way I’ve never experienced.  It was incredible and heart-warming and that shop remains my favourite place in Vietnam.  So was I just lucky?  I suppose yes, in one way, because I met them.  I have no doubt, though, that they would have extended that hospitality to everyone they met.  And I think that is the thing that makes me smile most.

After returning from Halong Bay to Hanoi, we caught up with Rich and Dean, but I was sorry to hear that my Canadian buddy Jamie had decided to give up on Vietnam and head over to Thailand before he tackles China.  No chance to catch up with him this time, but somewhere else in the world we’ll meet and mix it up again, I’m sure of it.  Rich and Dean were about to head off to Laos the next day, so it was goodbye to them as well.  That was strange – give or take, we’d been travelling together since we came to Vietnam nearly a month ago, so not seeing them around anymore would seem all wrong!

And then it was Doireann’s last day.  We had planned to spend it soaking up some sun, but this plan went up the creek when we hit the shops.  Last minute souvenir shopping for her; Mum’s birthday present shopping for me.  Being expert shoppers, this lasted a whole day, and before we knew it, we were heading out for her last night.  And what a last night it was – out for dinner with Kenny from Sapa, we then decided we wanted to go dancing but none of the moto drivers had actually heard of Apocalypse Now, the club we wanted to go to, so we decided not to bother and headed instead for Funky Monkey, one of Dean’s old haunts.  We toasted Doireann’s last night with a couple of cocktails, and it was yet again the early hours when we rolled in.

And so, another sad farewell.  Doireann’s heading back for a couple of days with her brother in Germany before she lands back in Dublin.  Travelling with her was so much fun, we had a ball and pretty much wanted to do the same things – not only going places like Sapa and Halong Bay, but also, on occasion, lie about and watch films while eating Pringles. 

So, now I’m by myself in Hanoi.  It’s funny – whenever I’ve travelled with people for a while before, I felt a bit low after saying goodbye to them, or really liberated – one or the other – but now I feel great.  Not that I don’t miss everyone – I do, and I’ve documented a million times how much fun I’ve had with a big group of friends here in Vietnam – but I’m also someone who craves solitude by way of recharging my batteries.  Especially being here in such a great city as Hanoi – who could be lonely?

I’m writing this in real time now.  It’s my last full day in Vietnam, so I’ve spent a couple of days on catch-up admin – checking my flights for the next few days (it’s going to be an epic one, I think), anxiously checking the weather reports from Hong Kong (my flight to Perth leaves from there, but there’s a typhoon right now that’s causing lots of flights to be cancelled.  Still, my love for HK Airport is famous by now; I can think of worse places to be stranded!), and basically just getting ready to leave the country.  And I think I am ready to leave.  Not in a bad way, at all, but after 5 months in Asia, I can feel myself coming to a natural break with the continent.  I’ll write a ‘Final Thoughts’ on Vietnam, and put more in there, but this feels right.  Onwards and upwards!

Before I even came to Vietnam, Halong Bay was one of the places I was most looking forward to seeing. A world UNESCO site, the photos I’d seen had shown gloriously turquoise waters nestling stunning steep islands, appearing as if from nowhere out of the deep. Halong actually means ‘descending dragon’, and it’s a Vietnamese belief that a dragon entered down into the bay, accounting for its mystical nature. I couldn’t wait.

Doireann and I had an early start. Not only was the bus picking us up at 8am, we had to be packed, checked out of the room (Rich had kindly offered to let us store our bags in his room until we came back 3 days later – he must have been disappointed at the lack of valuables in mine) and ready to go. I also needed to go out even earlier to pick up more Ibuprofen for my foot (yep, still popping those babies, well on my way to junkieland by now). I was planning 3 days of doing not much, and taking the opportunity to give my foot maximum rest, but I didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with no painkillers. As I headed out onto the quiet-by-Hanoi-standards streets, I couldn’t help but notice the rain, mainly due to the fact that it was bucketing down and soaking me. Passing a store, I noticed they were selling ponchos. Not the flimsy, blancmange-pink efforts I was sporting in Cambodia, but a more quality product, opaque plastic this time, and less likely to tear. I took one in navy for a dollar, and headed back to the hotel, delighted with my purchase and clutching two pains-au-chocolat for our breakfast. God bless the French colonials who left that as a legacy.

Waiting downstairs, Doireann couldn’t help but be struck by how stylish and classy my poncho was and so, naturally, decided she wanted one for herself. I’m such a fashion icon, right at the cutting edge. She came back in a few minutes later with a royal blue one, which had a handy reminder across the back that this was ‘rainwear’. You know, she might have worn it over her bikini were it not for that caution. She was doing well to keep her chin up – these were the last few days of a 16-month trip for her, and she desperately wanted some sunshine.

Soon after the poncho expedition, our lovely guide TinTin walked in to collect us. That’s a nickname – his actual Vietnamese name is largely unpronounceable to us, so everyone calls him TinTin. Over the course of the next three days, Doireann and I both fell in love with him a little bit – a gorgeous looking guy who spoke very good English, never stopped laughing and encouraging us all to have fun and make friends, and was generally just too cool for school, wearing shades even when it was raining outside. Oh, and the guy could sing!

We were taken to our bus, where we met the rest of our group. It was a veritable UN of tourists – a Dutch couple, a French mother and daughter, a South African now living in England, a group of six Spanish friends (I could never remember the women’s names but the guys were incongrouously called the most Spanish names ever – Carlos, Jose, and Miguel. Straight out of central casting), a Vietnamese couple who now live in America, Doireann from Ireland and lil’ ol’ English me. Most people spoke English embarassingly well, though, so it became, as it usually does, our common language.

Paying a bit more for our tour really worked out in the end. All the buses and the boat was excellent, TinTin would be impossible to top as a tour guide, the group was good and small so we all got to know each other. Just as Camel, TN Bros and F Tours are bad, I’m going to say right now that ODC are gooood. From friends who’d been earlier, we heard they had to wait around for hours at the docks while their boat was sorted out – whereas ours was there straighaway, waiting for us, and it was just grand. Downstairs is a communal area where we hung out when it was raining (ie all the time), and ate our meals. We all had cabins on the lower deck, which again were spacious (for a boat!), and upstairs was a great area with sunbeds and wooden chairs. Marvellous, if the sun had shown its face a little bit.

Sporting our ponchos (and the jealous glances from our fellow passengers didn’t go unnoticed), Doireann and I headed up on top while we set off. It was wet, yes, but lovely to be out in the fresh air, waving at all the other boats heading out at the same time as us.

First thing on the agenda – always my favourite – was lunch. The quality was excellent. Not surprisingly, seafood made up a large part of it (and not just my usual ‘see food and eat it’ diet) – we had squid, butter fish, oh just loads and loads of great fish. I was in foodie heaven. Followed by huge chunks of pineapple and banana, two fruits I swear they should be given the monopoly on here in Asia. The best pineapple and banana in the world, ever, fact. Bananas especially are like nothing I’d ever tasted in the UK, but are ripe and sweet and juicy. Right, I have to change the subject before I drool on the keyboard.

After lunch, we made our first stop at some caves. I think the French name, translated into English, is the cave of amazement, or something else that I can’t remember. These caves are three rooms of increasing grandeur and size, the last one being the size of a couple of football pitches. The rock formations discovered in these caves are just beautiful, and the Vietnamese have lots of different theories as to what they all look like – usually animals, but to be honest, you had to REALLY want to see it. TinTin would point his laser light at something and say, “can you see the animal?” “Tiger?” “Dragon” “Lion?”, we’d guess, after which we started getting more desperate, “Elephant?” “Iguana?” “Sheep?”. “No!” TinTin would shout happily, “It’s a turtle!”. “Ahhhhhh” we’d all say and nod, then turn around and shrug at each other. The caves are also lit artificially, using colour. I heard mixed opinions on this, but I for one loved it – it highlighted the most interesting areas beautifully.

The next stop was a short break for swimming, off a man-made beach. Alternatively, we could walk up to the top of a little mountain. For me, though, both these options were off. Just walking up the stairs to the caves I’d twisted my toe again, and so decided to get strict about not much walking on it. And swimming? No, thanks. Despite the fact that it’s a protected world heritage site, the water is far from clear, and one of our friends had returned from an earlier trip with a rash that the doctor directly attributed to the Halong water. Throw in the fact that there were about 20 other boats parked nearby, I decided to give this one a miss. Instead, I sat upstairs (it had miraculously stopped raining for a little bit), and read my book. I was a very happy bunny indeed. Not long after, the others started drifting in from the beach, saying it wasn’t very nice. Right decision.

There wasn’t much to do after this except sit back and enjoy the views. Despite the fact that the rain was unending, the views were spectacular. Huge rock formations appeared to drift by us, like the iceberg (“dead ahead”) in Titanic. Except we didn’t hit any of them. The water, though not clear, was an unusual shade of greeny turqoise, punctuated every so often by an island. The islands are too small and too steep to be inhabited, so instead they just sit there, prehistoric reminders of another age.

Dinner that evening was, yet again, more delicious seafood and meat. Couldn’t get enough of the stuff. After a couple of beers, most people headed off to bed, tired out from all the fresh air, and wanting to save our energy for the next day.

We were up bright and early the next morning – breakfast was at 8am – and ate very well on eggs, tons of bread (my reputation must go before me), butter and jam. We then transferred onto a smaller boat, which would take us to a place where it would be safe for kayaking.

Despite the fact that the last time I’d been in a kayak was about 20 years ago (I was in the guides, and I fell out. Of the kayak, not the guides), I was looking forward to it. Plus I’d be sharing one with Doireann, who kayaked in New Zealand just a few months ago, so we’d be bound to be the best team. Everyone zipped all their luggage up in a great big canvas bag (another good thing about ODC is how safety-conscious they are – I’d head plenty of horror stories about people having things stolen in Halong Bay), and held out the key for one of us to take. In one of my better moments, before I left home I bought a waterproof money belt, into which I can put my passport, money, tickets and so on and go swimming if a) I’m by myself and b) there are no sharks around. I had the money belt with me, so offered to take the key for the group. The others were all poor trusting souls, and said ok. At least this was a way of guaranteeing they would be nice to me! I told them I was a fast kayaker and so to keep an eye on us otherwise we’d be halfway to Malaysia, but I don’t think they believed me.

Amazingly, we managed to get into the kayak without falling in. TinTin told us to stay nearby until the whole group was in the water. We were mooching around, getting into the swing of it, when suddenly behind us Doireann and I heard a horn sound. We looked around and, no exaggeration, one of the big boats was bearing down on us. I honestly thought I’d breathed my last and I would be shark food, but we started paddling like mad. Obviously I lived to tell the tale (don’t think I could type this well from beyond the grave), but the boat passed within about 6 feet of us. Fortunately we didn’t get sucked under, but it was a close call. And what were our lovely friends doing at this point? Killing themselves laughing, that’s what. I gave them a stern look and reminded them of the key. At which point they stopped laughing, for about 3 seconds. Gerard, the Dutch guy, told me I should have blown my whistle on my lifejacket (you know, the one that will attract the attention of the rescue planes), so I gave it a blast then for good measure.

I don’t know if it was the whistle blast, or something in the air, but at that moment, the heavens literally opened, and down came such a heavy downpour. We were getting soaked from the sea, soaked from everyone splashing us, and soaked from above. But you know what? It was the most fun. I don’t think we stopped laughing for the whole couple of hours we were out there. Doireann and I entertained the group with our renditions of appropriate songs – Row, Row, Row Your Boat, Sailing, Speed Bonny Boat, Singing In the Rain – you name it, we sang it. It was a real shame when it was over.

And no, I didn’t lose the key.

We had to shiver back on the boat until we reached Cat Ba Island, where we would be staying for the night. This is the biggest island in Halong Bay. We were told what time to go up for dinner (a barbeque this time), and then some of the group set off on a trek across the island. I didn’t go, but stayed and rested my foot, and waited for dinner. And mmmmmmm – dinner. Spicy prawns, calamari, fish in tomato sauce. Wow, it was good. I know I’m saying that about all the meals, but they really were incredible.

After the meal, the Spanish group, the Dutch couple, Nolan the South African, Celine the French daughter, Doireann and I headed out and hit the only nightclub on Cat Ba Island. And it was NOT good. Rarely outside of Ruebens Nite Spot in Leigh have I heard worse tunes. Mainly horrid techno, with some bizarre things – Ace of Base done in a Drum n Bass style, anyone? – thrown in. Despite our pleading, we couldn’t get the DJ to change the music. We danced, of course we danced, but we couldn’t stand it for much longer, so a few of us (Doireann, Miguel, one of the Spanish women and me) went to another bar, while the others called it a night and went home. The other bar was lots of fun – the barmaid let us choose the music, so I went right for Blondie and led a dance session outside in the rain, to the bemusement of the locals.

We propped up the bar good style – Miguel and I were the last two standing, and rolled in around 4am. We were checking out at 8am the next day. TinTin, bless his heart, rang our room when neither Doireann nor I had shown up for breakfast by 7.40. We were ready, but just about to leave. See, the guy was so NICE!

The last day was more of the same. The boat was going to stop for swimming, but no-one wanted to go in in the rain, so we played cards on board until we’d got back to Halong City. Such a good feeling, to be playing and laughing with a new group of friends. Getting back, for once, passed without incident, and all too soon it was time to say Au Revoir, Adios, the word for goodbye in Dutch and Vietnamese, whatever that is, to the group.

It wasn’t raining in Hanoi, but I wouldn’t have swapped those three days in the rain for any amount of sunshine.

Something that we had to do, apparently, in Hanoi, was to go and see the water puppets.  To be honest, I was fairly ambivalent about it; it sounded more of a children’s thing.  Not that this has ever stopped me, in the past, being a big fan of Disney musicals or fishfingers, chips and peas, but water puppets?  Not really my thing.  Still, you know the saying – when in Hanoi, go see Uncle Ho, drink Bia Hoi, see water puppets.  Tick, tick, ok, I’ll go.

Rich, Doireann and I bought tickets (in the cheap seats) for the 8 o’clock show, so after a day of shopping and lazy DVD watching (we were lazy, not the DVDs, although to be frank, “The Break Up” with J-An and Vince Whatshisname was lazy and dumb and not worth spending your pennies on at the cinema), we met up for a quick drink before we headed in.  Rich was suffering at this point, having caught conjunctivitis off Dean, who in turn had caught it off a Spanish girl in Halong Bay.  We were therefore being really paranoid and not letting him touch anything like our glasses.  With my track record so far on this trip, I wouldn’t put it past myself to catch anything like that.  So far though (touching every single wooden thing in sight), no sign.  I was paranoid for a few days, though, and everytime I had an itchy eye, I would anxiously examine my face in a mirror for about half an hour.

I was put in a good mood instantly by the availability of free stuff.  You know how happy that makes me!  We got a free fan.  Not entirely sure why, as the theatre was airconditioned, but still, you didn’t hear me complain, no siree.  We managed to avoid paying the apparently voluntary extra money to take photos (we snapped away inside, though, with no adverse effects), so I was even happier.

When we arrived, the music was just starting.  The music in a water puppet show is just as important as the puppetry, serving as a narrative.  We were also treated to a display of lovely musicianship from a beautiful young woman playing one of Vietnam’s traditional instruments.  Then the puppets started.

They are operated from behind a screen by puppeteers who have to train for up to three years.  Not surprising, when you see it, either – the puppets are on long poles, or platforms attached to long poles, and when you see them move, you completely forget that there are people working them from a considerable distance away.  They depict typically rural scenes, farming, fishing, boat races and so on, and some of the scenes – especially those involving animals, such as fish, are so swiftly and skilfully done that it’s hard to believe that it’s not a real fish they have in the water.

I was even glad that we got the cheap seats, as they are further back and we got a good overall view of the set.  It was amazing, as well, to see the captivated faces of the children around us – and I’m sure that, if they had looked around at the right place,  they’d have seen us looking pretty captivated, as well.  If you’re ever at a loose end in Hanoi, go and see them – it’s definitely not just for the kids.