Niall Clerkin

The bus from Sihanoukville to Trat in Thailand should be a fairly simple procedure. It’s 6 hours inclusive of an hour at the Cambodian/Thai border. The course of true love never runs smooth and instead of being in Trat at 2.30 as planned we didn’t get there until nearly 6. The main cause of this was just pure sloppy trading. The border crossing was simple enough, just smile and nod at the men with guns, acknowledge the signs for the death penalty and remember what a lucky little westerner you are.

On the Thai side we were herded into groups depending on destination. There were only 4 of us taking the relatively short journey to Trat, and so we were not a priority. They left us waiting for a minibus for a good hour and then changed us into another minibus somewhere across town and eventually after much messing around and 2 hours late we got back on the road. This delay meant that we could not choose a follow on destination at the bus station as planned, but would be spending the night in Trat.

Toilet breaks are frequent

At the border we had met Mark (from Limerick), a Divemaster working in Cambodia on his way to Trat to collect a compression valve for the companies air compressor. His Thai friend La was bringing it down from Bangkok. Now that we were staying in Trat we joined them for a beer and a spot of dinner.

Mark & La

This was a rare chance for myself and Elaine to get insight into local food, so we dragged the two of them to the nightmarket and started doing the rounds of the food stalls. La explained all sorts of dishes to us including eggy cakes & desserts, pigs innards, spicy pork dough balls and much more. She relished in the role of gourmet tourist adviser. Eventually we settled on a group of dishes that included pig stomach stuffed with pickled vegetables, spicy ground pork with peppers, morning glory (water spinach & garlic), veg in oyster gravy and the obligatory rice. Can you say FEAST? A couple of big bottles of Chang and Rick Stein is your uncle Bob.

From the Ferry to Koh Chang

We hadn’t really known where we would go next and were leaving it up to chance, but it is only 30 minutes from Trat by ferry to Koh Chang, the so-called Elephant Island, so we said “why the hell not?”. There are 3 or 4 distinct villages on the island, one catering for families,and monied tourists, one for tranquility chasers and another for the backpacking types. No prizes for guessing where we went.

There is a warning in the Lonely Planet guide regarding the Taxi Mafia on Chang and they are not wrong. They have incredibly high fares set in their Song-taews (Taxi Pickup Trucks), squeeze an unbelievable amount of people in, at no group discounts and all drive together in convoys. If you argue about fares, as I did of course, you are off or you pick your pride (and bags) back off the ground and pay the fare. They even start the journey and then pull in at a quiet spot to collect the money. Thus if you refuse you are in the middle of nowhere, and the other Song-taew drivers know not to pick you up. After I had embarrassingly rejoined our particular chain gang, an English bloke called Gavin told me that they had wanted to support my stand, but needed the lift so what could they do.

The Koh Chang Mafia

Coincidently I met Gavin & his Polish girlfriend Aggie a week later in Bangkok (at May Kaidees wonderful restaurant) and he told me that on their return journey, the hostel manager had dropped them almost the whole way to the ferry port. The Song-taew drivers that pulled up charged them 500baht for the rest of the journey. Even by their own outrageous fares it should have been 100baht. They had seen Gavin & Aggie’s free lift as an attempt to avoid the standard fares and therefore an affront to their monopoly. I’m thinking of investing all my money into a free bus system to ruin the bastards……..

Lonely Beach

Let us forget about the taxi drivers and picture a winding village road 200 yards long. There are 5 or 6 shops, restaurants and little hostels dotted on either side as the road winds up a low hill. Off this main road there are tracks uphill into the mountain with stilted bungalows surrounded by palms and other greenery, backing into the rain forest. To the other side of the road there are stoned tracks amid the palm trees descending lightly to a long stretch of sand, Lonely Beach. The trees are hung with fairy lights and cluttered on the tracks are beach huts, cabanas and little bars. There are large wooden terraces stretching over the rocks supported on stilts, directly facing the sunset on the gulf sea.

Bungalows at Lonely Beach

In short this place is everything Sihanoukville isn’t. It is a rustic pixieland made from tinsel, dried flowers and multi-coloured sticky back paper. With live music on every corner, hammocks in the bars, green curries in the restaurants and friendly friendly people, I got to visit my own personal heaven.

Sunset from one of the decks

Stone Free bar, named for the king of all things rock&blues Mr Jimi Hendrix, is a welcoming & warm venue. 2 brothers run the bar and the love of music runs the brothers. Ricky Stone has been playing music there for 7 years. He came from Bangkok and never left. He plays in every other bar too but Stone Free remains his spiritual home. We saw a lot of Ricky over our days at Lonely Beach and enjoyed it all. He introduced us around to bar men and musicians in a very friendly/forgetful way. I played guitar at a bar launch party with him (Joy Cafe) and another day, sang a couple of songs in Stone Free, accompanied by one of the brothers on tambourine. Can I say heaven again?

Joy Cafe Launch Party

Ciaran, a Vet from Longford threw in a few tunes also, to much cheering or jeering from Joanne, a Vet from Cork. Who knew that the world of animal husbandry was so musical?

The beach itself is a sandy cove about a mile long, but deep and with the stillest shallow waters I have ever seen. No rips or discernible currents, just beautiful clear waters and a light cooling breeze. Not so much of a breeze that you couldn’t play cards but just enough to cool & soothe. Even the restaurant & bar at the beach front (Nature Rocks) was good value and with a much loved menu. We met so many good people who didn’t have a leaving date, just no plans….

And why the hell not say I? It was almost perfect.

Our last stop in Cambodia was the beach town of Sihanoukville. Named for the King of the later half of the 20th century, the town is supposedly the Thai Islands of 15 years ago. In the pyramid of cool everything has a half-life, and whereas the Thai Islands star is waning among the hardcore cool due to over commercialisation and populism, that of Sihanoukville is rising. Off the beaten track, 12 hours from Siam Reap, only backpackers make it to this town. There is not a rich cash flashing 2 week tourist for 200 miles. Everyone we had met for the last 2 months raved about Sihanoukville and we wanted to know why.

At the kerb in Sihanoukville

It was 6am when we arrived on the overpriced night-bus (17 dollars) but it was more comfortable than those in VN. We slept pretty well with the help of some over-the-counter-not-a-hope-in-a-regulated-country sleeping pills, despite the bumpy Cambodian roads. You have to remember in Cambodia that this is a country only beginning to construct a semblance of a modern road network. In most towns a 6am arrival is not an issue, even on a Sunday. The locals are already through breakfast and cleaning their shops, restaurants or guest houses preparing for the day. Sihanoukville was different. We got a tuk-tuk to Mick & Craigs budget hostel, to find it still closed. Next door at Monkey Republic it was the same story again. I sat with the rucksacks, smoking (because I am a bad man) and Elaine went walkabout to check a few of the other hostels nearby. All closed. We gathered the bags and ambled off in the direction of a few more hostels we had marked on our map and on passing a small street shack shop were asked if we needed a room. A rather nice collection of rooms, hidden, without a bar or restaurant, but clean and a good bed and bathroom for 6 dollars a night. Thank you very much. It was only 6.45 and there were still 40 travelers from our bus wandering the dusty streets looking for rooms or non-existent breakfast but we had a bed and we were happy.

After a rest, a coffee & croissant at a French bistro(the thrill of it), we sidled off to the beach. To call it a beach could be stretching it a little (and stretch it someone should). Technically it was made of sand and it did have sea frontage but is that the criteria fulfilled? Bar shacks line what is 10 feet of beach at the widest point. In some places a single beach lounger would have the tide lapping around its front feet while its back feet were off the beach. Flip-flops stolen by the sea were a common bobbing sight. I couldn’t help thinking that you cant peg back the sea with a few sandbags but many shacks had their frontage lined with sandbags to try and save a few precious inches.

The loungers are free to those eating or drinking a a particular shack and with about 50 in a row there is a lot of choice. We chose by the price of the food, the softness of the bed and crucially, the width of the beach. There is very little as relaxing as the sun, the sound of the sea and a good book. In my case “Down Under” by Bill Bryson. But folks that is where the chilling out ended. In the next 10 minutes no less than 20 hawkers of all makes & measures vied for my attention, and more importantly my dollars. “Hello Sir, You new here? You just arrived? You want bracelet/sunglasses/book/massage/waxing/manicure/fruit/shrimps/pedicure/threading/hat/you name it I got it/perhaps marijana?” Children, teenagers,mammies, grannies, daddies, blind beggars, bling beggars, legless beggars, armless beggars, army beggars, big beggars, beg of my neighbour, pick me! Are you getting the picture here? How on earth is a man to relax in that atmosphere? It’s amplified of course by the tightness of the beach, all the travelers corralled like wild horses ready to be broken, and I was tired, but there is still only so many times a man can say No thank you and mean it. Not to mention the fairer sex, who will routinely have their legs caressed by a nomad “beautician” paired with the words “Not so smooth, you need smooth? I thread your legs”. At this point the hawker will sit on the girl in questions lounger and start her work oblivious to protestations of the “What the hell!” nature.  Ladies, if you go down to the beach today, be sure to shave your legs….     We lasted about 2 hours. Enough time to have lunch, a beer, take malaria tablets and get thoroughly annoyed.

Later that day we decided to eat at the french bistro on beach road where we had drank coffee that same morning. Good food, good coffee, happy days. Happy chef. Very happy chef. He was chain smoking weed. A few more french men sat at the makeshift bar (I say makeshift because though it was title a french bistro, it was actually a french shack) rolling up and passing around the joints. So the chef was happy. I didn’t mind, I’ve been known to be a little happy on occasion myself, I just thought this a little obvious…

As we got to know Sihanoukville over the course of that evening and the next day, it transpired that everyone was happy. There were happy shakes, happy pizzas, happy salads, you name it the talented chefs could happy it up a notch or two. People smoked weed on the beach, in the bars, in tuk-tuks, under the stars. I’m getting poetic in my passively acquired happiness. This is why everyone was singing the praises of the little town. It was like Rag Week in a cannabis plantation. It didn’t matter that the streets weren’t paved, that the beach was being stolen by the sea and that legs weren’t shaved. It just didn’t matter.

There were a lot of older western men in Sihanoukville also, the good character of whom couldn’t be safely assumed. There are plenty of such men throughout south east Asia, finding easy dollars bring easy virtue, but in this little town in southern Cambodia there was an unusually high concentration. It’s never fun to share a bar with a sleazy git.

The setup at IBall

We decided to be adventurous. There was a new Zorbing park opened up outside of town and we thought it might be a fun way to spend a day. Zorbing for the uninitiated, as I was, is the fun of being hurled down a steep hill inside a giant inflatable ball.

The wet Ball

There are wet balls for slopping and sliding around inside and their are dry balls where you are strapped in and complete 360 degree rotations inside the ball as it rolls at high speeds down the hill. Both are a lot of fun, but the dry ball in particular is off the scale. It is more disorientating than any theme park ride, more adrenaline spike, more crazy. The park, called I-ball, also features a zipline with a drop in a pond, beach-football & volleyball and archery equipment has been ordered. Colm from Ireland who runs the park enjoys a chat and is more than willing to fill the afternoon with anecdotes of life in Cambodia. When the I-ball park gets off the ground and there are groups 20 or 25 it will be a great day out. On our day there were only 7 so it wasn’t all that it could be, but the balls were still great fun.

Inside the dry ball

It must be admitted that we did have lunch one bright and sunny afternoon at “Happy Herbs Pizza”. 2 Anghor Draft and a medium pepperoni pizza please. Big happy or little happy? We plumped for medium and spent the afternoon on the beach  in a pleasantly relaxed manner. An Italian couple ate next to us, with their 2 young children. Maybe they had had too much sugar and needed calming down.Will no taboo remain uncrossed? That afternoon I finished “Down Under” on the beach and swapped it with another Bryson reader for “Shakespeare”.  An easier transaction never was conducted. I gave in to a gabby little girl and had a bracelet weaved for a dollar. Damn pizza!

Cambodia was thataway

On the whole we were unimpressed with Sihanoukville. After all we had heard we were disappointed in the poor beach, (though apparently Otres Beach up the road is great), the disgusting toilets, the pushy hawkers and the singular dimension to the travelers entertainment. We came, we tried, we left. It was a pity to leave Cambodia with this fizzled out little dust-bowl as our freshest memory because it had been a great visit in the main, and surprising. But onwards and westward to Thailand and beyond. There are green curries to be had.

One of the most famous images in the world is the great Khmer temple of Anghor Wat. Rediscoverd by a French man in the 1860’s after centuries of being lost to the jungle. Truth be told there was a group of Buddhist Monks living at the Wat when he “discovered” it, but never mind. He still brought Siem Reap into the consciousness of western nations. After years of being utterly inaccessible to tourists, the temple cities at Anghor have been back on tourist maps for most of a decade.

Anghor Wat from a less familiar angle

These temple were built between the 10th and 12th centuries and after the Khmer Civilisation fell, were lost to the world for centuries. The constructions are astounding and so large, for such a time. There is so much more than Anghor Wat. Ta Prohm, was used as a location for the
Tombraider movie and is especially cool as it has only been recently reclaimed from the jungle. Anghor Thom, an impressive fortress of 3km squared, feature the rock faces of Bayon. Many smaller temples are equally endearing and amazing. We hired bicycles for the day and covered 35KM cycling from temple to temple. What a great few days and how lucky we are to be able to do it.  I shall let a few photographs do the talking…

Sunrise at Anghor Wat

That's 5am to you

Ta Prohm

Ta Prohm; Tombraider

Reminiscent of Mayan temples?

One of 6 gates to Anghor Thom

Some of the faces of Bayon

Inside Bayon

Self timers are great

One of the many great moats

Anghor is a brilliant place. So very enjoyable to see such huge blocks of stone employed with such imagination, moats 100m wide, 8 m high walls, temple cities that are 3 km north to south and east to west, intricate carvings and reliefs, set beside towering strength. Many of the temples are tumbling, but many are not. There are improvement and repair works everywhere. The goal seems to be just to keep everything accessible, a sizable aim in its own right, and keep the tourists coming. A country as poor as Cambodia really needs the tourist dollars that this great site brings.

It would be a mistake however to visit the temples for a few days and neglect the little town of Siam Reap. It has a very small but delightful downtown area, with quality eateries, cute bars and a few clubs. Something for everyone. We ate at the “Khmer Family” restaurant enjoying Fish Amok, and Pork Cha Krueng. We accidentally picked their sister restaurant the next night and had the Khmer tasting menu with curry, amok & spring rolls. Kako soup is spicy and delicious, a salty goulash. Cambodian food is waiting to explode on the world with its mix of thai & indian spices and vietnamese freshness.

Bar Alley, but really a cute street of boutique style restaurants

We tried our hand at a few beers in the Anghor What? on our second to last night and had some good fun. Beer was only 50 or 75cents. A very spaced local kept challenging me to arm wrestles and at 5-0 down he still wouldn’t give up. Annmarie & Denise are 2 Scottish nurses who joined us for a few, and then a few more and then led us to the  dance floor in Temple Club. Some random Aussies wouldn’t leave us alone, though I feel it could have been the allure of the 3 lassies, rather than my own good looks that kept them hanging on. We ate salty chips at 3 am, just like home, and we met the Rock&Roll Tuk Tuk man, who, attempting to stand out from the crowd, has his little machine wired for Ipods and with speakers in the cabin.

Temple Club on Bar Street

Secret Wars are by their nature not publicised. So when the US decided to bomb the east of Cambodia to flush out any Viet Cong who were hiding there, they didn’t tell anyone. Apparently not even the Cambodians. Cambodia had been neutral since 1955 and in 1969 told the Vietnamese that they were not welcome to combat the Americans from Cambodia Soil. President Nixon took the opportunity to launch a massive secret bombing campaign, called Operation Menu, along the Cambodia/Vietnam border. Nixon had previously written to King Sihanouk that America respected “the sovereignty, neutrality and territorial integrity of the Kingdom of Cambodia…” but apparently only in so far as they didn’t object to his blowing it up. They only killed somewhere in the region of 150,000 people, so I guess the worse crimes were to come…..

What the US bombing campaign did do, was allow a small leftist communist group led by Pol Pot, named the Khmer Rouge, build a following. It is very easy to recruit when families are dying around you. King Sihanouk was ousted and an American backed Monkey placed in charge.  The KR started recruiting on a number of fronts. The Americans are bombing, the Americans are in charge, therefore the government must be overthrown. 2+2=4

They even made a deal to represent the exiled King (whom at that point knew not their maniacal plan) to further recruit royalist citizens. What happened next is one of the great tragedies of modern Asian history.

On the morning of our trip to the Killing Fields & S-21 Prison, our local guide, tuk-tuk driver and all round smiley headed fella, KhaVi, was late. He phoned one of the other drivers at our hostel and had them find us to apologise, so that we could go ahead with someone else if we wanted to. The engine on the moto was getting tinkered with…. We elected to wait, chuffed with his decency and tenacity in contacting us.

When he did arrive he was full of apologies, which we quickly brushed aside and hopped on board. Touel Sleng (Hill of Poisoned Trees) Museum or S-21 as it became known,was a Phnom Penh High School, as inane and innocent as that, but was turned into a torture and interrogation centre under the Khmer Rouge. The man who oversaw the torture in S-21, known as Duch, is currently in court in Cambodia with a joint UN/Cambodian judiciary. He reported directly to Pol Pot and is the only major figure yet to be tried, on account of Cambodian Government interference. Lots of the Khmer Rouge leaders were subsumed into the government in the 90’s and the political appetite is not there to weed them out. Heaven knows why, as the appalling crimes committed resonate in every single family to this day.

Kha Vi took us through the boulevards of Phnom Penh grand, then westward through the graveled and dusty streets. When we pulled up at S-21 there was already the tell tale sign of tuk tuk drivers tucked up in the shade waiting for their charges. We are never morbid alone.

S-21

It’s a high school, it looks like a high school, even a pleasant one. To think of what it became is almost beyond comprehension. From 1975 to 1979, an estimated 17,000 people were imprisoned at Security Centre 21.  They were victims of ritualistic tortures and coerced into naming family and associates who would receive similar treatment. In the early months of S-21’s existence, most of the victims were from the previous Lon Nol regime (US Supported) and included soldiers, government officials, as well as academics, doctors, teachers, students, factory workers, monks, engineers. Anyone with an education or skill was detained. In later years Pol Pot’s paranoia was such that he turned on his own ranks and thousands of party activists and their families were brought to Tuol Sleng and murdered.

A classroom turned cell

Walking around the Prison/School is eerie in the extreme. The sun was blazing from the sky but the rooms remain cool and ghostly. With images on the walls of the last 14 victims who were found in situ when the KR were overthrown, and the beds and torture devices left in the empty cells it was hard to take in.

S-21

Other sections of the museum show thousands of images, just faces, of prisoners taken on arrival. Men, women, old, young, children, some defiant, some scared, all surely about to endure more than our worst nightmares. A wooden frame stands in the front yard, once exercise equipment for children became a key torture device and makeshift gallows.

Gallows

Another room tells the political story of the KR, their rise to power and the factors that brought a despotic leadership to essentially murder a quarter of their own people (1.7 million).

The Rules

Outside I asked Kha Vi where he had been from 75-79. His father was a Doctor and Captain in the state Army, the forces of Lol Nol. 5 days before the KR walked victorious into Phnom Penh Kha Vi’s father knew it was inevitable. He  had his family, including the 4 yr old Kha Vi,  sent to a small village on the Thai border, and he stayed to defend the creaking city. Kha Vi and his mother didn’t return until 1984. They sifted through the photographs in boxes at the S-21 prison, (before it was cleaned), looking for a trace of husband and father. They didn’t find one and still don’t know what happened to him. Every family has a story like this and in fact Kha Vi says that they were lucky. However 25 years later the pain was still visible in the face of the man as he told his story.

We headed out into the country then, just 10 or 15kms to the famous “Choeung Ek”, one of the “Killing Fields”. It is not by any means the only execution site and mass grave in Cambodia, and not necessarily the one with the most bodies, but it is close to the capital and had operated hand in hand with s-21. It is now maintained as a memorial and as a reminder to the world of what happened in Cambodia.

Stupa

The central memorial, is a 17 storey glass “Stupa” containing almost 9000 unidentified skulls.

One of 17 levels

We walked the fields, mostly deep pits, that have been dug out and the bodies removed. Graves of women, mixed graves, graves of 100’s of bodies all headless, children’s graves.  Children engaged in these crimes, taught to kill before they have learned to think.

Each pit held hundreds of bodies

We watched a short film about the delivery & dispatch system that owed so much to Nazi Germany and an interview with “Duch” who apologised.

The Magic Tree

As I write this the verdict has not been handed down on Duch, but in closing this week, the Warden of S-21 asked to be released, he had apologised and should be forgiven.

We made it through the border checkpoint with about 5 hours until the end of VN visa. We had previously bought Cambodian e-visas online for ease of passage and they worked a charm. Then again as the crossing wasn’t busy that particular day working a charm only saved us 10 minutes.

Ferry across the Mekong

We took a 6 minute ferry crossing across the Mekong River en-route.

The rather large Mekong

We got off the bus in downtown Phnom Penh to a melee of moto and tuk tuk drivers wanting our business and the commission to be earned from guesthouses. We turned them all down, confidently, like we knew what we were doing and strode with a young English Couple (Charlie & Lauren) to the closest cafe.

From little things come great deeds

Here whilst getting fed and watered we consulted the travel bible (lonely planet). We picked a couple favourites and were getting ready to ruck with the taxi drivers when one of them broke from the pack, into the cafe with a brochure for Okay Guest house. Lonely planet gave it the briefest of sentences, all positive but not outstanding. However, something told us to go with this guy. Even if it didn’t work out it would be a free tuk tuk closer to the area we wanted to be in, so the four of us, rucksacks in tow clambered in. (How his little moto engine pulled the combined weight is a miracle of engineering).

The hunters that we are, myself & Charlie left the ladies minding the bags and went to check the place out and negotiate. The vibe was terrific. An open plan restaurant/chill out area with movies playing, very happy & contented looking travelers, great rooms and terrific staff.  Kha Vi, who showed us around the hotel and looked after us for the next few days, provided the best, most amiable and charming service I may have had in my life. We booked in.

After a few beers with Lauren & Charlie and watching some good movies we elected to spend the next day sightseeing around Phnom Penh and the following day taking the tour of S-21 Kmer Rouge Torture Centre and the infamous Killing Fields.

Illegally copied books are available everywhere for a few dollars

Along the Tonle Sap

Walking around the city was a real surprise. Far from being a backward capital it is quite busy and industrious. It may not be rich, but it has rich treasures in its river promenade (alongside the Tonle Sap which empties into the Mekong), the glorious old french buildings, the King’s Grand Palace and the beautiful National Museum. These are set around green parks too numerous to mention, with sculptures, fountains and seating. Beyond the parks again are the markets with all kinds of meats, veg & fruit, as you would expect and also the crafts and tourist tat. It is quite an enchanting walk. We loved it. The whole city has taken its foot off the accelerator and has set cruise control to a nice relaxing  fuel efficient speed.

An Elephant I believe

Cambodia is a coinless society. Riel, the official currency operates as the coinage and for almost anything over 4000 Riel, the US Dollar is used. This means 2 things. 1; it is very easy to know what you are spending and 2; almost everything costs at least a dollar. This is reflected in the price of smaller items such as water and beer, leaving one of the poorest countries in the world more expensive than others we have visited. Normally that is cause for a good rant about rip-off societies and scam merchants but the Cambodians are just so damn nice about it. There are smiles everywhere, no offence is taken if you don’t want their product, the hard sell is distinctly softer here and it makes the world of difference. I do not know if it is by nature or design but these guys really know what side their dollar is buttered.

Tiring after our city walk in the intense heat Elaine spotted Rory’s Bar, with a happy hour and Anghor Daft for $1. Purely in the interests of research we popped in for one. Or two. That’s how it goes in an Irish bar……

The first thing we enquired about was a TV, Ireland were to play South Africa that evening in rugby and as you will have realised, that is fairly high on my list of priorities. They didn’t have one, but as a well sozzled Englishman by the name of Derek pointed out that his bar “The Winking Frog” would be showing it. “Come on South Africa” was his cry. You really can’t trust the brits, can you? A group of Irish blokes having more than a few drew our attention and insisted we join them. They were 3 lads from Ballincollig in Cork, on a trip not so dissimilar from our own, pouring down the good stuff at 4 in the afternoon. Rory, an accountant in clown proportioned flip-flops, and self appointed leader drunkenly meandered his way through the the next hour in a not totally un-entertaining way and we agreed to meet the boys later that night for the game. It was time for the jersey to come out again.

I may never watch another game in the Oak (Dame St, Dublin) with my brother, such is Ireland’s fortune when I watch from distant lands. Murray from South Africa joined us and was as engaged in the game as I. It was much better than watching with the teasing Aussies in Nha Trang, as Murray knew a thing or two about rugby, which is always nice and of course we won. We beat the world champions and Ronan O’Gara has at last got some real competition for the number 10. Well played Johnny Sexton.  I might note at this time that Charlie and Lauren had the biggest feed of bangers & mash I have ever seen, at the Winking Frog.

Phnom Penh at night

We tuk-tuked it up to Zepplin, a rock bar from the past still spinning LP’s. Unfortunately after 11 they turn the music down as it’s a residential area. I for one prefer to hear Black Dog at top volume so we tuk-tuked it away again to Memphis Blues club. Behind an innocently quiet front (equipped with sound proof doors) is a happening music bar. The standard of house bands in SE Asia never ceases to amaze me and this band topped the pile. The singer was Vietnamese, living in Phnom Penh 11 years and earning his living from throwing his voice around enthusiastically. At 43 years of age he looked a decade less and sounded younger still. Nearly 2 hours of rock & blues classics later they finished up and the singer advised us to finish the night at “The Heart of Darkness”. Guides claims that all good nights in this city start or end there so I was glad to get to see it, in all its dingy glory. They sweep you with a metal detector and search you as you go in, but not the locals…. Word is that only local rich kids and gangsters can afford the beer here and any altercation with a local will not bode well for a foreigner as many of them carry guns. Still we didn’t come to any harm and could even look beyond the “professional ladies”and enjoy the last hour on the dance floor.

By the way, Anghor Draft is lovely.

It was late afternoon when our bus started through the outlying suburbs of Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) but immediately I knew I liked it. After the sedate low-rise nature of the most of Vietnam, here was a big southern statement, in glass, steel & neon shouting to its populace “You are not of a second city, Saigon still lives”. Am I being dramatic? Perhaps a little but only to illustrate a point. ..

Get your expensive designer goods here

Ho Chi Minh

Ho Chi Minh was the leader of the Communist North during the wars which led to the French withdrawal, and a figure head president during the American war until his death in 69. As history is written by the victors Uncle Ho, as he is referred to, is revered as a revolutionary hero and as a great leader. Of course he is responsible for sending a great deal of Vietnamese to their deaths, but that’s war, no? My point is this, Saigon, the capital of South Vietnam, was by all accounts a  vibrant and entrepreneurial city, got destroyed in the wars. Razed. After the wars it was slowly rebuilt with a new communist ethos, that didn’t quite suit the freewheeling southeners. When Saigon finally fell in 75 the City was renamed in his honour. Uncle Ho City would have sounded stupid so they used his full name and Ho Chi Minh City was born, not in the North where his standing greatest but in the south where the name didnt ring comfortable. Of course the locals still call it Saigon, and insisted on looking outward for investment, attracting multi-national HQs, international University campuses, rebuilding their city and truly putting its brother Hanoi in the shade. And well done say I, I was still on the bus into town and I was getting excited.

The Central Market, with clock, and a very busy roundabout

Off the bus close to the backpacker area, we tramped with our sacks across a nice grassy park, kids playing hacky-sack, oldies enjoying a stroll, and a backing track of beeping motos, if anything more ferocious than in Hanoi. As soon as we had found our way into the streets and alleys we were inundated with fellas trying to make a commission by directing us to any number of hotels with which they are not even affiliated. Sometimes there are just too many, and its better to pick one and let him lead, as he will prevent 20 more from annoying you. So we did and duly found ourselves following an articulate & eager 20 something through little alleys and lanes. Imagine you are in some lost city in Persia, chasing a tomb robber through dusty little overcrowded streets, left right right left, through here, under there left again, no no back up. Eventually you get the billowing sheets out of your eyes and look around. The suspect is gone, you are in a narrow little cul de sac, the locals have fled, and  a dodgy looking bloke in a dress is sharpening a sabre. If Indy doesn’t turn up now….  We didn’t stay there, not because of the man with the sabre but because we’d never find it again so we went looking for digs closer to a few landmarks and found something perfectly adequate (if up five flights) in the Thanh Guesthouse. $10US cramped but clean and easy to find.

Elaine was in Ho Chi Minh, and this is the proof

We didn’t venture too far that evening, knowing we had only 3 days to pack a big city into and would need our energy. A quick bite at Cafe 333 and then maybe 2 beers apiece at cafe 185, sitting outside on the street opposite Crazy Buffalo (a very popular tourist haunt).

The next day we set off with a map, a guide and a half idea of what we’d be at. The plan was a long walk through town, the  Independence Palace, the Notre Dame Cathedral, the old train station, lunch, idle tourism & the War Remnants Museum. Walking around HCMC is quite pleasurable, nice buildings, nice heat, some surprises, fairly easy to navigate and lots of space. A walking tour is the way to go, if your lungs can take the traffic that is !

Notre Dame but not the french one

The train station

The War Remnents Museum tells the story of the French trying to hold on to Indochina, getting propped up by the USA, failing and then getting replaced by the USA in what became the Vietnam War (as we know it). I wasn’t fully aware of the depths of French resposibility for this mess and it wasn’t just poor political brookerage, they took billions from the USA in aid & arms and oversaw much of the initial bombing campaigns in Vietnam.  Mais Non!!!!!!

U.S. fighter on display

After the French had capitulated and the Americans took over, well you know that story….. The Museum is devastating. Loving historical context I was reading everything I could and the first 3rd of the Museum took me over an hour, but in that hour gained an understanding of the chronology of the wars, the major accords reached, blatant flouting of international laws and the worlds toothless response. To say that US senators opposed to the actions of the US abroad were calling foul from 56 right through to 75 should give you an idea of how immune 3 successive US administrations were to opinion. And yes the great JFK led the first of these.

Audio Visual Room where some very sad tales unfold

Sections 3, 4 and 5  in the museum feature photographic accounts of the war, by international journalists who were killed in action, stories from civilians of survival and a photographic account of horrific injuries sustained (very hard to look at).  How can I say that an experience like this is rewarding when it leaves you in tears, sapped of energy but full of rage. But it is.

That evening we met an old pal from Monaghan, Kieran.  Living in HCMC for 6 years Kieran has a great job with the University here, and a good knowledge of all the best places to go (It’s great to know people). He first met up with us at our cheap traveler haunt and we had a quick debriefing on all things Dublin, Monaghan and the last 10 years, then he loaded us onto the back of 2 motos and we sped off through the evening traffic madness. The Acoustic Room is a tightly packed little venue with bar tables and chairs surrounding a small stage in an arc. At the end of an unassuming little lane-way, and obviously a haunt of local musos we would never have found this place. A tight 5 piece band, playing note perfect rock from the last 20 years, featuring 3 different vocalists who would materialize from the crowd, this was highly enjoyable. One singer in particular, a Vietnamese version of a grungy Irish college student, all leather bracelets and made to mess hair, was fantastic, with a vocal range to put most professionals to shame. He made Axl Rose’s screams in Sweet Child of Mine into sweet melody. … Nice. On to the next venue at close of business. After a quick enquiry from Kieran if we liked to dance, we were in the back of a cab with directions to Lush. By name & by nature, Lush was a packed rich kids playground, all glass & balconies, a strict door policy and high heels everywhere. Pricey drinks to be sure and way above our travelers budget (nothing you’d think twice about at home, but relatively speaking) but then Kieran never let us put our hands in our pockets all night. Not just a gent, but a generous gent. With work for the working man getting closer, Kieran shot off home in the wee hours and left us to boogie ’till about 3.  2 motos back to backpacker-ville and a nightcap featuring a game of pool and we were done. We didn’t set any alarms.

No Irish drizzle in these parts!

A day later we were on the bus northwest of HCMC heading for the Cu Chi tunnels. I paired this up with a visit to the Cao Dai Temple as they were about 45 minutes apart.  The temple sounded very interesting. The religion of Cao Dai is less than 100 years old, they have 4 million followers in Vietnam and incorporate many different Gods and saints in their beliefs. They worship a mix of Buddhism, Christianity &  Confucianism and include Jesus, Mohamed and  Louis Pasteur among their saints. They are famed for their very colourful temples and I thought it could be very interesting to attend a ceremony.

Me and a really big wedding cake

So unlike Christchurch

So the temple is colourful. So what? Tourists are allowed to observe the devotees in service and walk around the balcony areas. The worshipers will get epilepsy from all the flashes going off.  A waste of a morning other than the self-discovery that it is the history and theory that interest me rather than the walkabout a temple. It bored me plain and simple. I apologise to temple lovers everywhere but my advice is look at the pictures, read the theory but this is one wedding cake not worth eating.

After that we went to the Cu Chi Tunnels. Set in the jungle northwest of HCMC close to the Cambodian border, the tunnels are a network of rooms, living areas, workshops, meeting room and their connecting tunnels that extends for a mind bending 220km. The Vietnamese used the tunnels to perfect their guerrilla warfare strategy against the Americans.

A hidden entrance

We saw lots of traps  (like primitive bear traps with spikes), portions of tunnels, meeting rooms and some re-creations of typical scenes.

The kind of trap you don't want to fall into

There were AK-47s to fire (we both declined) and tunnels to scurry along inside.  Just before we reached the  firing range it had started to rain. Apocalypse Now kind of rain. Torrential.

Just the beginning of the rain

The jungle paths quickly turned from hard baked clay to shin deep rivers. The heavens had opened up and as our guide told us, it was great for authenticity. We hiked through it getting soaked despite our rain gear and were sopping wet by the time we got the the tunnel entrance.

Entrance to the land beneath

I was last to go in, delaying because I thought it would be too hot, and wet, and damp. But after the initial entrance had been left behind it was dry as a bone. I had a great time going deeper and deeper and further away from the rest of the tour group, pushing my day sack ahead of me and working my way through on hands & knees. Eventually there was just me & a German bloke, as everyone had taken the exits as we came to them, but I was determined to keep going inside the ground for far as was possible. I had all sorts of movies running through my head, nicely edited for action, as I scurried through the tiny tunnels, sometimes on my belly to get around corners or down to the next level.

The mole emerges

By the time we emerged everyone was gone back to the station, and their was just one guy there hoping he’d find us before shutting up shop. I highly recommend this.

Back at the main compound we were shown a “quaint” propaganda movie from 1968 where farmers were been encouraged to build these tunnels and the traps we had seen. “With a rifle in one hand and a plough in the other” it could have been De Valera talking.

Boom

We were very late back that evening and we had set a time to meet Kieran & his partner Hiromi in a Japanese restaurant by the name of Zen. Elaine was sick and cold, and damp and tired for that matter so I had to go on my own. Being a man is wonderful because 15 minutes after arriving back soaked through, I was showered, changed, looking presentable and on the back of a moto to take me across town. Zen turned out to be a big hit with fantastic sushi, miso soup, tempura and Shochu (a Japanese spirit that Kieran introduced me too). I had a wonderful evening with Kieran & Hiromi, and once again it was the expat who got the bill. The only way it could have been better was if Elaine could have made it, but you can’t have everything.

Ho Chi Minh City, I didn’t stay with you long enough, my visa was running out, but I think you could be great.

Dalat is an odd place. 1500m above sea level in the central highlands of Vietnam, it purports to be the Honeymoon capital of the country. The guide books talk about the kitschness of the place, its disneyland-esque feel for the newly weds. The town is perched high above agricultural valleys on one side and mountain forest on the other, it features a central artificial lake, many cute cafes & restaurants and the most construction I have ever seen in a few square kilometers. Every street, footpath and grassy garden is receiving a facelift. The effort being entered into in order to make the town and environs feel polished and perfect is incredible. It may have been difficult to navigate as a result while we were there but in 2010 when the town celebrates 1000 years with an elaborate flower festival it will be a breeze.

One of the many parks in Dalat

The centre of Honeymoon-ville

Dalat is cold. Mild really, I suppose but cold when you have just travelled from the beaches of Nha Trang. The locals are proud of their mild climate, and their inland industry, and rightly so, it is so different from everywhere else on the trail through Vietnam.

Evening at the lake

Elaine after our long trek (!)

Sculpted trees and flower arrangements abound, cafes with heart shaped signs, peddle boat swans on the lake, the town is truly marketed at internal tourism. English menus were few and far between as its not a stop off for most travelers but that didn’t stop us sampling the delicious Vietnamese stew, the Dalat wine beef, and numerous fantastic vegetarian dishes. We walked the lake, stalked the wedding couples, enjoyed a few beers and climbed the steep hill back to our hotel for 2 nights.

Another view of Dalat Town

We’d have loved to have another day to hire a scooter and explore the vineyards and agriculture stepped into the steep mountains and experience a little more of these friendly mountain people who are so different from the people of the north, but our visas are running tight with only a week to go before we have to leave Vietnam so we bussed it on, impatiently to Mui Ne.

A 10km strip of beach, just 200km north of Ho Chi Minh City, Mui Ne is as chilled and relaxed as any little resort town you could ever hope to find. With grey skies overhead (that had followed us since Nha Trang) there is little to do at a quiet sea village famous for its strand, except eat, drink & be sociable. We teamed up with an Australian/Russian couple, Daniel & Julia, whom we had met on the bus. The site of a road accident had actually provided the meet-cute as Daniel had come to the rear of the bus to share our view of a blooded road and we had got talking about the possibilities of what had occurred.

Later that night we met them again as we left Mango restaurant (ridiculously delicious food at bargain prices) and were heading to the Russian Club “Snow”.  That may seem odd, but after a number of not so discreet enquiries I discovered that Russians were funneling  money into the beach resort at Mui Ne when the origins of this money may not be acceptable to the Russian tax-man. Anyway, in true Russian tradition (or not, how the hell would I know!) some utterly ridiculous version of a Wet T-shirt competition was coming to a close, where the contestants seemed not that wet and the mood oddly sedate (not like frat-boy movies you see on tv) so we turned around and headed to the very salubrious venue  of Sankara.

Julia, Daniel, Elaine & Niall

With 2 internal pools, deep cushioned booths, billowing canvas and a cocktail bar looking into the moonlit sea, it was a very nice spot indeed.  Our new buddies gave us a mental tour of Melbourne, where they live and we swapped the usual travel stories (heading in opposite directions as we were).

It suffices to say that Mui Ne is a lovely little relaxed place by the sea with a lot of russian signage. It was grey when we were there, so we didnt stay, but I would have, given half a chance of sunshine.

Photos will be added soon (slow internet connection).

After Hoi An we took what was gratefully to be our last night bus, for a while at least, and headed for the beach resort of Nha Trang. This is Vietnams answer to the French Riviera, all new hotels, manicured lawns, expensive clubs and long shadeless miles of beach. There are a few cheap streets at the end of the strip, where all the backpackers hang out and it was here that we pitched up. A quick scout around and we were in an 8 dollar room, with cable TV, a fridge, air conditioning, wifi and a decent view of the alley beside us. It was comfortable & cheap, we didn’t need a view, the next few days were to be beach front lazy.

Nha Trang

First things first, I needed to find a bar that would be showing the Ireland V Australia game on TV. The Shamrock pub seemed to be the obvious choice, but the 2 Scots (whats that about?) in charge there were all about Celtic. They recommended a competing venue, Guava, that would have the game on the big screen. A quick confirmation up the road (and a few niggles with an Aussie who was doing the same thing) and I was comfortable with heading to the beach.

Nha Trang

It really does go for miles. It’s a long & deep natural cove facing a number of lush islands with beaches of their own. A deep blue and cloudless sky and some funky architecture to complete the illusion, You are not in Vietnam.

Nha Trang

A nights sleep, several hours of lazing around reading in the sun, 60 laps of the pool, an omelette, a rice soup, a Pho Bo, 2 cups of black VN coffee, 145 litres of water, 5 bottles of Saigon Red, a shower, shave and 1 Ireland Rugby Jersey later. Match Time I’d been looking forward to this for weeks.

Nha Trang

Clearly there is no point in my giving a match report here. It may suffice to say that a semi drunk aussie by the name of Glen was goading me about the Irish performance and after they went 13-6 ahead, I was told repeatedly (first by the commentator second by the Aussia, third by the Aussie and fourth by the Aussie) that if Ireland didn’t score next……TOMMY BOWE you are a legend, and he’s from my lil’ ole Monaghan. That shut them up. Thank you B’oD for going over late on, and Rocky I can’t bring myself to hate you, you’re still the king.

Legend

We went dancing with Mike from Limerick, Terry & Rene from Western Australia and a few more randomers, until 4am at Why Not? bar. It was a wild & crazy spot with good tunes and lots of rock &roll.  We raided the beer fridge back at hotel and landed ourselves on the beach to watch the sunrise. Good times.

I told you it was nice

From Hue we took a daytime bus  (only 3 hours) to Hoi An. That is only 3 hours if you don’t have a 2.5 hour delay because the bus has a flat and nobody seems capable of changing it. A few of the travelers were chipping in, yours truly was not, I had a beer instead (well it is a holiday). Once we got moving I had to take a few snaps as it was the first distance daytime traveling we got to do and there was a lot to see. I took the following 3 photos over 3 hours  of travel, as the light faded to sunset.

1

2

3

The old town of Hoi An is a designated UNESCO world heritage site, on account of its 800+ original houses.

“Hoi An, historically known as a once prosperous seaport under the various names of Fayfo, Kaifo, Faifoo, Faixfo, Hoai Pho and Hoi An, is the only place in Vietnam to have many of its original streets and building preserved intact, which are typical of an old seaport town in South East Asia.

The town was a crossroad of economic-cultural flows in Vietnam and Southeast Asia from the end of the 16 ^th century to the early 19^th century. It was also the gate through which Buddism and Christianity were introduced into Vietnam in the 17^th century. In the process, Hoi An acquired unique cultural characteristics which are manifested in its customs until today.

Hoi An boasts 87 pagodas, temples and communal houses, 82 ancient tube-shaped houses, 24 ancient wells and an ancient tile-roofed bridge.”

More here

It is a famous town for tailoring, mostly set on the ground floors of these buildings. It goes Tailor Tailor Tailor Cafe Restaurant Tailor Shoe-Shop Tailor Tailor Tailor……ad infinitum. As I wasn’t in the mood for a new silk suit on the cheap (when would I get to wear such finery?) and Elaine was starting to feel poorly we skipped this particular treat.

The treats we didn’t skip were the fresh spring rolls, the cao lao…I’ll let Elaine tell you all;

[Elaine]

Cao Lao is a local specialty which we really like, a bit like a noodle salad I guess. It is usually in a bowl, with a specific type of noodles (they have so many types of noodles here!!!) in the bottom with a light sprinkling of a soy type sauce, then some lettuce & mint placed on one side, a quails egg (done like a hard boiled egg) & a slice of duck or pork that has been marinated forever & is so tender & tasty!! Topped with some crispy croutons probably made of rice.

Cao Lao

They also make nice fresh spring rolls, & some amazing dish we don’t know the name of that has rice flour mush, & prawn & spices steamed in a banana leaf – weird texture but tastes amazing. Another starter we liked is a crispy pancake, made with rice flour & shaped like a taco with a yummy filling, we think is based on egg & prawn but who knows!! And the crispy “won-tons” which are great. I don’t think much of won-tons at home but these are totally different, they are kind of like rice crackers meets tortilla chips, with a little parcel bit like a won-ton but covered in this yummy fresh salsa – they would make a great party food.

won-ton

[\Elaine]

One of the most entertaining dining experiences we have had was here in Hoi An in a communal eaterie. Basically a large tent/structure with about 12 chefs all cooking the same menu and depending on where you sit, the appropriate chef & staff get your business. It is real local food at rock bottom local prices. The food as Elaine describes above was truly excellent but in addition the service, one young girl in particular was so very funny.

Where you from?

Ireland, where are you from?

I from the Moon.

Really?

Yes I just here on a visit

But the moon? Why come here from the moon?

Sometimes I like to pretend I am just, you know odrinary person with job, talk to people, pretend to be from Vietnam……

And on and on and on… much fun.

Like almost all towns we have been to, it grew up as a little fishing port before developing its tailored tourism package and much of the evidence of this still exists, with a busy river, colourful boats and a VERY stinky fish market. On our first night we had tip toed through it in pitch black trying not to disturb the rats that were feasting around us. A moments thinking later and we changed tack, to make as much noise as possible so the rodent hoards would have fair warning of our approach, and not could not claim surprise as a defence in a court of law……

Aint it pretty?

At night Hoi An is other worldly. All the streets and shops light paper lanterns and a tanoi system place classical music through the streets. It is a very atmospheric little place then, some mist and jack the ripper and you’d have a great movie. People are strolling, sitting drinking it in, or chattering (but quietly, in reverence). It must be the perfect spot for the oldies.

Its getting dark

The Lamps are lighting up

Idyllic little tailors

The bad guy

However if you are not purusing tailors there is really not a lot for a person, 2 or 3 times around the town really is it done. It’s a pity because you really want to love the old world charm of the place and it’s delicious and unique flavours but… Always the but! Maybe it’s just too quiet for my wild at heart tastes.

A lion of the Nguyen Dynasty

Some things just have to be put down as experience. Night buses can be such a thing. Night buses from Ninh Binh are such a thing. Most travellers get the bus from from Hanoi to Hue, and as such have a fighting chance of getting a decent seat-bed. As we got on in Ninh Binh we had last call, the worst beds, in the communal sauna at the back of the bus. I know kids you are all thinking that sounds very swedish and perhaps a little naughty, but when you are squeezed between the sweatiest Englishman in existence with a penchant for rolling over and spreading his limbs and some English lass with no concept of boundaries, on the rear axle of an absolute crap bucket of a bus, there is little appetite for naughtiness.  And no chance of sleep.

Girl on Bike

We put ourselves through this to get to Hue. Why? It is the former Imperial capital with Palaces, Temples and a Citadel (sacked in both wars), a place rich in history with an excellent culinery reputation, set on the banks of the Perfume river. Who wouldnt want to go? (and our guide book told us to go there).

The first thing in every new town (for myself & Elaine at least) is always Food. Our guidebook which is pretty poorly researched in my opinion, described a cafe with great cheap food and a serious line in photography. We got checked in and headed off to see Mr Cu.

 
This cafe is a wonderous experience, over 3 visits to it in the next few days we became family. The walls are decked out in Mr Cu’s photographs, all locally taken (he grew up un the Perfume River) and not without great skill. He has a knack for catching the light just right, the people unaware and the action just when he should. A quiet apologetic man, he is familiar with coo-ing tourists but still seems embarassed by his relative fame. On hearing about the photography bug in my family he immediately gave us free postcards & free prints (”For your father”), I bought some too of course. The food is fantastic and the best value we have had to date on our trip. Mr Cu has many hidden delights to share such as his own map & walking tour of the citadel. We elected to follow this route the next morning after great breakfast & great coffee. Have a sour vegetable soup for breakfast and you’ll never go kellogs again.

Niall & Mr Cu

The walking tour is a nice relaxed way to spend 4 or 5 hours. Myself, Elaine & Andy (whom we had met in Hanoi and bumped into again) set off about 10am with our cameras at the ready, cruelly inspired by portaits we would never be able to match. The route is around the Citadel, into the remains of the Imperial Palace, through the Markets and onto a section of the river where some river people still live.

Niall & Elaine inside the Imperial Palace

The Imperial Palace must once have been amazing, with multiple palaces for Mandarins and their families, the Royalty, and servants, within a large area enclosed by 3 metre thick walls. Beyond the walls the town within the Citadel, again walled and then surrounded by a 20 metre moate. The wars here did much damage to the Citadel and Palaces and 85% of it is razed. What is left is still very interesting, and I was happy to see there is lots of building work going on, with a full restoration the eventual aim. Beyond the Palaces the 3 of us walked around the old town and along the Perfume River and took a few snaps.

Houseboat

Perfume river life

We hired bicycles another day, to take us out of the city and free wheel it through the vietnamese countryside. Without any set destination and a minimal map, we figured if we kept turning left, we’d get back to Hue again. Early on it became apparent that my bicycle wasn’t up the job, the chain kept slipping and then started coming off. I deftly turned my bike upside down on the roadside and started freeing the chain. Just as I started to replace the chain on the rear cog I heard small voices and small hands started taking over. 3 or 4 girls, all under 10 I’d guess started pushing me away from the bike “No Mister, No Mister” and simply took over fixing my bike, which they acheived much quicker than I would have done. Then they hopped back on their own bikes and pedalled away. Madness.

Its Elaine on a bike

Anyway we cycled back and I traded up my bike and set off again. We travelled a good distance in the midday heat and enjoyed being out in the country immensely. We saw lots of little houses,  some larger more splendid specimens, old grave yards, forests and fields. How exciting. If we had have had lashings of ginger beer and a sheepdog it could have been an Enid Blyton.  On our return route, as recommended by a randomer on a moped who stopped to talk to us, we came across a smoking pagoda with the sounds of chanting floating out to us atop the smoke. In reality they were burning leaves but the effect was much more atmospheric than my photo suggests.

The smoking Pagoda

An elderly Monk outside motioned us to enter, but wearing shorts and sleevless t-shirts we didnt think we were appropriately dressed (not a chance in Thailand). The monk insisted and we entered the gardens. He continually motioned us up to the temple and staggering with his stick for balance, went looking for someone. A young smiling monk appeared, in white rather then the orange robes we were used to. He spoke a little English and insisted on taking us into the Temple. The clothes were ok, but no shoes as usual. Inside the temple there were 5 young inductees (from 4yrs through to 14yrs). They were chanting & singing and smiled shyly at us. Each knew there part in the complicated chant, a little like a “round” if anyone remembers childhood singing games. It was beautiful and serene. 

I sneaked this pic

Outside the young monk was waiting for us with 3 bananas. 1 apiece. I guess we broke bread together, it was a lovely experience.

Further on, and closer to town I took lots of random photos as I was freewheeling down streets with scooters and bikes ahead of me, thinking they might give a feel for the place, but they didnt work out at all. Sorry folks. When we reached town, Elaine who was slightly behind me blurts out ” Holy Catholic Church” and sure enough there was a monster of church on thew hill (aern’t they always) dominating this part of Hue. Of course she wasn’t showing a heretofore unseen religous side she was just saying “Holy Cow!!!!”.

Inside the Behemoth

It was actually quite nice inside, not like any church I’ve been in and of course a great contrast to the the little Pagoda. That evening we broke from Tradition and ate at “Ushi’s”. Thank you Ushi. Another brilliant restaurant with shrimp & pork with flour steamed in banana leaves, rice pancakes, steaming brothy soups. Everyone in Ushi’s was raving about the great food and as a result everyone was smiling. A great atmosphere.

A bike shop in Hue

We met lots of good people in Hue and every experience was a good one. Great food, pleasant company and an interesting backdrop. It’d have been nice to stay longer.

Yes that is Dog

Think of those wide dusty deserted streets that Sergi Leone loved so much, it’s high noon, a lone gunman walks through the streets, the people stare and shuffle away or close their shutters. That gunman is me. The town is Ninh Binh. I’m just looking for a saloon to drink whiskey maybe play me a few hands of poker but all I get is closed doors and averted gazes. I catch a few children stealing a peak, but they are quickly hustled away.  It’s a good thing I’m not American, someone might challenge me to a duel.

 First impressions can be wrong, or at least a little weighted in one direction or another, but this one was bang on. Ninh Binh is a dusty little once was town, with fading commie glories and sad aging hotels and locals who have no interest in, or want for tourists. What once fed the township here I dont know but it is clear from the edifices that the town did aspire to something, perhaps a weekend jaunt from Hanoi for the Party elite in the Ho Chi Minh era, but all that’s left now are the remnants of money and me walking at high noon.

Amusing once perhaps

Neglected

Ox & Cart

There are a few here and there who will proffer a smile, and Luc who fed us vietnamese moonshine (Happy Water) but essentially the town is solely a place to go, to go somewhere else. Truth be told the train does still stop in Ninh Binh, but no one gets off,  they only get on. We actually used our little hotel as an R&R stop, to get a little extra sleep.