Vietnam travel journal

Vietnam Travel Journal 13/12/14 Travel day 15/12/14 We went walking today. So what, in other cities, may seem a reasonable question.

But, in Hanoi, walking is an adventure sport. For starters, the footpaths in the old and French quarters are typically parking lots for motorbikes. Occasionally there are spaces on the footpaths that are free from the motorcycles, but these tend to become places to eat and drink and maybe sell some things. That means pedestrians are forced onto the street, weaving among the motorcycles, the cyclos and the traders who must accept and distribute goods and materials. Walking side by side is sometimes impossible, and a 360-degree awareness is absolutely necessary. And don’t forget, should you wish to cross the road, vehicles here drive on the right side of the road. So don’t look right to see if the road is clear. They’ll be coming from the left.

Our first objective was to find the Sofitel Metropole, the hotel where we will spend the first two nights of the APT tour. Apart from finding it, it was worth knowing if we could walk there tomorrow with our luggage. Short answer: no. Not because it is too far, but because it is too dangerous.

Just before we got to the Metropole we crossed a small park with a lovely fountain.

It is Monday, so to see three newlyweds there at about 9:45 having photos taken was something of a surprise. For us, but not for the doormen at the Metropole, who we chatted to for a moment. Everyday, they told us.

Around the corner from the Metropole we found the Opera House, a building which would not have looked out of place in any European city. We had originally thought it was the History Museum, which turned out to be just a little further on. We spent a good hour walking through the exhibits detailing the long struggle of the Vietnamese people against the French colonialists, the Japanese fascists and the American imperialists. It was fascinating, even if only for the use of language describing events vastly different from western descriptions of events. The Viet Cong, for example, were heroic freedom fighters; Ho Chi Minh a national treasure; and the wars against the French, the Japanese and the Americans (small mentions of America’s allies were made) were glorious struggles, using little but their determination to be free, to defeat the inhumane enemies of freedom, the oppressors of the Vietnamese.

We continued our walk through the French quarter to Hoan Kiem Lake in the centre of Hanoi, where we enjoyed a few moments respite from the noise and the choking atmosphere and endless traffic.

After walking around the lake we headed deeper into the French quarter, finding a café to enjoy a small lunch. Among the fascination was the fact that the café offered valet parking for customers motorbikes—at the back of the shop. I kept seeing staff ride a bike out and then someone else would get on the bike and take off, while

others would arrive and either drive straight in, or let a staff member drive in. We shared a Banh My Nem Nuong (fried nem sandwich) and a Ca Phe Nau (milk coffee). The sandwich featured a beautiful baguette with meat filling and pickled vegetables and coriander. Delicious. The milk coffee was incredibly strong, and iced. Had I asked for hot, as I was imagining it would have been, I would have been told I could only have cold. I won’t be ordering coffee again. It was ok, but not a drink such as I would want to have again.

From there we made our way to the Hanoi Hilton, the Hoa Lo Prison, originally built by the imperialist French to house the courageous and innocent Vietnamese freedom fighters who had been found guilty of resisting the oppressors. After defeating the French, the Vietnamese used the prison to house PoWs during the American War. Fortunately for the Americans, they were treated much better by the Vietnamese than the Vietnamese had been treated by the French. In either case, it could not have been pleasant being a prisoner. Conditions were harsh.

More walking back to our hotel. More incredible visions of groups of people sitting on tiny stools, seemingly watching the world passing, perhaps oblivious to the sights and sounds around them, but ever ready to sell something. And the endless passing parade of motorcycles, carrying all imaginable goods. We marveled to see 4 adults on one bike, and even a large decorated Christmas tree on the back of another.

For dinner it was back to New Day Restaurant to try new dishes. Just like when we were in New York’s Chinatown, we were seated at a long table with strangers. We tried to communicate but their English was as good as our Vietnamese. After dinner we strolled along various streets, observing those where the locals seemed to swarm about tables to feed. The popular ones were packed, while others were empty.

Tuesday 16/12/14 Another good night’s sleep. We do need it. The bed is firm, which is way better than too soft. I just have to stretch my back and I’m good to go.

The hotel breakfast is interesting. For the most part it is a western style breakfast —a limited cereal range, but many cooked options, some French, with one Vietnamese style Pho, offering beef or chicken. The bakery products are so fresh.

The baguettes have this crispy crust surrounding a flimsy of bread. It is so fine as to be like fairy floss, without the sugar! Delicious. The coffee has a distinct taste, and not as hot as I would like. But this is just a case of becoming used to it. The service is exemplary, with staff looking delighted every time they do some thing for you, and more delighted when you thank them and express pleasure with what you have consumed. And they like to remember what you like. They put a green tea down for Narelle as soon as we arrived, wondered if we would have the omelet again (Narelle did—but I went for the pancake, with honey), but otherwise left us alone.

Today we transfer to the Metropole.

A short $1.70 taxi ride and we were at our new accommodation, the luxurious and famous Metropole. We were able to check in well ahead of time, which was good because there were messages from APT requiring our attention. One was to select which of the optional tours we would take this afternoon. Our choice was to visit a more rural village and go bike riding. I was looking forward to that after a day and a half of walking through Hanoi.

Alas, that option was taken off the table. Narelle and I may have been the only ones willing to undertake this activity, so we ended up on the Hanoi walking tour, which, paradoxically, was spent on a bus as much as on foot.

We did see parts of Hanoi we would not have got to whilst based at The Oriental Central. Our first stop was the Opera House, which we’d seen yesterday. This time we got to go inside. Built by the French when they made Hanoi the capital of their colonial outpost on the old foundations of what had once been planned as the Vietnamese king’s palace. It looks spectacular from the outside, and has served as the Vietnamese General Assembly after 1954 with Ho Chi Min as president; the opera house now is home to the Vietnamese national symphony. It has recently been refurbished, with significant funding from the French.

From there it was across to the War Museum. As we chanced to be there when the Minister of Defence was hosting an important function, we were only able to walk around the outside. This is where the big weaponry exhibits were, with cannon dating back to the 16th century, when the Portuguese had helped the Vietnamese to cast thousands of cannon to help hold back the Chinese, and captured and shot down American aircraft, tanks and artillery. They even fashioned a giant memorial out of crashed American aircraft, including that of John McCain, a US Senator.

We then bused to the high-end French villas part of town, where we walked along tree lined boulevards. One part took us past a Catholic Church where American PoWs were allowed to attend a Christmas service once a year.

Our dinner tonight is the first with the APT tour group. We headed to Pots ‘n’ Pans, a restaurant in the French Quarter, originally set up by a non-government organization under the KOTO principle: Know One, Teach One. The premise is that by giving street kids a chance to learn skills in the hospitality industry, they can forge their own future. It was a wonderful evening, meeting many of our fellow tour travellers, and delighting in a refined restaurant serving delicious Vietnamese inspired food.

Wednesday 17/12 Another big breakfast, this time at Le Beaulieu at the Metropole. Here, the service was immediate, and at times anticipatory. No sooner had Narelle sat down with a bowl of Bircher muesli than a waitress appeared with a spoon. So many options for eating. It was interesting to think of the difference between this top of the range breakfast, and the buffet at the Oriental Central, which was much smaller. Both are trying their best, within their resources, to give their customers the greatest experience. Where the Metropole offers an extensive menu and almost invisible

service, the Oriental Central offers a more personalized breakfast, where you are greeted by name and your preferences remembered. It is impossible to fault either.

This morning the APT tour guide Thanh took us first to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. This massive building, shaped deliberately like a lotus flower, serves the Vietnamese sense of nationhood. Ho Chi Minh is revered, referred to as Uncle Ho, and lies in state for a passing parade of thousands of people daily. Ho Chi Minh is celebrated as the person who ‘turned the page’ for Vietnam. 2014 is the 70 th anniversary of Vietnam’s independence from colonial rule, and the existence of an independent nation is attributed to Ho Chi Minh. Such is the respect that he is accorded, we were regimented into single file, expected to be silent, hatless, and totally respectful. This is not hard to do, especially with dozens of ceremonial guards lining the passageways along which we were ushered. Four stood to attention at each corner of his coffin, which, as Thanh told us afterward, is raised and lowered each day. Underneath the public display, his body is immersed in chemicals overnight to preserve his body. Apparently, the whole area underneath the Mausoleum is something of an underground city, used to maintain the tribute to Ho Chi Minh, and perhaps serving as a form of defence should Vietnam ever come under attack again.

Who knows, maybe in some time in the future it will be a tourist attraction in its own right.

Adjacent to the Mausoleum is the old Presidential Palace, built as the residence for the French Governor, and now serving as a state reception place. Ho Chi Minh refused to live in it, preferring a very simple wooden house on stilts, which sits in the gardens of the palace area. The whole area is an oasis of order and quiet amidst a city of chaotic noise and movement.

Thanh explained Vietnam’s long history of colonization. While we hear much of the French, and their 100 years of occupation, and then the American support fro South Vietnam, it was the Chinese who spent 1000 years as overlords.

During that time they spread Confucianism throughout Vietnam, introducing a Temple of Literature, our second stop of the day. This was the first university of Vietnam, and a tribute to Confucianism and an exaltation of intellectualism. 82 stone steles sit upon stone tortoises, which represent eternity, and are inscribed with the names and birth places of 1306 men who were awarded doctorates from the triennial examinations held at the Quoc Tu Giam ("National University") between 1484 and 1780, when the capital was moved to Hue. After a rest—a siesta in fact—we went on a cyclo ride through old Hanoi. Narelle had had enough of the dust and fumes and poor air quality of Hanoi, and decided that she would assimilate as a local. She purchased and wore one of the masks so common among the Vietnamese. She looked so authentic that the cyclo drivers thought she was No. 1, and that I had married a Vietnamese beauty.

This was a highlight—navigating the torturous streets and traffic. The drivers were so skilful. We came within millimetres of other cyclos, motorbikes, a Rolls Royce and

other cars without once leaving a mark. Incredible. Equally fascinating was to spend the time in traffic, travelling down streets we’d walked the previous two days. And while sometimes the walking is actually faster, it is a different perspective. It somehow made the frenetic nature of this city more real, more vibrant, and more intimate. I would recommend doing this should anyone venture to Vietnam in the future.

Our cyclo ride ended at the Lotus Water Puppet Theatre, where we watched a series of puppet dances accompanied by traditional Vietnamese music. The show celebrates wet rice production, and developed as a way of celebrating good harvests and ensuring good future harvests. The puppets are manipulated on long poles from behind bamboo curtains, and their actions and liveliness created by their construction, and the interplay of movement and water to tell stories such as agricultural work—ploughing, harrowing the rice field, planting rice, and fishing; chasing a fox from a flock of ducks; and dances of four animals: dragon, unicorn, phoenix and tortoise.

Dinner was at Ly Club restaurant with two other couples from the tour—one from Townsville and the others from Cooroy. It was a delightful, upmarket Vietnamese restaurant that was almost entirely frequented by westerners. The food was delicious.

We packed for our two nights on the AuCo on Halong Bay. We have to pack separately, and with the weather colder than anticipated, deciding what to wear has proven challenging. It is beautiful in the sun and out of the wind, not unlike Brisbane in late May / early June.

Internet connection over the next couple of days may be patchy. I may not be able to update our travels until we reach Saigon. I know it is officially Ho Chi Minh City, but our tour guide, a Hanoi local, still refers to it as Saigon.

Thursday 18/12 Another big breakfast. This is the last time I will say this, as it will just get repetitive otherwise.

The morning was taken up with travel to Ha Long Bay, with a rest stop about half way along at a spot where it was suggested, if we purchased anything, we would be helping the victims of Agent Orange, and their offspring. But they were all much too young to be such victims.

The bus ride itself was along what is considered a highway good enough to charge a toll. It would be like a toll on Ipswich Road from Darra to Rocklea. Also the only indication of any form of road safety so far was that we had to wear our seat belts on the bus on the highway. The trip did give Thanh a chance to describe to us what it has been like for him growing up in Vietnam. He was born in 1974, just after the end of the Vietnam War. He lived in poverty as did almost all others at that time, meaning he knew no different. Nevertheless, even now he remembers his childhood as one of great joy. Life was simple. Along with his mother and father and brother and sister Tranh lived in one room. The parents slept in one corner, each child in

another. Some days his mother would give him a voucher and he would stand in line with a voucher to collect some food or life staple from the government store that would have to last them a month. Such was the planned socialist economy of their time, they saw this as normal.

Asked what Ho Chi Minh would think of modern, capitalist Vietnam, Tranh replied by telling the story of Ho Chi Minh predicting a need to shift, in time, from socialism to capitalism. This story is supported by a letter Uncle Ho wrote in the mid 1960s.

The shift to capitalism has meant that the locals are able to lift themselves out of poverty, but it has come at the cost of restrictive housing. We noticed how narrow the houses are across the country. This has come about as people pay tax based on the width of the house. This is necessary as everyone wants to own a house on the main street in order to sell their wares. A first floor is built to serve as the shop front, with small living space at the rear. As money is made a second floor is built.

More floors are added with money and the growing of the family. Many Vietnamese houses have grandparents, parents and children living under the one roof. The youngest live on the uppermost floors, as there are no lifts.

But at least they now have privacy.

We eventually arrive at Ha Long Bay for our 2 night cruise. We were given a room on the lower deck. This was not what we were supposed to get, which was a suite at the front of the boat. A quick question of Hoa, and the letter from APT that had said we would be upgraded to the Long Quan Suite, soon rectified the situation. At lunch one of the couples who we’d already befriended, Barry and Ingrid, lamented that they’d been in a lovely suite for just two minutes before they’d been told there had been a mistake. It was a bit of an uncomfortable laugh for them when we ‘fessed up to being the reason. But they took it in good spirits, and we later shared the bottle of champagne with them that had been put on as part of the suite service.

We ate a five-element lunch. Earth, Wood, Fire, Metal and Water, representing the different foods. Just delicious, but I forgot to sample rather than eat all. So, a big breakfast, and big lunch, and the promise of a big dinner. How’s that weight management going?

Our first adventure today was to visit what is referred to as Surprise Cave. It is a limestone cave on one of Ha Long Bay’s 1700 plus islands. To reach the cave necessitates a climb of over 100 steps (out of a total of over 700 on this shore excursion) to the cave entrance, which is perhaps 35 metres above the sea level.

This approach is steep and, as we’d been advised to not attempt it if we had bad knees, or a bad back, or a weak heart, quite a few were anxious about their ability to go the distance. Adding to this uncertainty was the message that once the decision is made to commence, there is no turning back, as the tender collects us from a different point. We need not have been too concerned, as our guide was dressed in a suit and dress shoes.

At the end of this first set of steps we enter a smallish cavern that features formations on the ceiling, caused by wave action thousands of years ago, when

either sea levels were much higher, or these islands had not risen from the sea. Ha Long means Descending Dragon, and from the ship and the cave entrance, as you look across the calm waters of the bay to all those islands, it is easy to imagine this dragon resting among the waters.

We ventured deeper into the cave, to the second cavern. This was larger than the first, and inside were formations among the rocks that nature had created, and men had imagined stories to explain their appearance.

Then the third cavern. What a surprise. It was massive. I didn’t count, but this cave must have taken us the best part of 100 metres from the entrance, deep inside this limestone mountain. More stories to explain more features and more imagination called on to recognize other shapes. Nature is a wonderful artist.

Back on board ship and we took the opportunity to watch a cooking demonstration of Nem Spring Rolls. I even had a go at rolling one. They tasted great—but they may have been ones prepared earlier. The chef also demonstrated making a rose flower bud from the skin of a tomato, using a carrot to make other flowers, and the carving of an apple to create a swan. It looked easy enough, but for the need of a special tool for the carrot flower, but I imagine that looking easy enough is what professionals make lots of things look. The efforts of amateurs, while not pathetic, are at best, credible imitations.

It doesn’t get any better than overlooking the magnificent limestone formations in the bay from our balcony, sharing our bottle of champagne and making new friends. It’s funny even in the middle of the bay, the market sellers row their small boats with their wares hoping to catch your eye and perhaps make a sale by passing their goods in exchange for money on long poles up to the boat.

After another 5 elements dinner and feeling very “full” some tried the squid fishing off the side of the ship. We did see some squid but no one caught any. A very enjoyable day!

Friday 19 December.

We woke in time to do Tai Chi on the sun deck of the AuCo. The instruction was given by the ship’s receptionist, and was relaxing. No doubt we’ll do it again tomorrow morning.

For what seems the first time on tour we’ve had some quiet moments to do as we please. That might be sitting down at breakfast to chat and drink tea, or sitting on the front deck of the ship as we watched our vessel ply from one section of Ha Long Bay to another, past the majestic limestone outcrops, weaving among the hundreds of similar and smaller boats on the water, before nestling into a haven among towering islands. The dropping of anchor signals the start of another exploration of something uniquely Vietnam.

We’ve arrived at Vung Vieng, where one of the floating fishing villages remains. The Vietnamese government is trying to reduce the number of fishing families living on the water of Ha Long Bay. Now that it is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the strong desire is to keep it as clean and as protected as can be. With so many living on the water, the lack of clean water and the need to dispose of all sorts of waste left the area vulnerable. As an encouragement to leave, each family who takes the option to move to land receives a 60m2 house in nearby Ha Long City.

Some remain, and it is with these people we are rafted around the area. Narelle and I sit on hard wooden benches with 4 other AuCo passengers on a boat shaped somewhat like a wide, long spa bath. Our propulsion is provided by a frail looking Vietnamese woman who works two long oars so expertly as to keep us moving at a constant pace. Her efforts appear minimal, using what little weight she has to lean on the oars at just the right moment to keep us going. Along the way she hands out the traditional bamboo conical hats to the women on board. As there are just three hats, Narelle misses out. But the woman calls to one of her colleagues, and with a few flicks of the wrist his boat and hers come together, and a hat is handed across for Narelle. Even as we do this, we continue to make headway. Our journey takes us past various fishing and pearling activities, but as there is no action here at this time, we really see this as part of the larger, magnificent landscape. From the vantage of our tiny craft we move under massive limestone arches, closing in almost to the edge of these monoliths, dwarfed by the vertical slopes, close enough to hear the rise and fall of the ever-moving water as it slaps against the barnacles clinging to the sides of these behemoth rocks.

It’s now morning rest time aboard the ship. While we wait for lunch we sit on the deck with a cup of tea and our thoughts, warmed by the sun and enjoying watching the time go slowly. Not really locals, but learning. The solitude is punctured by the putt-putt of a passing fishing boat, drowning out the sounds of Bing Crosby singing Christmas Carols over the Lan Ha Bar’s speakers.

After lunch the AuCo sails to Cat Ba Island, where we take a cycle tour to Viet Hai Village, some 5 km inland. Here we learn of the local efforts to save the Cat Ba Langur, an endangered primate, as part of the eco-tourism push being developed in this area. We also explore the small eco-village that caters for westerners looking for a sense of adventure in a remote Vietnamese village. Here it is possible to stay in specially built brick huts and work with the locals on their subsistence farms. A young family was doing just that. We also had a peek at the local primary school, and the small farm that is sponsored by AuCo, before returning to the ship, with sore bums, but some energy expended and some of our lunch worked off. The food is plentiful - lunch and dinner consisting of 5 courses and beautifully presented.

Although tonight we are having a BBQ dinner with local seafood on the menu.

We could have gone kayaking around the boat, but opted for some afternoon rest, a warm relaxing bath in our suite, and a quiet drink before dinner. Ha Long Bay certainly has been a very memorable visit.

Saturday 20 December We rise to take part in Tai Chi to start the day. As we stand on the sun deck of the AuCo we watch the sun emerge from behind the Ha Long Bay rocky horizon, a glowing, fire red as it peeps up to brighten the day, and seems to slowly cool , turning from that deep red to its usual yellow.

This morning we must pack for our return to Hanoi, where we catch a plane to Saigon. Our morning is filled by breakfasting, chatting, attending a tea ceremony where we learn about and sample the various teas the Vietnamese prefer to drink, and watching the waters slip by the rails on our way back to the marina.

Our trip to the airport is broken for lunch at ChiLinh Star Golf Club. This is also a place to repack suitcases for our flight. What a sight we make as 26 APT travellers open suitcases in order to have suitable carry on luggage for our flight.

The bus from Ha Long Bay to Hanoi’s airport is a long, slow ride. 80 km/hr is the official speed limit on the highway, but I doubt we ever have the chance to travel above 60, such is the volume of traffic. But make it we do, in plenty of time to find our way to the departure gate. The flight departs an hour late. Fortunately there is free Wi-Fi in the airport. Unfortunately, with the number of people using the wi-fi, we all spend more time waiting for pages to load than we do reading emails and news reports and finding out how the test match was going.

When we arrive in Saigon and make it onto our bus our new tour guide, Minh, and our constant tour guide, Hoa, keep making a running joke of Vietnam Airlines. To them, it should be called Sorry Airlines, for they are always apologizing for a delay.

Our bus trip to the hotel should be 30 minutes we are told, but it takes an hour because of all the people who are crowding into the city centre to look at the Christmas lights and decorations. It is like a party across the city, and families of all ages want to be a part of the excitement.

Of course, we do eventually get to check in, find our rooms, eat dinner and get to sleep. Due to APT’s organization, all the details are taken care of, so that this process is exceptionally fast. From the bus to our rooms would have been less then 5 minutes. When I say check in, all we had to do was wait for our name to be called, collect our keys and find our room.

Sunday 21 December After breakfast we meet in the hotel lobby to explore highlights of South Vietnam.

Narelle and I have opted for the famed Cu Chi Tunnels.

It is an hour and a half to the tunnels, travelling west from Saigon and nearing the Cambodian border. We passed through a relatively quiet Sunday Saigon as we listened to our tour guide, Nhut, explain about where we were to visit. Before he got to that, however, he shared a little of his history—going to an Australian International School in Saigon, and so perfectly the broadest of Australian accents.

He had the lingo, too, as well as a nickname. Call him Sunday, he told us. Sunday is unable to join the army, and cannot do his two years of compulsory national service, as he has an American father. While all of Saigon gives the appearance of

being a healthy market based economic miracle, it is still under communist party rule.

After leaving Saigon we travelled through the rice paddies. I anticipated this taking some time, and that we’d soon tire of rice paddy after rice paddy. However this was not the case. This rice crop has been harvested, so most fields were dry, with just a few having been planted. Furthermore, it seemed that the city and the towns and the villages are fast merging. As with North Vietnam, the fields may still be being cultivated behind the main roads, which tend to be dominated by the roadside vendors. But, for the most part, they are not visible.

Sunday alerted us to the fact that we had arrived at Cu Chi village, population 900 000. I guess when there are 90 million in a country this small, or 9 million in the nearby major city, 900 000 just might be a village. But it went on and on and on, broken up by farms and plantations, where rubber trees are milked for their sap.

These dominated the area.

Eventually we did arrive at the Cu Chi Tunnel complex. After a ‘happy’ stop (which is what they call a chance to go to the toilet), we began to trek through the jungle.

Sunday pointed out that during the Vietnam War the area we were walking through had been denuded by Napalm and Agent Orange. As we followed the track through the now dense jungle, we also saw the bomb craters that still exist. Before we get to the actual tunnels we get to look at the types of bombs that had been dropped all over the area. With carpet-bombing and cluster bombs, it is remarkable that anything remains.

We are shepherded into a meeting space where there is a map of the area and a model of the tunnels. Sunday explains the process of digging the tunnels, and the arrangements that allowed 12 000 Viet Cong to remain underground and undetected. We meet a survivor; a one-armed 70 year-old who tells us, as translated by Sunday, of his life underground. He was 10 when he entered the tunnels, and lived in them for 13 years. He lost his arm to an American bombing, but is a hero for having killed 6 Americans. As such, he, and his family, are well looked after by the Vietnamese government.

A currently serving soldier then took over to show us the system. Sunday got us to stand around a leafy area, and challenged us to find the tunnel entrance. He suggested we stamp our feet to listen for the hollow sound. Of course, none of us heard a thing. Sunday did point out that had we tried to do that during the war, we almost certainly would have set off a land mine. The entrance was there, hidden under leaves. Several of us got to see if we could squeeze into the opening. Narelle was the third to enter, which meant that I could hardly chicken out. The entrance was just large enough, as long as you raised your arms high. Once inside, we were to scramble 10 metres to the exit. At first this was fine, but then it became completely dark, and each one of us later reported a sense of foreboding and uncertainty. Even though, logically, we knew we were heading in the right direction, our senses screamed for light, and a way out. The light of the exit was a welcome relief.

We went through one more tunnel, larger and easier to navigate, before we saw how the various activities—cooking, medical care, and dining were undertaken.

Sunday had told us there were three things to surviving in the tunnels—no noise, no smoke and no tracks. The depth of the tunnels meant the noise was eliminated; the tunnel design meant the smoke came out near the river, a great distance from the cooking room, as well as looking like the mist of morning and evening, when the cooking took place; and special shoes, known as Ho Chi Minh sandals, were constructed from old tyres, and could be worn back to front, sending Americans in the wrong direction when they went searching for the VC in the daylight. Of course, along the way of these searches, the infantrymen ran the risk of falling into any of several traps, from the bamboo spikes dug into a hold, or other similar horrors.

These may not have killed the soldiers, but they both slowed them down and played on their minds.

We left the Cu Chi complex convinced that traditional warfare was bound to fail. It is not designed for these guerrilla tactics. So it was that the communists won. It is also significant, as far as their victory goes, that, according to Sunday, about 90% of the local population outside of Saigon supported the Viet Cong. It was the locals who kept the tunnel dwellers in supplies. After the war, those who had supported the Americans were sent to re-education camps.

We lunched on the way back to Saigon at a large restaurant that took up a whole island on a navigable river. Once again we were served many courses. There is no shortage of food for us to consume. And it is all just delightful. So tasty.

We had a free afternoon in Saigon, and we ventured toward the famed Ben Thanh Markets. Think Queen Victoria Markets in Melbourne, but far more crowded and incredibly cramped. That and the heat, and our own lethargy from being go, go, go —even on Ha Long Bay, meant that the cool of the hotel room was preferable. It was also a great time to repack, readying for the Mekong cruise, which we set out on tomorrow. But, before that, there is tonight’s meal, a degustation dinner designed by Luke Nguyen.

The meal was terrific. 10 different samples of entrees, mains and desserts. 3 entrees, 3 mains and 4 desserts, and each course accompanied by a select wine or drink. The evening passed swiftly—good food, good wine and good company. An excellent night.

Walking back to the hotel it is impossible to not marvel at how exuberant the Vietnamese are with celebrating Christmas. Whilst the French left a Catholic presence—Notre Dame Cathedral is close by the hotel, it is a country that accommodates all religions. The Christmas decorations are beyond any religious connotation, however. It is all about the glitz and the sensibility of the celebration.

Buildings are festooned with Christmas images. Even inside our hotel’s foyer there is a massive Christmas tree and a gingerbread house that serves as a Christmas shop. They make it seem so much fun and exciting—I couldn’t help but wonder if we haven’t forgotten the simple joy that it can bring.

Day Eight Monday 22 December It’s starting to look a lot like Christmas, especially in Saigon. This morning both Narelle and I went on the motorcycle tour. I was keen, and Narelle thought she had to join me. There was a sense of apprehension as she searched for a helmet that was just right, making sure it fit perfectly, and in paying attention to the instructions. All very understandable, as we had seen just how crazy the motorbikes are in Hanoi, and Saigon is reputedly much faster.

Our first visit was to the Post Office. Originally built by the French, in 1862, as the main train station, it was changed by the Americans in 1963. According to Huan, our local guide, this was a deliberate action by the Americans to eradicate French culture. They did this with other local buildings, as well. Opposite the Post Office was Notre Dame, where all religions come to pray to the statue of the Virgin Mary that stands in the cathedral’s forecourt. Allegedly, in 2008, the statue began to weep, which caused Vatican scientists to visit to determine the cause. In the end they put it down to atmospheric conditions. Apparently there is a tunnel from the cathedral to the Presidential Palace, which is now a reunification museum. From the palace there is also meant to be a tunnel to the airport. We did not get to see these tunnels.

Two graphic images, among many, that serve to remind us of the Vietnam War, was the storming of the Presidential Palace gates by the Viet Cong tank and the last helicopter departure from the American Embassy. We could see where the helicopter took off from as we stood outside the Post Office. That building became a prison after the war, and is now reputed to be haunted.

Our journey to the Presidential Palace was down a broad, Parisian style boulevard, complete with wide, treed gardens flanking the eight lanes of traffic, which was quite light just after 8:30 in the morning.

Then we motored down to Chinatown. This was about 20 minutes sitting on the back of the motorcycle, weaving in and out of traffic, speeding up when we could, and forcing our way across intersections and roundabouts. It seemed absurd, and dangerous, and foolhardy, but it worked. Our Chinatown stops included an ancient Taoist Temple, where we learned of the way the Vietnamese would pray there, regardless of their religion. Our second stop was to their second religion—markets.

Here we were guided through what was both a local market and a distribution market. Many local traders come here to buy in bulk their goods to sell. Imagine an item, and it is pretty certain that it is available to purchase.

It was then back to the hotel to check out and prepare for embarkation on the RV AmaLotus. The ride back was fast, as we scooted along the river in what was a motorcycle freeway. Cars had to regularly stop at traffic lights, but not so the motorcycles. Along the way, just as we slowed to make a left turn, the bike to our right and slightly ahead clipped the wheel of another bike, sending it crashing. The rider quickly sped away, perhaps fearful of the mob that quickly formed to assist the fallen riders, comprising a man and woman with a toddler between. From what

I could see they seemed ok, although clearly, and understandably, shaken. From the angry pointing and shouts, I think the lone rider was lucky he was able to escape.

But the ride was not scary. It was exhilarating. And that’s Narelle’s review. She loved it, never once feeling scared or at risk. She had complete faith in her 20-yearold driver.

But enough of this land-based travel. It is time to head to My Tho, an industrial port on the Upper Mekong to board the RV Amalotus, embarking on our 7-night cruise to Siem Reap in Cambodia. The trip there is about 2 hours on the bus, and we arrive in time for a late lunch on board, followed by safety briefings and settling in and being given some background about where we are about to travel. Our original group that toured north Vietnam was 26 strong. Yesterday we met another 7 who had done central Vietnam, and today our cruise numbers swelled to over 90. The ship can sleep 120, so we are a very comfortable group. It was time to meet new people, which we did over some afternoon drinks on the sun deck, and followed by a Luke Nguyen signature banquet.

APT do look after us. This evening they organized a local quartet to perform traditional Vietnamese music, using traditional instruments. Cleverly, they managed to include Waltzing Matilda in their repertoire, which was greeted with a singalong.

Day Nine Tuesday 23 December Cruise life is wonderful. You wake whenever and head to the lounge for a cup of coffee, a chance to see if it is possible to connect to the internet, catch up with emails and the news before heading to the breakfast buffet.

After breakfast we leave the Amalotus on a sampan type boat that has pulled up to the ship, which had moored overnight in the middle of the Mekong. We head to Cai Be floating village with our tour guide, Tim. He describes to us how the markets work. These are wholesale markets, and it amazing to see how many hands of bananas, as an example, can be piled onto one of these boats.

We are then ushered into a food processing hut to see how the Vietnamese find a way to use everything to maintain their lifestyle. This includes using the dredged silt from the Mekong to make popped rice and popped noodles, which, while they can be eaten hot from the giant wok, which we did, are then mixed with a sticky sugary mix, pressed and cut into rectangles and packaged for sale. From there we tried what Tim called the talking water, which is the rice wine. We sampled it with the traditional Vietnamese toast, which is to say 1, 2, 3, (in Vietnamese!) followed by ‘Yo’. But this must be done loudly. Following the rice wine we try the rice wine infused with snakes called obviously Snake wine.

We then head to the Cai Be Catholic church. It dominates the village, and serves the locals. It features a 30-metre tall bell tower that can be heard for kilometres around. It is claimed that the sound is amplified by the basement under the church

that is filled with water from the Mekong. Inside the church our guide mentioned that this is the first time he has returned to work for APT after 12 months off. He lost his first daughter who drowned in the last flood, which is a very common occurrence here, as the young children have not yet learned to swim and often fall into the flooded waters. Very sad to hear.

So ended our first tour from the ship. It was back onboard for a quiet drink before lunch, a rest and a read before setting for the second excursion of the day.

During the time on board we had cruised up to the market town of Sa Dec. Here we jumped back onto our tender and made for our first stop, the main brickworks for Vietnam. While it may seem a strange place to visit, we witnessed the labour intensive process of making bricks and tiles in massive brick kilns still stoked by burning rice husks. Some labour-saving devices are creeping in, such as conveyors to empty the kilns, and a machine to press and oil the recently fired tiles, but for the most part this was brick making at its most basic. Two styles of brick and one of tile.

We then headed off to a Cao Dai temple, a religion that was formed with the intent of recognizing the best parts of Catholicism, Buddhism and Taoism.

We then headed into the markets, where we walked through the streets and among the stalls, seeing fruit and flowers and, amazingly, the various seafoods available.

Mostly these were still alive, and included prawns and lobsters and eels and water snakes and various style of fish. As it was late afternoon this was quite smelly.

Included among the delicacies, but skinned and ready to cook, were water rabbits (rats) frogs and some fish. But the preference is for live food. Fresh is best.

Our final stop was the old house of Huynh Thuy Le, the lover of Marguerite Duras, a Frenchwoman whose story of her affair with Huyynh Thuy Le was published as The Lovers, which was also made into a film of the same name. The house is now known as The Lover’s House.

Day Ten Wednesday 24 December Christmas Eve. We have cruised overnight to moor at the last main town before the border between Vietnam and Cambodia. The town is called Tan Chau, and we ride in a rickshaw to the silk factory. Here we learn about how the silk is made into cloth, watching the shuttles weaving furiously. Our guide, Tim, explains the symbolism behind the various symbols that appear in their clothes, as well as the quality of the silk.

From there we take another rickshaw ride to a mat-making factory. Again Tim gives us the story behind these rattan mats, which are used principally for a sleeping mat. It is hard to imagine sleeping on a slim bit of rattan. It could hardly be comfortable. Tim tells us that sleeping on these mats is cooler than sleeping on a mattress. I’ll take his word for it.

We walk from the mat-making factory through the fields and among the homes of the town down to the riverbank, where we hop aboard a small boat to head to the so-called Evergreen Island. This island’s history is tragic. Following the Vietnam War the Khmer Rouge sprung up in Cambodia, and set about decimating the population. Refugees flooded into Vietnam with the offer of being given land on which to farm. The people we see are third and fourth generation landholders. We walk through the village, noting how their homes are designed with the expectation of annual flooding, even down to being built on square poles, rather than round, as water snakes could curl about the round ones. We even get to sit inside one local’s home. These are not rich people.

As Tim farewells us on our way back the ship, he explains why he cannot cross into Cambodia. He had quite plainly stated, when we first met, that he had a bad background, and was not allowed to cross the border. This bad background wasto be baptized and raised a Catholic, to have had parents who fought on the side of the South Vietnamese, and to three times try to escape to America at the end of the war. After the third attempt he was put into a re-education camp, or prison as he described it. He was ten. But he has now married a Buddhist woman, whose family includes a high-ranking general in the Vietnamese army. She is a school teacher. He studied in Australia and is very, very happy with his life.

He is not happy with what is happening to the Mekong Delta. As China, Cambodia and Laos build dams and hydro-electric generators, the water levels and the floods dissipate. Brackish water creeps inland bit by bit. He tells us that the whole delta is doomed if something does not change.

As we lunch we weigh anchor to cruise to the border. The formalities of crossing the border take the best part of 3 hours. The afternoon is one of resting, watching cooking and fruit carving demonstrations, talking and drinking, and watching time go by.

Before dinner Hoa briefs us, as he does each day, about the activities to come the next day. Tonight he includes a summary of Vietnam and its ongoing growth and development, and what it means to have people from all over the world visit his country. It occurs to me, only as he speaks, that as tragic as the Vietnam War was, it may be that we can consider it a necessary thing in order for the world to realize that western hegemony ought be challenged, and that the world is a melting pot of cultures, each with something to teach the others.

After dinner we watch a documentary about Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge.

Subtitled, The Secret Killer, we realize how apt this is, for we know so little.

Tomorrow we will learn more.

Day Eleven Thursday 25 December Merry Christmas.

We awake to watch the RV Amalotus enter Phnom Penh. From the river it looks a majestic city, defined by a mix of traditional and modern architecture, with cranes on the horizon signaling its continuing growth. It is a far cry from the days in the late 70s when Pol Pot emptied the city under threat of death, with the intent to return Cambodia to an agrarian society.

Today we visit the killing fields, the mass graves of 2500 Cambodian men, women and children executed by the Khmer Rouge with our new guide, Vitheany, a Cambodian girl born in 1982, who lost family members to the Pol Pot regime. It is still impossible for her to believe that Cambodians could have done this to Cambodians. As we walk through The Killing Fields we see several mass gravesites, now almost completely exhumed, except for rare glimpses of bones and teeth that appear with erosion. It is a sickening feeling to walk here.

Back in the centre of Phnom Penh we visit the Genocide Museum, S21. Once one of the biggest high schools, it became a place of torture prior to death. Here inmates had to follow 10 rules, among them being the need to immediately answer questions, to not reflect on anything in order to give an answer, to do as told immediately, and, most bizarrely, to not cry when lashed or electrocuted. It was horrendous, featuring photos of the inmates, staring back at the camera, some with defiance in their eyes, some resignation, but most fearful. They must have suspected their fate. We see paintings of how they were treated, and some of the instruments used for torture. It is incredulous to think that such actions are possible, and yet, horrifying to know it happens still in other parts of the world.

We met a survivor. Chun Mey. As the one person capable of fixing the typewriter, he was worth more alive.

This is just a sample of the horror. It is estimated that the Khmer Rouge executed 2.5 million of their fellow Cambodians in the 3 years, 8 months and 20 days of their regime. Most of these were intellectuals—anyone who was educated—teachers, doctors, engineers, as well as their families, was seen as a threat to Pol Pot’s dream of returning Cambodia to its former glory. The trouble is that this former glory existed in a time so long in the past that it would be considered medieval at best; Stone Age perhaps being a better description.

We are all away from our families, and the horror of this bit of Cambodia’s history, and this bit of humanity’s struggle to become civilized is all the more poignant for the heightened sense of horror among the group that we are experiencing this tour on Christmas Day. Hoa, our tour director, mindful of the timing, had changed the tour to experience the Pol Pot history first, so that in the afternoon we can raise our spirits somewhat with a tour of the Royal Palace. Set on expansive grounds, these magnificent buildings, built in Asian style but with French influences, are adorned by silver and gold. The silver palace, for example, is so named for its solid silver floor. But, of course, in order to protect the floor, it is covered in rugs, with only two small sections of the silver tiles exposed to view. In the centre of this palace is one giant

golden Buddha, which features one 25-carat diamond plus diamonds on the heart, the belt buckle and the palms of the hands. Not 25-carat, but still large. This is one Buddha of hundreds, some golden, some silver, some jade, in this palace, along with hundreds of ornaments and trinkets and decorations. As with all the buildings that we get to see in the complex, the silver palace is one large room. The most magnificent of the buildings is the one we are not permitted to enter, not to take photos of the interior. It is still used for ceremonial meetings with the current king, a 62-year-old bachelor (which means no one knows who the next king will be—but that will be decided when the time comes) to greet foreign dignitaries. It is decorated, as are traditional European palaces, with a painted ceiling and specially woven carpet, plush drapes and thrones upon altars and under a canopy. The current king, and his mother, are permanent residents in this palace, but are rarely seen in public.

Our tours today have proven that the view from the river is not the reality. As we travel through Phnom Penh we see it is like previous major Asian cities. It does seem to be covered with more rubbish, and in many places is quite ramshackle. To be fair to the Cambodians, there is a lot of construction going on, which may account for all the dust. The construction is being done in conjunction with many other countries; most of them Asian. The city does have far more signs in English, an indication that there is an awareness of the value of tourism to the lifting of the standard of living for the people.

We are entertained in the evening by a troupe of young performers who play their traditional instruments and perform their traditional dances. Naturally there is a section where they get members of the audience to participate with them, and as the young girl heads toward where we are sitting, it seems likely that my history of being asked to join in is set to continue. But she doesn’t know this running joke, and asks Narelle to join her on the dance floor to follow her moves. My time on show is over.

I must mention today’s lunch and dinner. Both are celebrations of Christmas. Lunch features a full roast suckling pig on a spit, and the meat is carved for us as we watch. We accompany this with baked ham, roast vegetables and mountains of salad, and Black Forest Gateux. Dinner offers us a choice that includes roast turkey and traditional plum pudding. Significant self-control is required to not overindulge. I’m not sure such discipline was evident.

Day Twelve Friday, 26 December Overnight we remained tied up to the quay in central Phnom Penh. Narelle and I opted to not join this morning’s walking tour, principally as it is to a temple and a market. I am sure they are interesting in their own way, but not that much different from the many others we have already experienced. Not doing the tour gives us a great chance to catch up on a few things, and to even Facetime with Katelyn and Karen as they enjoy a late breakfast at the Regatta Hotel. Jarryd is working and cannot do more than say a quick hello.

Before breakfast Narelle and I decide to go for a walk along the city’s river’s edge.

It is an interesting walk to see the fusion of Asian and Western approaches. There are hundreds of park benches, each advertising Prudential Insurance. I find it hard to imagine that many of Phnom Penh’s 2.5 million residents hold life insurance. But, I may be looking at this with very western eyes. Then there are the cafes that adorn to other side of the road. While they are unmistakably Cambodian, each carries and English name and menu. While there are some signs of an earlier French flavor— most notably the use of ‘Rue’ to indicate a street, the dual language is now English.

It is the rubbish that is everywhere that is most striking, We soon realize that among the reasons for all the rubbish is the lack of rubbish bins. And the ones we do see are filled to overflowing. We are later to learn that there had been a strike by the garbage collectors last week. On hearing this we expressed the belief that this explained all the rubbish lying around. No, we are told, we are seeing Phnom Penh in a very clean state.

It starts to drizzle as we make our way back to the ship, and we carefully walk down the steps to the concrete pontoon in order to board the RV Amalotus. But, she is moving away from the dock. As we get to the edge she is 4 metres off shore, and moving further away. All we can do is wave to our friends onboard and watch as our home leaves us.

A quayside worker suggests we head back up the steps to a shelter. He has a heavy raincoat on, and no sooner do we get to the shelter does the rain begin to pelt down, as it can in the tropics. Standing in the shelter we can see that our ship is moving out to allow a new ship to moor along side the pontoon. The RV Amalotus rafts up alongside.

So, while we had had a moment’s panic, we could at least see why it was moving.

Furthermore, the ship’s hotel manager, Tobias, has joined us in the shelter. Clearly we are safe. For our friends on board they cannot know what is happening, other than the ship is moving and we are ashore. Many race to alert the ship’s crew of lost passengers. All of this is reason for great mirth during breakfast when all has returned to normal.

It was interesting to talk to Tobias. He has just transferred to Asian cruising after spending time on the European waterways. Among the various things we talk about he points out that the fact that much of the costs we have paid to be on this cruise is putting significant money into the local economy. He tells us that some 30 locals form the crew, and most of the food and drink is sourced locally. He points out we have paid a lot of money, as have a great many passengers, and that this money is wonderful for the locals. He suggests this does more than buying colouring books and pencils for the village schools. They have plenty of these things, he says.

The rest of the morning slips by with chatting and resting and reading. After days and days of activity this is surprisingly welcome. The time, in fact, seems to slip by, lunch is done, the ship underway and sooner than expected we are tying up to a thin pole that could have once been destined to be the stilts upon which a house

would sit. We have arrived at the island of Kok Chen, where the 360 villagers earn a living as silver and coppersmiths.

Vitheany is again on hand to explain some of what we would have not been able to know or understand without her knowledge. As we walk to the village school, she talks of this island’s history as suppliers of silver to the Cambodian Royal Family.

Phnom Penh is not far downstream, but a world away all the same. It gives the village a remoteness and a Royal privilege that adds to its allure as a place to visit.

We are also accompanied by many school age children. These have attended morning school, allowing a second group to attend afternoon school.

At he school the children are at play as we arrive. But the bell goes and they race to their classrooms, which are basic rooms with a blackboard, 4 walls, a teacher’s desk and combination bench seats with tables that 41 children sit at to attend to their lessons. Everyone does the same work, mostly reading and chanting that work that their teacher has written on the board. As we enter they all stand to welcome us in unison. Vitheany translates for us, and we are soon interacting with these year three students. They delight us with their counting to ten in English, and their adeptness with maths, even with the language difficulty. We like to think we have taught them about ‘minus’ and what it means. I can’t say they understood the word, but they quickly caught on to the maths. There were 2 classes of about 40 students in a small room which is very hot and without fans – how would we survive in these conditions? And this is cool for them - in summer the temperature rises to 45degrees. The school has 2 daily sessions – each session for different ages. School is compulsory for children but not enforced. That is why we are discouraged from giving money directly to children as this would lead them to a life of begging.

As we walk from the school to the silversmiths, we pass a house where an old man is writing on a blackboard with one child sitting in the first row of several school-like desks. We find out that many parents, those who can afford it, and those who understand the value of education, pay extra to have their children attend classes with such a person. He is, in fact, at 80, a survivor of the Pol Pot regime, having been clever enough to appear uneducated.

The silversmith is fascinating. A family run business, they work the silver and the copper and the bronze to create works of art, functional and decorative, for sale and on order. We watch as a woman hammers away on a small tool to create the design. She is working on the base of a trophy, a task that will take her three days to complete. As I watch it occurs to me that she, and her family, are working as they have traditionally done, using a skill that is handed down from generation to generation. It is a skill that is largely lost in western societies, as we have fewer and fewer artisans able to compete against the mass produced. It is a price we pay to have affordable products.

Our evening is again pleasant, sitting in air-conditioned comfort, sipping drinks and chatting with new friends. Our 90 minutes on Koh Chen, during the coldest time of their year, left us sweating and seeking shelter.

Day Thirteen

Saturday 27 December Our excursion today requires the RV Amalotus to cruise a few hundred metres downstream toward Phnom Penh to the village Prek K’Dam, which is on the opposite bank to Kok Chen. From there we catch a bus to Oudong, which was once the capital of Cambodia from 1618 to 1865. It is now home to the largest Buddhist temple in Cambodia, having been built this century. Here we sit, inside the temple, facing two monks (making sure our feet are not pointing toward the monks) to receive a Buddhist blessing. The blessing involves listening to a long chant before jasmine flowers are thrown over us all. The more jasmine flowers that land on you the more blessed you will be. We got plenty!

We get to walk around the temple complex, visiting the meditation room, the library, the dormitories, the layman’s quarters and the ‘nursing home’, which is a collection of simple, very basic huts that the old monks live in until they die. As a show of respect to the monks who have their head and eyebrows shaved we are asked not to wear our hats. This is quite an ask as it is so hot but we manage!!

Following our visit to the Buddhist temple complex we are driven to Kampong Tralach, where we climb onto an oxcart for a 15-minute ride back to our ship, which has cruised to meet us.

The oxcart ride is bumpy, but our bottoms are cushioned by a rattan mat laid over some hay. During our entire ride Narelle and I are accompanied by two young children, who walk behind the cart all the way. This was fortunate as they were able to retrieve Narelle’s umbrella that slipped from the back of the wagon. They ask if they can sing a song for us, which is “If You’re Happy and You Know It”. They also find and give Narelle flowers. The young girl spies a Chinese Fan Palm, so she spends time peeling off some of the fronds. While we think she has abandoned us, before long she has run back to us, and spends the rest of the trip tearing the frond strips and folding them into a flower bud, which she gives to Narelle. Her work is remarkable, for she does this as she walks behind the cart, running when we go faster and avoiding all the traffic going in the opposite direction. They try to out do each other as they spy flowers on the side of the ride to pick and give to Narelle.

Luckily she had some lollies in her bag to give them.

After lunch, as our ship cruises to our next docking point, Narelle attends a towel and napkin folding hands-on demonstration given by one of our restaurant waitresses, Soun. Narelle shows a dab hand at making a lotus flower, the Sydney Opera House, a candle, an orchid and a rose.

Following this demonstration our local tour guides give a presentation that explains the geography and topography of Cambodia, with an understandable focus on the alluvial plains on its two major rivers, the Mekong, and the Tonle. It is the topography that creates the conditions for the way the Cambodians live, being predominately fishing and farming. The annual floods are accommodated by either living in floating homes, or in houses built high above the high water levels, which is quite a feat, given that water levels can vary by up to 6 metres.

The checkered scarf (krama) has some importance in Cambodia’s history. Red scarves were the symbol of Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge regime. But symbolism is rarely its purpose, as, with much of life in Asia, function is primary. Vitheany tells us there are 100 uses for the scarf, and she demonstrates many of them, starting with ways of covering the head, not for religious reasons, but again practical, such as preventing sweat from dripping into the eyes when planting rice, or as a base for carrying baskets; then down the body to the feet.

During the day we have received a beautifully handwritten invitation to afternoon drinks with Barry and Ingrid, a couple from Fig Tree Pocket, who have one of the so-called owner’s suites. This suite has a sitting room in addition to the bedroom, and includes a butler service. The butler has put on a lovely spread of drinks and nibbles for us to share, along with Mike and Maria from Perth, Pat from England and Ian and Ann from Sydney. It is a delightful way to start the evening on this, our second last night on board.

After dinner we are entertained by the 4 departments of the RV Amalotus: food service; bar staff; nautical department and the kitchen hands. It is a lot of fun.

There is a weekly trophy for their efforts and each team has this as an incentive to beat the other teams.

Day Fourteen Sunday 28 December Our last full day on the RV Amalotus. We have been out of internet range since we sailed from Phnom Penh, not quite two days. It has been amusing to note the reaction to the lack of signal, given we have all become so used to being able to check things quickly and on demand. It is certainly not annoyance, not in the slightest. But there is always a question from passengers as they enter the lounge, the one area of the ship where access is available, to see if ‘contact’ is possible. A yes brings a flurry of others trying to log on.

Our morning’s excursion is to Kampong Chhnang, which means port of the pottery.

At one time around the turn of the previous millennium this was a Cambodian capital. I get the feeling the capital changed with the king. What was of principal interest with this village was that it was predominately a floating village. Those living on the floating homes were the Vietnamese who had fled here from South Vietnam following the collapse of that republic. They are not allowed to own land in Cambodia, so they must make do with building a floating home and farm. They farm fish in large wooden and chicken wire cages that are sunk into the river, and their home constructed around this farm. At the same time, small boats with the long tail motors set nets into the Tonle River and its tributaries to catch thousands of little fish. These little fish serve two purposes: to create fish sauce, the pungent paste that ‘smells like hell and tastes like heaven’; and as feed for the Snake Head fish that is so loved as a delicacy by the Cambodians and is farmed here at Kampong Chhnang.

The floating village includes a floating wedding hall, floating cafes and floating grocery store.

We do go ashore the walk through the markets. This is not a tourist market, and it is interesting to see the services that are of interest to the locals. Among them are some traditional herbs and remedies, as well as all the timber and bamboo and hemp and tar and steel roofing to build these floating homes. The market runs between the river and the main street of the town. The main street is dusty, not entirely bituminized, and, with fewer motorcycles or cars, less busy. But, even though less busy, it still manages to seem disorganized and chaotic. There is a haphazardness that seems native to the country. Overall it feels different, and it is easy to imagine this may have been how Somerset Maugham or Earnest Hemingway experienced the frontier towns and villages of their writings of the early 20th century.

As we make our way back to the RV Amalotus we are joined by a local police officer.

He had, at first, made himself useful by lifting a motorcycle out of our way as we headed toward our tender. He then led the tour group down the steps to the river’s edge to assist with our boarding. He could have stepped back ashore at that time, but stayed standing on the tender’s prow, helping to push off. Even then he had the opportunity to step onto the boat that stood alongside, but no, he stayed onboard. I think he just wanted to come along for the ride. Nearing the RV Amalotus the long tail of the tender’s prop gets caught in the fishing nets. Our driver has to clamber down the long prop shaft that gives these boats their name to the prop housing to try to untangle it. When this doesn’t quite do the trick he has to drop completely into the water to swim under the machinery to free the net. He could not have seen anything in the water, but was very quick to fix the problem and have us on our way.

The afternoon is spent cruising back down the Tonle to Prek K’Dam where we will moor overnight and in the morning board a bus for Siem Reap. As we cruised we read, drank, and chatted with various friends on the ‘green team’, our original 26 members who commenced the journey in Hanoi, and watched Cambodia slip by, its fishing industry on show, its villages of ramshackle housing amidst more recent, solid structures emerging from the distance and disappearing in our gentle wake.

The ship travels slowly, as befits the countryside, and the sense of indolence that has settled alight our shoulders.

We enjoy our final dinner on board, and have the opportunity to give a collective round of applause to the ship’s company for all their efforts during this past week.

It has been a wonderful thing to enjoy. Cruising life is by far better, in my opinion, than that offered by the packing and unpacking of the bus tour.

Day Fifteen Monday 29 December It is an early start for us, as today features two principal activities—a long bus ride through central Cambodia to Siem Reap, and a visit to one of three temples in two

days that make Siem Reap such a tourist destination. Of course, this means packing and having our luggage ready for departure before breakfast.

We’re on the bus at 7:30, heading to Siem Reap. Vitheany accompanies us, thankfully, as her knowledge of the road and the countryside through which we travel is invaluable. We are heading to our destination along National Highway 6.

The use of highway in the title is completely misleading. For the first 3 hours of our trip the road is actually under construction, meaning it is little better than a dirt track. Narelle and I borrowed a 4-wheel drive in 1980 to drive from Weipa to the Archer River for a long weekend’s camping. That road, with its corrugations, was better. The corrugations were the same, but at least we could drive in a straight line. National Highway #6 is also the main street of every town, is packed with vehicles, and the same rules as apply in Phnom Penh, and other Asian cities, applies here. The speed limit is 60, but I doubt we ever reach this speed, having to weave around carts and bicycles and construction vehicles and vendors. It is going to be great when finished, but today it was nightmarish. It rattled the bones, it shook and it prevented any semblance of rest. The dust from construction was thick, to the point where it seemed many of the trees alongside might well suffocate from it.

When we arrive at our hotel, our luggage has also been coated in this fine red dust.

We might have been travelling through the Australian outback.

We did make two stops along the way. The first was to a roadside stop where the specialty was tarantula, fried. As soon as we stepped off the bus two local school children latched on to us, asking us all sorts of questions, using terrific English, all to get us to buy the bananas or pineapples that they had bought from the markets so as to sell to us. One approached with a live tarantula intending to place it on Narelle. I had been on the look out, as Vitheany had warned us this might happen, and a stern, “No,” did the trick. We would later taste a tarantula (just a leg) on the bus, along with a cricket, that Vitheany had bought for us to sample, along with sticky rice sold in a bamboo shoot. These are things she knew we would not have bought. The second shop was more of a restaurant. Narelle found and purchased a pair of her favourite style of trousers which was patterned with elephants.

This second stop took place after we’d left the corrugations and road construction behind. Nevertheless it was another two hours to Siem Reap. We had travelled a total of 7 hours. Spare a thought for Vitheany. As she is not licensed to be a tour guide in Siem Reap, she got back on the bus and return to Phnom Penh.

We had about 40 minutes to settle into our lovely hotel, the Sofitel Siem Reap, before jumping back on a bus to head to Angkor Thom, an old Buddhist and then Hindu temple dating back to when, you guessed it, Siem Reap was the capital of Cambodia. I have lost track of the actual timing of these things.

Angkor Thom is, apparently, a small temple. Our new local guide, “Chairman” Mao, points out the details in the carvings that adorn the temple, starting at the second level. These carvings tell the story of the wars fought with the Champan people from what is to become central Vietnam, prior to being overrun by the Mongol hordes. But the carvings also depict peacetime life, including fishing and hunting.

Trees have monkeys in them, as well as peacocks. Games of ‘chess’ are shown as well as dancing and celebrations. Being a temple, as we climb higher and higher

into the structure, accessed by step wooden steps installed for tourist access, we see many Buddha faces, each facing the compass points. These dominate in terms of their size, and as reflections of the king. Mao also points out the detail of a window, carved so as to include a blind, with detail including the string that would have been used to raise or lower this shade.

A little further on we see the so-called terraces of the elephants, where we are told, games were performed for the king’s enjoyment. While all that remains are the stone terraces, we are asked to imagine a large wooden structure, including a roof, where these games and amusements would have taken place.

But we are all exhausted, and feeling very dusty from our travels today, and most of us exhibit a preference to return to the hotel for a chance to freshen up before dinner, which tonight is, depending on a choice made earlier in the crusie, at one of several various restaurants in Siem Reap. Narelle and I dine with 7 others from the ‘green team’ and 6 others from other coloured tour ‘families’, at Square 24. It is packed, and the food a choice of Kymer or western. It was delicious, but it was also delightful to climb aboard the tuk-tuk to return to the hotel and get some sleep.

We’ve an early start in the morning.

Day Sixteen Tuesday 30 December Our wake up call comes on time at 4:15am, and we’re on the bus to Angkor Wat before 5:00. It is dark when we arrive, but Mao has brought along torches for us to use as we make our way from the bus to the Angkor Wat causeway to cross the temple’s moat. We are ushered to a photo opportunity spot where we wait over an hour to see the day’s early rays break over the spires of this World Heritage Listed site. To while away this time there is coffee and champagne.

Eventually the day breaks and we get to see the temple in its splendor, before having the once in a lifetime opportunity to walk through the actual building.

Again the carvings along the walls tell the story of conquest and love and devotion.

Imagine, we take a good ten minutes just to walk past one gallery, stopping along the way to read the carvings. Thankfully Mao is there to decipher and interpret for us. But there are 7 other galleries that we do not see. Angkor Wat is as tall as any European cathedral, and yet, with its 5 lotus flower inspired spires, took just 37 years to build. That is a short time when compared to the European buildings. Mao points out to us that the Khmer people had elephants to do the heavy work.

The gallery we do inspect tells of the history of the Khmer people and the reason for the construction of the temple. It is a remarkably familiar tale. A war is fought between a Hindu king, Vishnu, from India, and a king in Sri Lanka after the Sri Lankan king abducted Vishnu’s wife. The carvings do not show, however, that a thousand ships were launched!! Upward we climb (very steep steps) until we have the chance to reach the third level. Here, we must walk a loosely defined path—as long as we go anti-clockwise all is good. Even this level has four pools, where devotees would have washed themselves to respect their gods. As this is the tallest

structure in the area, we have an outstanding view of the jungle’s tree-tops that surround Angkor Wat. It is difficult to imagine how something this big, surrounded by an obviously manmade moat, could have ‘disappeared’ for 500 plus years until the French naturalist, Mahmout, discovered it whilst searching for rare butterflies. What’s more, what could have caused the local population to abandon it and to move to other places unless under duress, as had the Cambodians under Pol Pot been forced to leave the cities.

After spending three hours in the temple’s grounds, it is time to return to our hotel for breakfast.

We have several hours down time before we venture out again for our final tour with APT this time around. Rest is desperately needed. More so than last year when we toured Europe, this tour has taken a toll. Nothing horrendous, but we do feel worn down. Many others are feeling the same way, and several opt to remain in rooms and lounge about the hotel rather than get on a bus again. There is a magnificent pool area at the Sofitel which we take advantage of lying on the recliner chairs relaxing. We certainly don’t feel that tired, but a chance to rest is much sought after.

Oakleigh State School has, over the past two years, ‘adopted’ a school in Siem Reap, New Hope for Children, to assist. This occurred after one of our teachers spent a summer here assisting to establish the school. It has been wonderful for the Oakleigh students to find out about students in another country who have it far, far worse than they do, and to do something positive to assist. Mr Prosh is the principal and I rang him to see if I could visit. Unfortunately the timing doesn’t work, as this time when I could visit is when the first session of students go home, and the second session attend after lunch. But it is great to be able to talk to him, and hear his story.

Our final temple visit is to Ta Promn, the temple made famous as a location for Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. The significance of this temple, and the reason for its use as a film location, is the way the jungle has taken over. Massive trees cling to its lava stone walls, with tree roots that snake across and through the walls. Some must have been over thirty metres long. It is eerie, as well as spectacular.

Furthermore, it goes a long way to answering my question as to how these temples disappeared for so long. While the creeping destruction of the jungle accounts for the temple’s decay, this occurred only because of a number of factors. The area fell into drought, and, coupled with the death of the king, Jayavarman VII, a power struggle created internal strife, and the people dispersed. With everyone gone, the jungle had the temple to itself. We scramble through and among the ruins, fascinated by both the crumbling ruins, and the ongoing efforts to restore it.

On the way home we stop at an orphanage that is supported by APT. It is based on the concept of Opportunities for Development through Art (ODA), whereby the idea is that orphan children are taught English and artistic skills, and through the sale of their paintings the school is funded. Learning English is seen as a way for these

children to develop employable skills. Several have now passed through the ranks and are attending university. The current students put on a dance for us, and afterward delight in showing us both their art and where they sleep and live. The student who shows us around is called Sahar, and he seems so happy to sleep in a dormitory with 19 other boys, sharing a mattress and a wardrobe space. It seems cramped, primitive and little different from the workhouses of Dickensian England.

But he is so happy to show us about, so full of smiles and so keen for us to see what he is doing, that it is difficult to imagine him an Oliver asking for more. In total there are 32 children that are looked after by a former orphan, Leng and his wife.

In the evening we have one last performance by the Apsara Dance Troupe before a farewell dinner. We have made many new friends on this holiday, and whilst we don’t get to sit and chat to them all, we do enjoy another wonderful feast as a way to say farewell.

Memories are made of this.

Day Seventeen Wednesday 31 December New Year’s Eve Today will be both restful and tiring. Strange to say, but this happens with a departure from Siem Reap at 11:00 to fly to Hue, via Ho Chi Minh City. Prior to checking out we are booked in for a massage treatment at the hotel’s spa. There’s the restful part of the day. I do not wish to sound like it is unwelcome, for it is important to remember that getting to somewhere new and interesting often involves air travel, and that is always tiring.

The full body massage is meant to be relaxing, of course. Narelle and I are in the same room, and, perversely, I get the small masseuse while Narelle has the bigger of the two, which is not to say she was big. For their size they sure pack a wallop, going deep into the tissue. Really deep. Sometimes painfully deep. I don’t think it is appropriate to let out gasps as the elbows and heels of the hand push deeper and deeper, so it took some effort to not react. Of course, with every muscle group that is probed, there is a gentle, soothing rub. So, now I know—relaxation comes when it is all done and the pushing and prodding is over.

Exiting Cambodia was an interesting exercise. Customs and immigration officials have clearly been trained by Americans. They are surly and communicate, for the most part, with grunts. Apparently there is a piece of paper in the passport that we are meant to fill out before going through passport control. We would have done this in preparation to leave if anyone had told us. No troubles, though, once we’d completed the details of flight number, destination and signature. They also wanted to scan the right hand. Everyone else was doing it, so, again, no troubles. But then he demanded my right thumb. Then my left hand. Then my left thumb. No one else had all ten digits scanned. I wondered if I would be required to take off my shoes.

But, no, I passed the scan test, and was allowed to enter the departure lounge.

Narelle did not have to scan either hand.

Another couple, Laurie and Carol, who had been on the APT tour with us, and were heading back to Ho Chi Minh City for a few extra nights before heading home also fell foul of the incomplete form. However, their agent asked if they’d like to pay a ‘tip’, and all would be good. The ‘tip’ cost them US $10. Narelle saw another passenger hand over some money to another official checking documents and wondered what that was all about.

Landing in Ho Chi Minh City and getting through immigration also had a small hiccup. The officer needed to know what our flight number had been. Once he had that he was happy. We collected our bags and made our way to the domestic departures, and checked in. Our flight was now to leave at 7:30pm, not 6:20 as scheduled. We had already heard that the locals call it Vietnam Airlate, not Vietnam Airline. It was living up to its reputation. They did say sorry, which is the moniker Hao (our tour manager) had used—Sorry Airlines. A complimentary drink is supposed to make it all good. As we sit in the terminal whiling away the time, we notice the departure time has been put back yet again.

Fortunately Ms Anna, who runs our hotel in Hue, checks her emails regularly, and responded immediately to our advice of the delay. We may get to celebrate New Year’s Eve with the locals by the time we check in.

Which we do. We are collected at the airport by Peter who tells us they are having a New Year’s Eve party. When eventually we do arrive, we are greeted by staff and guests and given drinks and food and the chance to see in the new year.

Day Eighteen Thursday 1 January Happy New Year Not surprisingly we sleep in. When we do go down to breakfast, we are greeted by all the staff as they go about their business. They fuss over us, and all the guests, wanting us to have a most enjoyable stay. We are given a special Happy New Year soup and spring rolls to start, and then we get to select from the menu as we desire.

The food cannot compare to what we have consumed over the past fortnight, but the service is attentive and warm, as it was on the RV Amalotus. The coffee and tea are prepared in the kettle, and is re-boiled as ordered, which makes for a very strong brew. I learned that you must be very specific with an order. I requested two fried eggs, hard, with toast. The waitress clarified, “An egg with two yolks, yes?” It was close enough so I agreed, and that was what I was served. So far, so good. But one yolk was hard, and one soft, and the toast came just as I finished the hard egg part. There is no complaint in this statement. I have eaten more than I would at breakfast, as I have all tour. There is a plentiful supply of fresh fruit – mango, pineapple, oranges, dragonfruit and many other “new” varieties which we taste – some are nice others not so much!

We walked. It was good to be on foot, wandering along streets and seeing what was around the next corner again. This was bizarre as far as the cyclo drivers were concerned, and a couple of times we were followed by a pair (each cyclo only fits one person) happy to tell us the best place to see. They even offered references written in notebooks to show they were trustworthy. A couple from Perth thought they wouldn’t have seen all there was to see if it were not for their driver.

Our walk took us past shops and restaurants and the lives of the locals. Hue is a little different from both Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City in that there is a variety of shops along the street. At least we couldn’t see the street selling only pots and pans, or flowers, or watches, or sunglasses. Actually, the sunglasses kept following us.

Two guys, one called Cheap Charlie, kept waiting for us every time we went into a shop. He was there telling me his genuine copies were the best things on earth. They were absurdly cheap, but, as I kept telling him, it didn’t matter how cheap if I didn’t need any more sunglasses. We even had hawkers wanting us to take a boat ride to the Citadel. These were big boats, covered and capable of seating at least twenty.

Narelle and I would have been the only passengers. What’s more, they hawked the ride as they passed under the bridge we were walking over.

That bridge crossed the Perfume River as we walked from our hotel to the Purple Forbidden City, otherwise known as the Citadel. It was a massive construction, built as a fortress, and surrounded by a moat, a wall, another moat and yet another wall.

Outside of, but incorporated into the complex, was something of a museum of war machines, mostly imperial American aircraft or heroic Viet Cong anti-aircraft guns.

Our walk back allowed us to pop into the Ba Dong markets, another one of those cramped local markets that have hundreds of tiny stores piled high with merchandise. Here the stalls were grouped according to the wares on sale. It was not for the tourists, but that didn’t stop them trying to get us to visit their stall in order to buy.

We whiled away the rest of the day, resting, reading shopping and dining in the streets around the hotel. The locals kept saying, ‘Happy New Year’ to us as we passed, and seemed genuinely delighted when we stopped for a chat, even if we made no purchase. It was a restful day, and perhaps one to be repeated tomorrow.

Day Nineteen Friday 2 January This is really a rest day. We breakfast, before watching movies in our room, as it is bucketing down with rain. Repeating the pattern of yesterday it fines up before lunch and we venture out to lunch and haggle with vendors over sunglasses and clothes for others.

We did brave the conditions to head out to dinner, once again heading to the Little Owl. The beer is half price—about 50 cents for a draught of the local product, Huda. Our dinner, including drinks, totals, $4.98. We had been past the restaurant several times during the day, and each time it was the same girl standing out the front wanting us to come in to eat. We said we’d be back for dinner. But when we

did go out, we had to first go to a store that had made a top for Narelle. It had needed some alterations to make sure it fitted just right. We told the girl we’d be back. I think she was so surprised when we did return, and, coupled with us asking for her recommendations on what local foods were best, she was very excited to have us eat there. So much so that she tried to tell us a story about one of the items of food we ate. It was something about a king and his daughter and all the suitors having to win her affection, which I think worked best with this special rice cake.

But she found the English quite difficult and in the end I think she was happy to see a potential customer walk past so she could urge them to come on in. But, when we left we said good-bye, and advised we were heading to Hoi An tomorrow. She gave us both a hug.

Day Twenty Saturday 3 January It is raining again in the morning as we arise. Narelle looks out the window to watch an elderly Vietnamese gentleman doing his Tai Chi on the verandah of his house. It is interesting to look out from our 5 th floor room the see over the city. The city seems to have grown up by filling in a space with a building, be that home, shop or hotel, as that space appeared. Streets are reasonably grid-like, so there had to have been some planning, but not much. The buildings are accessed either from the street, or, as in the case of our hotel, down a narrow laneway. But if the laneway we are on is narrow, shooting off from opposite us is a narrower laneway to another hotel. For all I now, down that path is someone’s house. There are rooftops of concrete tile, of tin, of colourbond steel, and of asbestos, in a combination of pitched and flat. Those that are flat often have ladders permanently attached to access these as another space. I can’t work out why access is required so readily.

The people are so friendly toward us. Certainly, hotel staff, who are fantastic, have a reason to be so. But, even as we walk about, a smile elicits a beaming one in return, perhaps a short conversation in their best English. When we do risk mispronouncing Xin chao, which is hello, the response is one of delight that we have at least learned this much. They seem genuinely pleased that we are visiting their country. Clearly they recognize the importance of tourists to their prosperity, and do not wish to offend.

Hue, being smaller than the other Vietnamese cities we have been to, and with the majority of hotels clustered in the area in which we are staying, has a noticeable number of tourists. The local restaurants cater to them, and the bars and the places that purport to be cafes have plenty of English signage. It is still surprising to see many of the tourists eating the western style food in preference to the Asian. Yes, I am looking forward to a return to the variety we have when at home, and away from predominately fried food, unless you eat the soup, which is wonderful. But, the experience of travel is surely to do, as much as it is within your capacity for tolerance, what the locals do. I hope I am not preaching. I am reluctant to eat the street food without seeing it cooked, and I am avoiding washed salads. Other than that, I always ask for what the locals prefer from the menu. So far, I have not been

disappointed. This is not to say it is better, but nor is it worse. It is simply different, and for that reason, interesting.

We transferred to Hoi An by private car, driven by Peter, from the Holiday Diamond Hotel. Unfortunately, this was the wettest day on tour so far, and the sights along the way would have been spectacular but for the low cloud. Even so, we stopped for a quick rest stop just north of Lang Co at what was a beachside resort. It must be that all the tours stop here, for the ‘resort’ has seen better days. We walked along the beach and tried to imagine what would attract tourists to this township. A couple of kilometres further on and the answer was obvious as the township emerged on a promontory between the sea and a massive lagoon.

This town marks the option for the slow and spectacular road up and over the Hai Van pass, or through the tollway tunnel. We took the scenic route, a torturous, twisting old highway that at one point is crossed by a railway line. Here, a person is employed to raise and lower the gates when a train passes. We had to stop to let a train through as it ran down the mountain pass to Lang Co below. Further on we reached the top of the pass, Thua Thien Hue, where we stopped to look at the bunkers built by the Americans to stop the NVA coming down into South America.

When I mentioned that the north outsmarted the Americans and infiltrated the south via the Ho Chi Minh trail, Peter was most impressed that I knew his country’s history.

It was then a short drive into Da Nang, another town with luxury resorts either already built, or plenty more planned for the future. This has the hallmarks of a Gold Coast boom. But the contrast with the future and the existing is remarkable.

Hoi An is very close to Da Nang, and Peter stopped to share a beer with us before dropping us off at our hotel.

After settling in we ventured into the old quarter and wandered the markets. It was such a buzzing place, with a great variety of stores and restaurants and street food and a night market. I ordered some tailored pants, in a style similar to the travel pants I’ve recently started wearing, for just $20. I may order another if it is worth the money. She quickly, but professionally took my measurements, calling them out to her elderly assistant. It may have been her mother. I placed the order about 7:00pm, and was told it would be ready for trying on at 1:00pm tomorrow. There is no shortage of tailors, each trying to get you into their shop to buy something.

Day Twenty-one Sunday 4 January

Day Twenty-two Monday 5 January