Thursday 26 May 2011
Tuesday 24 May 2011
Ayuthaya and The Monkeys of Lopburi
Wave farewell to Kanchanaburi from the back seat of a taxi to arrive a couple of hours later in historic Ayuthaya, the former capital of Siam for more than 400 years.
This Unesco-designated World Heritage Site is the cultural heart of Thailand and home to ancient palaces and ruined temples situated on an island surrounded by three rivers - Chao Phraya, Lopburi and Pa Sak.
The city may not boast as impressive an array of temples as those around Angkor - Burmese invaders sacked the city and stole most of its treasures in 1767 - but, if you can't get to Cambodia, then poking around Ayuthaya's ruins makes for a very good second best, particularly as it's only a couple of hours north from Bangkok.
After checking into the Baan Thai hotel - lovely pool and gardens sitting alongside a river which is home to some fearsome-looking monitor lizards - we take a guided tuk-tuk ride around the city and its outskirts.
Glories of bygone days are immediately evident at the stunning Wat Phra Si Sanphet temple built in the late 14th century and home to several kings, while Wat Chai Wattanaram was uncovered as recently as 40 years ago from the strangling jungle around it.
Eye-catching too is a lone stone Buddha head embedded among a tree's tangled and twisted roots at Wat Phra Mahathat - one even the Burmese missed as they looted Ayuthaya's famed treasures.
We return as evening falls to the Thai Baan and a cooling swim - no monitor lizards (we spot one around six foot long on the riverbank) in pool, thankfully - before dinner.
Just as night closes in we are caught up in a fierce tropical storm - huge peels of roaring thunder and flashing sheet and forked lightning. It's not only darkness on the edge of town, but everywhere and a candle-lit dinner in the open-sided but sheltered restaurant.
We are treated to a light show extraordinaire - the garden alongside us one second inky black, the next lit up in dazzling fashion by the pyrotechnics around us - making for a great accompaniment to our Thai curry and Singha beers.
Monkeying around Lopburi
The following day sees us head off early to Ayuthaya's railway station to climb aboard a third-class-only train to Lopburi, where troops of monkeys scavenge among the little town's decrepit Khmer ruins.
After a long delay at the station and a baking hot ride north - no air con and just the odd ceiling fan in working order - we reach Lopburi in about an hour, but almost immediately on arrival wish we hadn't bothered.
Now neither of us mind the odd monkey here and there - they can be quite engaging little fellows - but when there are hundreds and hundreds of them, not only crawling all over the temples but hanging from buildings and roofs everwhere it makes for a pretty uncomfortable and disconcerting experience.
These kleptomaniac scavengers will nick anything they can get their hands on - jewellery, handbags, cameras and the sunglasses off your chops if you get up too close and personal. We have heard stories of tourists losing their belongings to the Monkeys of Lopuri, even getting scratched by them in their eager pursuit of the material goods humped around by us farangs (foreigners).
Lopuri itself appears dirty (spotting a large rat out in the mid-day sun doesn't help) and uninteresting, so we decide on one quick temple visit - to Prang Sam Yot, whose three linked towers once symbolised the Hindu trinity of Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma.
Again it's not a place we fancy hanging around - because the monkeys are doing just that, swarming all over the ruins in their hundreds. While they are not outwardly aggressive, we keep our distance inching around the temple and trying to give the 'residents' as wide a berth as possible. Getting scratched by one of these mangy-looking creatures is not on our agenda - particularly as we are on the last leg of our trip and home is in sight.
Enough monkeying around for one day then, it's back to the station - and another long and sweaty wait for a train. Great Western where are you when we need you?
No more temples, no more monkeys. We are going to spend the next morning monitor-lizard spotting, swimming in the Baan Thai's pool and chilling out before making our way south to Bangkok.
We've a few days back in Thailand's capital to sort out a few loose ends, pick up a suit and dress for Chris from a tailor and do some pressie shopping (a stick of rock each for family and close friends!).
Nine months after setting out from London's Heathrow Airport on an adventure of a lifetime and living our dream we are preparing for our return to the green green grass of home - clutching not only some goody bags, but memories we will cherish forever.
This Unesco-designated World Heritage Site is the cultural heart of Thailand and home to ancient palaces and ruined temples situated on an island surrounded by three rivers - Chao Phraya, Lopburi and Pa Sak.
The city may not boast as impressive an array of temples as those around Angkor - Burmese invaders sacked the city and stole most of its treasures in 1767 - but, if you can't get to Cambodia, then poking around Ayuthaya's ruins makes for a very good second best, particularly as it's only a couple of hours north from Bangkok.
After checking into the Baan Thai hotel - lovely pool and gardens sitting alongside a river which is home to some fearsome-looking monitor lizards - we take a guided tuk-tuk ride around the city and its outskirts.
Glories of bygone days are immediately evident at the stunning Wat Phra Si Sanphet temple built in the late 14th century and home to several kings, while Wat Chai Wattanaram was uncovered as recently as 40 years ago from the strangling jungle around it.
Eye-catching too is a lone stone Buddha head embedded among a tree's tangled and twisted roots at Wat Phra Mahathat - one even the Burmese missed as they looted Ayuthaya's famed treasures.
We return as evening falls to the Thai Baan and a cooling swim - no monitor lizards (we spot one around six foot long on the riverbank) in pool, thankfully - before dinner.
Just as night closes in we are caught up in a fierce tropical storm - huge peels of roaring thunder and flashing sheet and forked lightning. It's not only darkness on the edge of town, but everywhere and a candle-lit dinner in the open-sided but sheltered restaurant.
We are treated to a light show extraordinaire - the garden alongside us one second inky black, the next lit up in dazzling fashion by the pyrotechnics around us - making for a great accompaniment to our Thai curry and Singha beers.
Monkeying around Lopburi
The following day sees us head off early to Ayuthaya's railway station to climb aboard a third-class-only train to Lopburi, where troops of monkeys scavenge among the little town's decrepit Khmer ruins.
After a long delay at the station and a baking hot ride north - no air con and just the odd ceiling fan in working order - we reach Lopburi in about an hour, but almost immediately on arrival wish we hadn't bothered.
Now neither of us mind the odd monkey here and there - they can be quite engaging little fellows - but when there are hundreds and hundreds of them, not only crawling all over the temples but hanging from buildings and roofs everwhere it makes for a pretty uncomfortable and disconcerting experience.
These kleptomaniac scavengers will nick anything they can get their hands on - jewellery, handbags, cameras and the sunglasses off your chops if you get up too close and personal. We have heard stories of tourists losing their belongings to the Monkeys of Lopuri, even getting scratched by them in their eager pursuit of the material goods humped around by us farangs (foreigners).
Lopuri itself appears dirty (spotting a large rat out in the mid-day sun doesn't help) and uninteresting, so we decide on one quick temple visit - to Prang Sam Yot, whose three linked towers once symbolised the Hindu trinity of Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma.
Again it's not a place we fancy hanging around - because the monkeys are doing just that, swarming all over the ruins in their hundreds. While they are not outwardly aggressive, we keep our distance inching around the temple and trying to give the 'residents' as wide a berth as possible. Getting scratched by one of these mangy-looking creatures is not on our agenda - particularly as we are on the last leg of our trip and home is in sight.
Enough monkeying around for one day then, it's back to the station - and another long and sweaty wait for a train. Great Western where are you when we need you?
No more temples, no more monkeys. We are going to spend the next morning monitor-lizard spotting, swimming in the Baan Thai's pool and chilling out before making our way south to Bangkok.
We've a few days back in Thailand's capital to sort out a few loose ends, pick up a suit and dress for Chris from a tailor and do some pressie shopping (a stick of rock each for family and close friends!).
Nine months after setting out from London's Heathrow Airport on an adventure of a lifetime and living our dream we are preparing for our return to the green green grass of home - clutching not only some goody bags, but memories we will cherish forever.
Saturday 21 May 2011
Friday 20 May 2011
Kanchanaburi and Bridge Over The River Kwai
Peaceful Kanchanburi sits some 130km north-west of Bangkok amid verdant green countryside surrounded by dense forests and mist-shrouded mountains.
The town and province is steeped in history - and that's why we've come here. Less than a 10-minute walk from our hotel lies one of the most infamous of all World War II sites - The Bridge Over The River Kwai.
After checking into the super friendly Sabai @ Kan Hotel and grabbing a quick lunch at a floating restaurant on the Mae Nam Khwae Yai (the Kwai) we start our history lesson at the Thailand-Burma Railway Centre, an inter-active museum which provides a fascinating and disturbing insight into Kanchanaburi's role in the war.
Having previously had limited understanding of how and why the railway was built - the book The Bridge Over The River Kwai and David Lean's epic film of the same name provide answers too - the centre offers an educational and moving experience, detailing the building of the railway and the staggering cost in human sacrifice.
We are stunned to learn that of the 60,000 Allied prisoners of war - Australian, British, American and Dutch - who worked on the railway between October 1942 and October 1943 more than 12,000 died, as did a staggering 100,000 civilian Asian labourers from of a workforce of 270,000.
While the bleak statistics are numbing, film archive, documentation and photographs of the appalling treatment meted out by the Japanese to the POWs and Romusha (labourers) are nothing short of heartbreaking.
Allied War Cemetery
We leave the museum - incredulous at man's inhumanity to man, shocked not only by the death toll but the reasons - appalling living conditions, starvation, disease, inadequate medical facilities and the brutal punishments and cruel torture inflicted on the men by Japanese guards and railway supervisors.
Stepping out of the darkness, literally and figuratively-speaking, we cross the street to the Allied War Cemetery. Of the 6,982 POWs buried here, nearly half are British. Their final resting place is set among immaculately maintained gardens brimming with flowers, shrubs and trees of various shades of red, yellow and orange. We note the ages of some of those who perished - 30, 28, 24, 22, 20 - and leave in silence.
Jeath War Museum
Take a rickshaw to the other side of town - our bicycle guide has a good smattering of English, pointing out some interesting sights along the way. Drops us at the Jeath Museum - so named because of the Japanese, English, Australian, American, Thai and Dutch (Holland) involvment.
Very different from the Railway Museum, we enter to find ourselves in a reconstruction of the cramped and primitive bamboo huts POWs were kept in. Along the walls are original photographs and POW paintings and drawings of what life was like. The Jeath provides a harrowing eye-opening experience.
Lightning the mood
Enough for one day, we head back to the Sabai @ Kan for a relaxing swim in the pool set in lovely tropical gardens, eat a Thai meal at a local restaurant and end up listening to a Kanchanaburi bar owner from Manchester, backed by a talented Thai band, belt out a very presentable version of House Of The Rising Sun and other classic 60s and 70s numbers, and he makes a decent stab at a couple of Oasis numbers. Well done, Ian. Several Singha beers later we reflect on a good pit-stop, with batteries recharged for day two.
Thailand-Burma Railway
Of the 415km railway hacked out of thick tropical jungle and solid rock from Ban Pong in Thailand to Thanbyuzayat in Burma just a small section remains in use - and, having come this far, we are going to climb on board the train that runs along it.
It's a tourist puffer in the main - there are a few locals dotted about and hawkers selling food and drink - but it's third class all the way, reflected in bone-hard wooden seats, no air con (open windows allow what little air there is in) and a jerky, rattling ride.
On the plus side the two-hour journey from Kanchanaburi Station to Nam Tok takes us over the infamous bridge - it was rebuilt after the war (Allied bombs having blown its central span to smithereens in 1945) - and provides us with some spectacular scenery along the way.
There's little to keep us in nondescript Nam Tok, but we are told the picturesque Sai Yok waterfall 2km away is worth seeing. We've only got 90 minutes before we have to catch the train back (it was an hour late leaving in the first place), so board local bus and head for waterfall.
We shouldn't have bothered. It's a major disappointment. Set in a national park, it's one big tourist trap packed with adults and kids in swimming costumes bombing down the falls - there is actually very little water - while sitting on car tyres.
We cut our losses, make a speedy departure and grab a quick bite before boarding train for return. What should take two hours takes three-and-a-half, thanks to an unscheduled and mystifying stop at a station seemingly in the middle of nowhere. No explanation is given for the delay, but we get to thinking it might be to enable a local lady sitting on the station to sell her sausages and cold drinks. And she does a roaring trade. We are bored witless sitting on the train in the stifling heat, climb out and cross the tracks to give her our custom too. Only one winner - and it wasn't us. Sausages not up to much - but perhaps that's because we are sweaty, dishevelled and dog-tired.
Eventually roll across Kwai Bridge as darkness begins to fall. Just time to walk across its 300 metres both ways before grabbing a meal at restaurant on river which affords good views of it. Bridge is lit up at night - a little bit like the Blackpool illuminations - but there are few tourists here tonight and after a busy day we are happy just sitting watching the river - and it's a very beautiful one - flow.
Hellfire Pass
This memorial and museum lies 80km north-west of Kanchanaburi near the Myanmar (Burma) border. We take a taxi there - luxury after the rigours of our train journey the previous day.
Hellfire Pass is a cutting along the 'Death Railway' where POWs and Asians worked punishing hours well into the night. The eerily flickering bonfire lights on the skeleton-like bodies of the workers gave the place its name.
Thanks to a joint Thai-Australian enterprise we can now take a 4 km walk, following in the footsteps of men who toiled for up to 18 hours a day building embankments and timber trestle bridges cut from the surrounding jungle, and who were forced by their captors to drive cuttings through solid rock with just the most basic equipment - bare hands, shovels, picks and hoes.
Much of this work coincided with Thailand's wet season, and weakened POWs living in atrocious conditions on a meagre diet of rice and water fell ill to tropical ulcers, malaria, dysentery, and cholera, the latter claiming thousands of lives.
Walking the trail alone - thankfully one extremely loud and obnoxious American woman in a small party quickly disappears out of sight and, more importantly, earshot. Silence is golden and, now with not a soul around, we suddenly feel we are among ghosts, audio stops along the way where we listen to the experiences of former POWs simply intensifying the haunting atmosphere.
Three hours later our loop walk - it offersstunning views of the Burmese hills - takes us back to where we started. We feel privileged to have spent time at a memorial and museum which remembers in such a dignified manner the men who paid the ultimate sacrifice.
We spend our last evening and at a restaurant recommended to us by Noel and Pam, our two friends in Murton, who lured by Thailand's charms, come back year after year. They know good Thai cusinse when they taste it - and Apple and Noi's riverside retreat proves an excellent way for us to finish off our stay here.
We are coming to the end of not only our stay in South-East Asia, but our travels after nine months on the road. But before we head back to Bangkok and, ultimately Heathrow Airport, we plan to spend a couple of days among the ruined palaces and temples of Ayuthaya, the former royal capital of Siam and its cultural heart.
The town and province is steeped in history - and that's why we've come here. Less than a 10-minute walk from our hotel lies one of the most infamous of all World War II sites - The Bridge Over The River Kwai.
After checking into the super friendly Sabai @ Kan Hotel and grabbing a quick lunch at a floating restaurant on the Mae Nam Khwae Yai (the Kwai) we start our history lesson at the Thailand-Burma Railway Centre, an inter-active museum which provides a fascinating and disturbing insight into Kanchanaburi's role in the war.
Having previously had limited understanding of how and why the railway was built - the book The Bridge Over The River Kwai and David Lean's epic film of the same name provide answers too - the centre offers an educational and moving experience, detailing the building of the railway and the staggering cost in human sacrifice.
We are stunned to learn that of the 60,000 Allied prisoners of war - Australian, British, American and Dutch - who worked on the railway between October 1942 and October 1943 more than 12,000 died, as did a staggering 100,000 civilian Asian labourers from of a workforce of 270,000.
While the bleak statistics are numbing, film archive, documentation and photographs of the appalling treatment meted out by the Japanese to the POWs and Romusha (labourers) are nothing short of heartbreaking.
Allied War Cemetery
We leave the museum - incredulous at man's inhumanity to man, shocked not only by the death toll but the reasons - appalling living conditions, starvation, disease, inadequate medical facilities and the brutal punishments and cruel torture inflicted on the men by Japanese guards and railway supervisors.
Stepping out of the darkness, literally and figuratively-speaking, we cross the street to the Allied War Cemetery. Of the 6,982 POWs buried here, nearly half are British. Their final resting place is set among immaculately maintained gardens brimming with flowers, shrubs and trees of various shades of red, yellow and orange. We note the ages of some of those who perished - 30, 28, 24, 22, 20 - and leave in silence.
Jeath War Museum
Take a rickshaw to the other side of town - our bicycle guide has a good smattering of English, pointing out some interesting sights along the way. Drops us at the Jeath Museum - so named because of the Japanese, English, Australian, American, Thai and Dutch (Holland) involvment.
Very different from the Railway Museum, we enter to find ourselves in a reconstruction of the cramped and primitive bamboo huts POWs were kept in. Along the walls are original photographs and POW paintings and drawings of what life was like. The Jeath provides a harrowing eye-opening experience.
Lightning the mood
Enough for one day, we head back to the Sabai @ Kan for a relaxing swim in the pool set in lovely tropical gardens, eat a Thai meal at a local restaurant and end up listening to a Kanchanaburi bar owner from Manchester, backed by a talented Thai band, belt out a very presentable version of House Of The Rising Sun and other classic 60s and 70s numbers, and he makes a decent stab at a couple of Oasis numbers. Well done, Ian. Several Singha beers later we reflect on a good pit-stop, with batteries recharged for day two.
Thailand-Burma Railway
Of the 415km railway hacked out of thick tropical jungle and solid rock from Ban Pong in Thailand to Thanbyuzayat in Burma just a small section remains in use - and, having come this far, we are going to climb on board the train that runs along it.
It's a tourist puffer in the main - there are a few locals dotted about and hawkers selling food and drink - but it's third class all the way, reflected in bone-hard wooden seats, no air con (open windows allow what little air there is in) and a jerky, rattling ride.
On the plus side the two-hour journey from Kanchanaburi Station to Nam Tok takes us over the infamous bridge - it was rebuilt after the war (Allied bombs having blown its central span to smithereens in 1945) - and provides us with some spectacular scenery along the way.
There's little to keep us in nondescript Nam Tok, but we are told the picturesque Sai Yok waterfall 2km away is worth seeing. We've only got 90 minutes before we have to catch the train back (it was an hour late leaving in the first place), so board local bus and head for waterfall.
We shouldn't have bothered. It's a major disappointment. Set in a national park, it's one big tourist trap packed with adults and kids in swimming costumes bombing down the falls - there is actually very little water - while sitting on car tyres.
We cut our losses, make a speedy departure and grab a quick bite before boarding train for return. What should take two hours takes three-and-a-half, thanks to an unscheduled and mystifying stop at a station seemingly in the middle of nowhere. No explanation is given for the delay, but we get to thinking it might be to enable a local lady sitting on the station to sell her sausages and cold drinks. And she does a roaring trade. We are bored witless sitting on the train in the stifling heat, climb out and cross the tracks to give her our custom too. Only one winner - and it wasn't us. Sausages not up to much - but perhaps that's because we are sweaty, dishevelled and dog-tired.
Eventually roll across Kwai Bridge as darkness begins to fall. Just time to walk across its 300 metres both ways before grabbing a meal at restaurant on river which affords good views of it. Bridge is lit up at night - a little bit like the Blackpool illuminations - but there are few tourists here tonight and after a busy day we are happy just sitting watching the river - and it's a very beautiful one - flow.
Hellfire Pass
This memorial and museum lies 80km north-west of Kanchanaburi near the Myanmar (Burma) border. We take a taxi there - luxury after the rigours of our train journey the previous day.
Hellfire Pass is a cutting along the 'Death Railway' where POWs and Asians worked punishing hours well into the night. The eerily flickering bonfire lights on the skeleton-like bodies of the workers gave the place its name.
Thanks to a joint Thai-Australian enterprise we can now take a 4 km walk, following in the footsteps of men who toiled for up to 18 hours a day building embankments and timber trestle bridges cut from the surrounding jungle, and who were forced by their captors to drive cuttings through solid rock with just the most basic equipment - bare hands, shovels, picks and hoes.
Much of this work coincided with Thailand's wet season, and weakened POWs living in atrocious conditions on a meagre diet of rice and water fell ill to tropical ulcers, malaria, dysentery, and cholera, the latter claiming thousands of lives.
Walking the trail alone - thankfully one extremely loud and obnoxious American woman in a small party quickly disappears out of sight and, more importantly, earshot. Silence is golden and, now with not a soul around, we suddenly feel we are among ghosts, audio stops along the way where we listen to the experiences of former POWs simply intensifying the haunting atmosphere.
Three hours later our loop walk - it offersstunning views of the Burmese hills - takes us back to where we started. We feel privileged to have spent time at a memorial and museum which remembers in such a dignified manner the men who paid the ultimate sacrifice.
We spend our last evening and at a restaurant recommended to us by Noel and Pam, our two friends in Murton, who lured by Thailand's charms, come back year after year. They know good Thai cusinse when they taste it - and Apple and Noi's riverside retreat proves an excellent way for us to finish off our stay here.
We are coming to the end of not only our stay in South-East Asia, but our travels after nine months on the road. But before we head back to Bangkok and, ultimately Heathrow Airport, we plan to spend a couple of days among the ruined palaces and temples of Ayuthaya, the former royal capital of Siam and its cultural heart.
Tuesday 17 May 2011
Monday 16 May 2011
Northern Thailand & The Longneck Tribe
Still on a high following our Elephant Nature Park adventure - it was a big day for Wills and Kate too and, yes, we did catch highlights of The Royal Wedding (Chris made sure of that, though not quite the same with Thai commentary) - we are heading up country hoping to spend some time with The Longneck Tribe.
Best bet is to hire a taxi for the day from Chiang Mai - we are staying at a neat little guest house The Galare perched alongside the Mae Ping River - and take in a few sights along the way.
Like thousands of others we feel we can't come this far without making a plgirmage to Wat Doi Suthep, a sacred temple in the clouds perched on the summit of a mountain with Chiang Mai scattered like a tiny model city below it.
Reaching the temple itself is an ordeal. Clambering out of our taxi we face a long uphill climb to it - we lost count of the number of steps - but are rewarded by its stunning location, where the locals come to worship a Buddhist relic enshrined in a picturesque golden chedi and where children dressed in colourful tradtional costume dance and sing.
Some 30km north lies the hill tribe village of Baan Ton Luang where four tribes - many who have fled across the border from Myanmar (Burma) in search of a better life - co-exist in blissful harmony. Two, in particular, are fascinating - the Lahu Shibalah (Long Ear) and the Karen (Long Neck).
We pay a fee to access the village - the money going to its upkeep and to helping its inhabitants (who are, to all intents and purposes, refugees) - and, in return, are granted permission to wander around at our leisure. They are happy to show us their way of life, the handicrafts they make and willing to invite us into their homes.
John shoots some crossbow and arrows with local children - manages a bullseye too, much to his amazement - while one of the Long Ear ladyfolk removes one of her huge earrings revealing to Chris the massive gap in her earlobe. Cripes.
But what really knocked us out were The Karens. From the age of five the girls start to wear rings around their necks which are added to year after year until they have in excess of 35 - a tradition handed down over centuries in the belief that it makes them more beautiful. The rings, which must be worn at all times, even when asleep, actually stretch the neck. Strange, but true.
One tribeswoman we spoke to - her English excellent - told us of the consequent health issues - headaches, breathing difficulties, spinal and collarbone problems.
Both Chris and I had the opportunity to feel the weight of these rings and were gobsmacked. You'd get the picture if we told you John needed both hands just to pick them up. Wearing them around the neck for a lifetime doesn't bear thinking about - but to them its their heritage and culture. We left the village and its welcoming people feeling it's a burden no-one should be forced to, quite literally, carry from the age of five to the grave.
John gets it in the neck
We have loved our time in Chiang Mai - the quaint walled ancient quarter, its tiny bars and cafes and lantern-lit riverside restaurants - but next stop is out in the mountains at Tharnthong Lodge, where we can get close to nature (and in John's case too close).
Situated less than 50km from the city, the lodge is surrounded by dense jungle and cool mountain streams. It's home to beautiful rare birds, butterflies and, at night, thousands of fireflies. The scenery is quite breath-taking, but paradise surely must have a sting in the tail - and it does.
Chris is first to feel the I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out of Here blues. Having trekked to the top of a mountain and back - so remote we mark our trail - in the sweltering heat and, within sight of the lodge, she walks into a giant spider's web.
It's not like a web at home - this is much thicker, stickier and stronger. It really clings to you. A piercing scream echoes through the valley (it must have been heard in Chiang Mai). John helps to remove the web bit by bit, but Chris sees a ''black thing'' on her shoulder and scream No. 2 matches the first in its intensity.
Once over the shock - and no lasting harm done - we have a laugh about it. But nature isn't done with us yet. Sitting in the open-sided restaurant that night watching a tremendous storm brewing in the mountains above us something lodges between John's shirt collar and neck and decides it likes it - by leaving its sting visible and drawing blood instantly. (We think it was a hornet - again much bigger than ours. How come the beasties are turning on us?) Chris manages to get needle-like sting out in one, but it has left an angry-looking red mark so antibiotic cream on and hope for the best.
Chris spends most of the night checking John for ''signs of life'' (yup, still breathing) - now that's dedication to the cause - and in the morning everything appears hunky dory, though sting has left nasty crater-like wound (More anitbotic cream applied).
Perhaps we're not cut out for this Mother Nature lark after all - and anyway it's time we headed back to Bangkok before embarking on our last but one chapter on our travles.
That will take us to Kanchanaburi and The Bridge Over The River Kwai - an infamous section of the Thai-Burma Railway built by Allied prisoners during the Second World War, men who suffered appalling cruelty at the hands of their Japanese captors.
This next part of our journey, to a place of pilgrimage for those POWs who survived starvation, torture and disease - thousands died building the line - promises tears, but also uplifting tales and deeds of incredible stoicism, bravery and heroism.
Best bet is to hire a taxi for the day from Chiang Mai - we are staying at a neat little guest house The Galare perched alongside the Mae Ping River - and take in a few sights along the way.
Like thousands of others we feel we can't come this far without making a plgirmage to Wat Doi Suthep, a sacred temple in the clouds perched on the summit of a mountain with Chiang Mai scattered like a tiny model city below it.
Reaching the temple itself is an ordeal. Clambering out of our taxi we face a long uphill climb to it - we lost count of the number of steps - but are rewarded by its stunning location, where the locals come to worship a Buddhist relic enshrined in a picturesque golden chedi and where children dressed in colourful tradtional costume dance and sing.
Some 30km north lies the hill tribe village of Baan Ton Luang where four tribes - many who have fled across the border from Myanmar (Burma) in search of a better life - co-exist in blissful harmony. Two, in particular, are fascinating - the Lahu Shibalah (Long Ear) and the Karen (Long Neck).
We pay a fee to access the village - the money going to its upkeep and to helping its inhabitants (who are, to all intents and purposes, refugees) - and, in return, are granted permission to wander around at our leisure. They are happy to show us their way of life, the handicrafts they make and willing to invite us into their homes.
John shoots some crossbow and arrows with local children - manages a bullseye too, much to his amazement - while one of the Long Ear ladyfolk removes one of her huge earrings revealing to Chris the massive gap in her earlobe. Cripes.
But what really knocked us out were The Karens. From the age of five the girls start to wear rings around their necks which are added to year after year until they have in excess of 35 - a tradition handed down over centuries in the belief that it makes them more beautiful. The rings, which must be worn at all times, even when asleep, actually stretch the neck. Strange, but true.
One tribeswoman we spoke to - her English excellent - told us of the consequent health issues - headaches, breathing difficulties, spinal and collarbone problems.
Both Chris and I had the opportunity to feel the weight of these rings and were gobsmacked. You'd get the picture if we told you John needed both hands just to pick them up. Wearing them around the neck for a lifetime doesn't bear thinking about - but to them its their heritage and culture. We left the village and its welcoming people feeling it's a burden no-one should be forced to, quite literally, carry from the age of five to the grave.
John gets it in the neck
We have loved our time in Chiang Mai - the quaint walled ancient quarter, its tiny bars and cafes and lantern-lit riverside restaurants - but next stop is out in the mountains at Tharnthong Lodge, where we can get close to nature (and in John's case too close).
Situated less than 50km from the city, the lodge is surrounded by dense jungle and cool mountain streams. It's home to beautiful rare birds, butterflies and, at night, thousands of fireflies. The scenery is quite breath-taking, but paradise surely must have a sting in the tail - and it does.
Chris is first to feel the I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out of Here blues. Having trekked to the top of a mountain and back - so remote we mark our trail - in the sweltering heat and, within sight of the lodge, she walks into a giant spider's web.
It's not like a web at home - this is much thicker, stickier and stronger. It really clings to you. A piercing scream echoes through the valley (it must have been heard in Chiang Mai). John helps to remove the web bit by bit, but Chris sees a ''black thing'' on her shoulder and scream No. 2 matches the first in its intensity.
Once over the shock - and no lasting harm done - we have a laugh about it. But nature isn't done with us yet. Sitting in the open-sided restaurant that night watching a tremendous storm brewing in the mountains above us something lodges between John's shirt collar and neck and decides it likes it - by leaving its sting visible and drawing blood instantly. (We think it was a hornet - again much bigger than ours. How come the beasties are turning on us?) Chris manages to get needle-like sting out in one, but it has left an angry-looking red mark so antibiotic cream on and hope for the best.
Chris spends most of the night checking John for ''signs of life'' (yup, still breathing) - now that's dedication to the cause - and in the morning everything appears hunky dory, though sting has left nasty crater-like wound (More anitbotic cream applied).
Perhaps we're not cut out for this Mother Nature lark after all - and anyway it's time we headed back to Bangkok before embarking on our last but one chapter on our travles.
That will take us to Kanchanaburi and The Bridge Over The River Kwai - an infamous section of the Thai-Burma Railway built by Allied prisoners during the Second World War, men who suffered appalling cruelty at the hands of their Japanese captors.
This next part of our journey, to a place of pilgrimage for those POWs who survived starvation, torture and disease - thousands died building the line - promises tears, but also uplifting tales and deeds of incredible stoicism, bravery and heroism.
Sunday 15 May 2011
Chiang Mai & The Elephant Nature Park
The Elephant Whisperer - that's Sangduen 'Lek' Chailert. She is a small woman physically, but has the heart of a lion - her sole purpose in life to provide a sanctuary for Thailand's iconic but, sadly, abused animal.
We are staying in Chiang Mai - a city of temples, shrines and culture in the north of the kingdom - and have headed 60 miles north-west to the remote mist-shrouded Mae Taeng Valley to witness the work carried out at Lek's Elephant Nature Park.
This remarkable lady, an award-winning conservationist, single-handedly helps rescue and rehabilitate ill-treated Asian elephants, providing a home for them in a natural forested habitat where tree-tops play hide and seek among billowing white clouds.
There are no elephant rides at this park, and you won't see these magnificent beasts performing demeaning tricks in front of us 'farang' (foreigners). That is strictly taboo - and rightly so. But we do get the chance to get up close and personal - feeding them and helping to bathe them in the river.
Our fellow world travellers Sam and Polly, who we first met in Fiji and have kept in touch with ever since, told us of this incredible place. They spent a week here as volunteers, really getting to know the elephants and the inner workings of the haven by collecting and preparing food, cleaning shelters, digging mud pits for the gentle giants to wallow in and washing them down in the river that courses through the valley.
They were so passionate about what they described as a life-changing experience that we had to experience it for ourselves - albeit in a day. At the end of it were completely bowled over and inspired by Lek and her vision to create a happier world for elephants who after Thailand's logging ban were forced to work the urban streets of Bangkok and Phuket's sleazy nightspots as tourist fodder - their misery and despair all too obvious.
Horrified by seeing at first hand the suffering inflicted on these creatures - we fight back the tears ourselves watching a harrowing film of young elephants being systematically caged, beaten, stabbed and tortured into submission before being 'put to work' - Lek started her rescue operation back in 1992.
She started with two and today the park has 35 elephants, from babies to grand old dames more than 80 years old living a life of new-found freedom.
There are some heart-breaking sights - one whose back has been broken by overwork and carrying too heavy a load, another blinded by man simply because of her defiance - but there are some joyous and uplifting tales too. Lek and her dedicated team of mahouts (elephant caretakers) pioneer a more enlightened approach through love, care, respect and rewarding the animal rather inflicting pain to break its will.
We are thrilled to get a chance to see animals in their natural environment - ones who are not expected to work or perform circus tricks. Feeding them is an extraordinary humbling experience. These massive beasts are full on eating machines - they can't get enough melons and bananas down them, and go through tons of fruit and veg a day (though comically some are fussy, giving their cucumbers a wide berth until they've first had their fill of water melon).
Chris volunteers to help bathe them in the river. After wading out knee-deep she fills bucket after bucket with water, throwing them over the elephants' backs. They simply adore it and respond by filling their trunks and spouting out huge sprays. Wet and wild. This goes on for some 20 minutes and, though hugely rewarding, Chris reports many an aching muscle afterwards.
Bathing over, we return to a viewing deck to see them head straight for their mud pits, which they love to roll around in - ironically, just after they have had their baths. There are also a number of scratching posts to get rid of all those pesky insects and flies.
Before long it's feeding time again -we bend down and place veg and fruit into their trunks and they gently take it from us and do the rest. More please . . .
Back in Chiang Mai that night we reflect over dinner that we've enjoyed a life-changing experience too - and would implore you to think twice if anyone offers you the chance to ride an elephant in Thailand (or anywhere else for that matter).
Our advice for what its worth - don't. Instead should you ever make it to this stunning corner of South-East Asia visit the Nature Park for yourself. Spend a day here, stay overnight, or volunteer to work for a week. You will be richly rewarded by the knowledge that you are helping the elephants and supporting The Elephant Whisperer in her tireless crusade to ensure that these majestic animals never have to suffer again.
We are staying in Chiang Mai - a city of temples, shrines and culture in the north of the kingdom - and have headed 60 miles north-west to the remote mist-shrouded Mae Taeng Valley to witness the work carried out at Lek's Elephant Nature Park.
This remarkable lady, an award-winning conservationist, single-handedly helps rescue and rehabilitate ill-treated Asian elephants, providing a home for them in a natural forested habitat where tree-tops play hide and seek among billowing white clouds.
There are no elephant rides at this park, and you won't see these magnificent beasts performing demeaning tricks in front of us 'farang' (foreigners). That is strictly taboo - and rightly so. But we do get the chance to get up close and personal - feeding them and helping to bathe them in the river.
Our fellow world travellers Sam and Polly, who we first met in Fiji and have kept in touch with ever since, told us of this incredible place. They spent a week here as volunteers, really getting to know the elephants and the inner workings of the haven by collecting and preparing food, cleaning shelters, digging mud pits for the gentle giants to wallow in and washing them down in the river that courses through the valley.
They were so passionate about what they described as a life-changing experience that we had to experience it for ourselves - albeit in a day. At the end of it were completely bowled over and inspired by Lek and her vision to create a happier world for elephants who after Thailand's logging ban were forced to work the urban streets of Bangkok and Phuket's sleazy nightspots as tourist fodder - their misery and despair all too obvious.
Horrified by seeing at first hand the suffering inflicted on these creatures - we fight back the tears ourselves watching a harrowing film of young elephants being systematically caged, beaten, stabbed and tortured into submission before being 'put to work' - Lek started her rescue operation back in 1992.
She started with two and today the park has 35 elephants, from babies to grand old dames more than 80 years old living a life of new-found freedom.
There are some heart-breaking sights - one whose back has been broken by overwork and carrying too heavy a load, another blinded by man simply because of her defiance - but there are some joyous and uplifting tales too. Lek and her dedicated team of mahouts (elephant caretakers) pioneer a more enlightened approach through love, care, respect and rewarding the animal rather inflicting pain to break its will.
We are thrilled to get a chance to see animals in their natural environment - ones who are not expected to work or perform circus tricks. Feeding them is an extraordinary humbling experience. These massive beasts are full on eating machines - they can't get enough melons and bananas down them, and go through tons of fruit and veg a day (though comically some are fussy, giving their cucumbers a wide berth until they've first had their fill of water melon).
Chris volunteers to help bathe them in the river. After wading out knee-deep she fills bucket after bucket with water, throwing them over the elephants' backs. They simply adore it and respond by filling their trunks and spouting out huge sprays. Wet and wild. This goes on for some 20 minutes and, though hugely rewarding, Chris reports many an aching muscle afterwards.
Bathing over, we return to a viewing deck to see them head straight for their mud pits, which they love to roll around in - ironically, just after they have had their baths. There are also a number of scratching posts to get rid of all those pesky insects and flies.
Before long it's feeding time again -we bend down and place veg and fruit into their trunks and they gently take it from us and do the rest. More please . . .
Back in Chiang Mai that night we reflect over dinner that we've enjoyed a life-changing experience too - and would implore you to think twice if anyone offers you the chance to ride an elephant in Thailand (or anywhere else for that matter).
Our advice for what its worth - don't. Instead should you ever make it to this stunning corner of South-East Asia visit the Nature Park for yourself. Spend a day here, stay overnight, or volunteer to work for a week. You will be richly rewarded by the knowledge that you are helping the elephants and supporting The Elephant Whisperer in her tireless crusade to ensure that these majestic animals never have to suffer again.
Saturday 14 May 2011
Friday 13 May 2011
Mekong River Delta
Frogs (their legs tied together so they can't jump), squirming fish in shallow water-filled bowls (they can and do jump, straight out onto the floor in front of us where they wriggle about pitifully) and pigs' testicles and another nether region (a Vietnamese delicacy). Welcome to one of the many markets that line the banks of the Mekong River.
A canopy-covered speedboat - the heat is a searing 36C - has brought ourselves and nine other travellers from urban Saigon into the rural heartland of one of the greatest waterways on the planet. For the past two hours we have been roaring towards the Mekong Delta, passing hundreds of fishing boats and huge slow-moving barges weighed down by their cargo - mountains of sand.
The source of this mighty river is in the Tibetan foothills and, by the time it empties out into the South China Sea, it will have flowed 4,500km through China, Burma, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam.
Today we will just scratch the surface of the River of Nine Dragons - so named for the way it branches out - but hope to learn something about the way of life here, and bring home a few tales from the riverbank.
We have just stepped off our little boat and entered a world totally foreign to us. As well as those live fish and frogs, there are gaggles of geese everywhere, ducks, hens and chicks - again all alive and kicking, for the time being anyway.
This is not a market designed for tourists - it's too remote. Instead it's where the locals come daily to trade and barter. Here, for example, you can choose a chicken - and the supplier will do the rest, kill it, pluck it and, bob's your uncle, it's a fresh bird on the table for dinner tonight.
A canopy-covered speedboat - the heat is a searing 36C - has brought ourselves and nine other travellers from urban Saigon into the rural heartland of one of the greatest waterways on the planet. For the past two hours we have been roaring towards the Mekong Delta, passing hundreds of fishing boats and huge slow-moving barges weighed down by their cargo - mountains of sand.
The source of this mighty river is in the Tibetan foothills and, by the time it empties out into the South China Sea, it will have flowed 4,500km through China, Burma, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam.
Today we will just scratch the surface of the River of Nine Dragons - so named for the way it branches out - but hope to learn something about the way of life here, and bring home a few tales from the riverbank.
We have just stepped off our little boat and entered a world totally foreign to us. As well as those live fish and frogs, there are gaggles of geese everywhere, ducks, hens and chicks - again all alive and kicking, for the time being anyway.
This is not a market designed for tourists - it's too remote. Instead it's where the locals come daily to trade and barter. Here, for example, you can choose a chicken - and the supplier will do the rest, kill it, pluck it and, bob's your uncle, it's a fresh bird on the table for dinner tonight.
Our guide - a delightful 24-year-old from Saigon with a winning smile and wicked sense of humour - takes us around the market, stopping at various stalls, including the one with the pigs' testicles. (Told you she was wicked).
Not for nothing is this emerald green Delta known as the rice bowl of Vietnam. The place is teeming with sack upon sack of the stuff, sitting alongside different types of dried fish and wonderful fruit and vegetables. We lost count of how many crates of melons, mangoes, bananas and limes we saw. Swansea Market, with all due respect to our dear lady cockle and laverbread sellers, will never quite be the same after this.
Back on the boat we make our way along a maze of narrow little arteries - a waterworld of not only boats, but floating houses and markets. We watch little boys, their skins the colour of teak, leap from bridges into the cooling river, take a swim, clamber aboard the coconut boats that line the river's banks and then race back to the bridge to repeat the feat.
We make our way to My Tho, capital of the Tien Giang Province and gateway to the region. We pull up alongside a fancy-looking riverboat where our group lunch on, among other things, catfish - and very good it was too - washed down by a cold Saigon beer.
Next stop is Coconut Village. A circular walk takes us past banana plantations, pig farms and, not unaturally, row after row of coconut trees. We stop to watch a middle-aged lady weave leaves suitable for roofing. Each strip earns her just 100 dong (less than a few pence). She is hard at work every day from dawn to dusk, but still greets us Westerners with a warm smile.
All too soon it's time to head back towards Saigon, but we will reach there much quicker than those barges - some so heavily burdened by their cargoes that they look as if they can barely keep afloat. It's estimated that a one-way voyage from South Vietnam's major city to the Delta for most of the 14,000 vessels that the Mekong's waters daily takes a month. No wonder given the loads they carry.
Our two-hour return trip still offers plenty of time to reflect on a day well spent in a timeless region where life continues much as it has for centuries. We feel privilged to have gained a little insight into a corner of Asia less travelled than many.
It's a fitting way to say Good Night Vietnam as we contemplate another return to Thailand - this time to Chiang Mai in the north of the country and a sanctuary where wounded and abused elephants are able now to roam freely in a natural habitat thanks to a tiny woman with a massive heart and unbreakable spirit.
Tuesday 10 May 2011
Monday 9 May 2011
Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon)
Having spent five lazy days lolling around the lovely resort of Mango Bay on Phu Quoc Island, it's time for a slice of urban reality. Ho Chi Minh City provides it in spadefulls. Formerly Saigon - the most exotic and evocative of names - it's a megawatt bobby-dazzler of a place.
HCMC (it's Saigon for us every time) is, like Hanoi, a metropolis of motorbike madness - two million and counting - but there the similarity ends.
Immediately we sense a more sophisticated city than Vietnam's capital in the north - one that is embracing the modern world and going places. New office buidlings and luxury waterfront apartments are springing up everywhere. It has the same high-octane feel as Bangkok.
There are little alleyways teeming with life, magnificent French colonial-style architecture, ancient pagodas, temples, churches and bustling open-air markets, with stall-holders trading in the same spices and silks their ancestors did a thousand years before them.
Then comes the other side of the coin - towering skyscrapers - one with its own heli-pad - jutting towards the heavens, top fine dining restaurants, five-star hotels, designer shops, an exquisite opera house, museums and malls. Commerce and culture sit side by side and make happy bedfellows.
Where Saigon scores heavily is in its rich history and heritage, nowhere better captured than in its countless art galleries and museums.
Hot and humid it may be - a sticky 36C - but we find the best way to see what it has to offer is by putting our best feet forward and heading out on a walking tour.
We are alarmed to find how little we knew about the Vietnam War and the role Saigon played in it, but visits to a couple of truly impressive museums provide graphic and harrowing history lessons.
The Reunification Palace (formerly Independence or Presidential Palace) is seriously spooky - a bizarre timewarp.
Once a symbol of the South Vietnamese government, it has been left exactly as it was on April 30, 1975, when communist tanks crashed through its outer gates and the Viet-Cong flag was unfurled from the fourth-floor balcony - a dramatic event captured in newspapers and on televisions around the world.
Underneath the building we find ourselves in a warren of concrete tunnels, war rooms and a telecomunications centre, while on the roof a derelict helicopter still sits forlornly. As we walk the building's corridors and peek inside its palatial rooms we feel like we are in a place where time has stood still - and that's exactly what has happened.
The War Remnants Museum isn't bizarre - just gut-wrenching. It took us back to our visit to Cambodia's Killing Fields and the former Tuol Sleng Prison in Phnom Penh - and left us feeling the same way - sad, hollow, and depressed.
It documents in horrifying fashion the atrocities and brutality of the Vietnam War. The mainly black and white photographs of man's inhumanity to man and children affected by US bombing and napalming are shocking enough, but the sight of deformed babies - their defects attributed to the USA's widespread use of chemicals like Agent Orange - are absolutely unbearable.
While it's a one-sided story told from Vietnam's side - we found the propganda both intense and unrelenting - the museum certainly scores by consistenly driving home the message that war is ugly and horrible. Pictures, after all, never lie. We left there knowing what we had seen told the whole appaling truth
Talking of pictures - and on a much happier note - we find some of the best snapshots of Saigon are to be found out on the surrounding streets. Here everyday life rolls seamlessly along - hawkers selling their wares and shouting the odds, pots, pans and saucepans of steaming rice and noodles lining the pavements, little ladies putting electric wires together and motorbike riders, tired of honking their horns, occupying shady street corners stretched out on their machines taking a cat-nap.
Sapped by the heat of the day and after strolling past Notre Dame Cathedral, Saigon's very own version of the grand dame of Paris, we head back to our little hotel in the beating heart of the city for 40 winks of our own.
If Saigon is frenetic during the day, trying to cross the road once the sun has gone down takes on added dimensions. We conquered our fear once in Hanoi. Now we must do it all over again. You have to go for it, or wait kerbside all night for a gap that will never ever appear.
Repeat the formula it is then. Drawing on our experience there, we walk slowly, but purposefully, out into the traffic and pray that we don't get hit. The thousands of scooters, which come from every direction, will ,hopefully, weave around us. We get away with it several times over the next few days - but learn that one unfortunate tourist couple did not, and ended up making a hospital visit.
Nightlife in Saigon, meanwhile, has plenty to offer, with a wide range of street food, bars and restaurants to suit every taste and pocket. One visit to the riverfront proves enough for us. On the Saigon River itself gaudily-lit paddle steamers and floating restaurants try to entice punters on board with special drink and meal offers.
It reeks of tack and tawdriness and is very easy to resist when the street food comes so good and cheap and local family-run restuarants, such as our particular favourite here, The Lemograss, provide such good quality Vietnamese dishes.
Having spent nearly a month in Vietnam our visas are about to expire. We will be Thailand-bound again in a few days time, but no journey to this intriguing land would be complete without a boat trip along the mighty Mekong, one of the world's great rivers.
We want to experience for ourselves what this waterworld, which winds all the way from the foothills of Tibet to the South China Sea, has to offer and, perhaps, meet some of the people for whom the river is the giver of life.
HCMC (it's Saigon for us every time) is, like Hanoi, a metropolis of motorbike madness - two million and counting - but there the similarity ends.
Immediately we sense a more sophisticated city than Vietnam's capital in the north - one that is embracing the modern world and going places. New office buidlings and luxury waterfront apartments are springing up everywhere. It has the same high-octane feel as Bangkok.
There are little alleyways teeming with life, magnificent French colonial-style architecture, ancient pagodas, temples, churches and bustling open-air markets, with stall-holders trading in the same spices and silks their ancestors did a thousand years before them.
Then comes the other side of the coin - towering skyscrapers - one with its own heli-pad - jutting towards the heavens, top fine dining restaurants, five-star hotels, designer shops, an exquisite opera house, museums and malls. Commerce and culture sit side by side and make happy bedfellows.
Where Saigon scores heavily is in its rich history and heritage, nowhere better captured than in its countless art galleries and museums.
Hot and humid it may be - a sticky 36C - but we find the best way to see what it has to offer is by putting our best feet forward and heading out on a walking tour.
We are alarmed to find how little we knew about the Vietnam War and the role Saigon played in it, but visits to a couple of truly impressive museums provide graphic and harrowing history lessons.
The Reunification Palace (formerly Independence or Presidential Palace) is seriously spooky - a bizarre timewarp.
Once a symbol of the South Vietnamese government, it has been left exactly as it was on April 30, 1975, when communist tanks crashed through its outer gates and the Viet-Cong flag was unfurled from the fourth-floor balcony - a dramatic event captured in newspapers and on televisions around the world.
Underneath the building we find ourselves in a warren of concrete tunnels, war rooms and a telecomunications centre, while on the roof a derelict helicopter still sits forlornly. As we walk the building's corridors and peek inside its palatial rooms we feel like we are in a place where time has stood still - and that's exactly what has happened.
The War Remnants Museum isn't bizarre - just gut-wrenching. It took us back to our visit to Cambodia's Killing Fields and the former Tuol Sleng Prison in Phnom Penh - and left us feeling the same way - sad, hollow, and depressed.
It documents in horrifying fashion the atrocities and brutality of the Vietnam War. The mainly black and white photographs of man's inhumanity to man and children affected by US bombing and napalming are shocking enough, but the sight of deformed babies - their defects attributed to the USA's widespread use of chemicals like Agent Orange - are absolutely unbearable.
While it's a one-sided story told from Vietnam's side - we found the propganda both intense and unrelenting - the museum certainly scores by consistenly driving home the message that war is ugly and horrible. Pictures, after all, never lie. We left there knowing what we had seen told the whole appaling truth
Talking of pictures - and on a much happier note - we find some of the best snapshots of Saigon are to be found out on the surrounding streets. Here everyday life rolls seamlessly along - hawkers selling their wares and shouting the odds, pots, pans and saucepans of steaming rice and noodles lining the pavements, little ladies putting electric wires together and motorbike riders, tired of honking their horns, occupying shady street corners stretched out on their machines taking a cat-nap.
Sapped by the heat of the day and after strolling past Notre Dame Cathedral, Saigon's very own version of the grand dame of Paris, we head back to our little hotel in the beating heart of the city for 40 winks of our own.
If Saigon is frenetic during the day, trying to cross the road once the sun has gone down takes on added dimensions. We conquered our fear once in Hanoi. Now we must do it all over again. You have to go for it, or wait kerbside all night for a gap that will never ever appear.
Repeat the formula it is then. Drawing on our experience there, we walk slowly, but purposefully, out into the traffic and pray that we don't get hit. The thousands of scooters, which come from every direction, will ,hopefully, weave around us. We get away with it several times over the next few days - but learn that one unfortunate tourist couple did not, and ended up making a hospital visit.
Nightlife in Saigon, meanwhile, has plenty to offer, with a wide range of street food, bars and restaurants to suit every taste and pocket. One visit to the riverfront proves enough for us. On the Saigon River itself gaudily-lit paddle steamers and floating restaurants try to entice punters on board with special drink and meal offers.
It reeks of tack and tawdriness and is very easy to resist when the street food comes so good and cheap and local family-run restuarants, such as our particular favourite here, The Lemograss, provide such good quality Vietnamese dishes.
Having spent nearly a month in Vietnam our visas are about to expire. We will be Thailand-bound again in a few days time, but no journey to this intriguing land would be complete without a boat trip along the mighty Mekong, one of the world's great rivers.
We want to experience for ourselves what this waterworld, which winds all the way from the foothills of Tibet to the South China Sea, has to offer and, perhaps, meet some of the people for whom the river is the giver of life.
Saturday 7 May 2011
Wednesday 4 May 2011
Phu Quoc Island
Unspoilt Phu Quoc is a tropical island tucked away off the southern tip of Vietnam close to the coast of Cambodia. Inland lies a dense jungle - the backdrop for mile after mile of white sand beaches, swaying palm trees and the warm turquoise waters of the Gulf of Thailand.
Having flown in from Dalat and hopped onto another plane at Ho Chi Minh City Airport we make our way to the peaceful get-away-from-it-all Mango Bay, an eco-friendly resort set around two private beaches at Bai Ong Lang, north of the more popular but still largely undeveloped Long Beach area.
Our garden bungalow set back a few metres from one of the beaches is a dream. It's simple, but perfect - one huge room with four-poster bed replete with mosquito net draped around it, a floor to ceiling mirror, desk and wardrobe, wooden window shutters and a large door shutter opening out onto a wide verandah, with table, chairs and comfy sofa.
Topping it off - and giving it real wow factor - is the bathroom, located outdoors. Loo, washbasin and shower are set back under a canopy from a gorgeous flowerbed. Outside it may be, but it's completely private - surrounded by teak wood walls on every side. Showering in the garden it is then - come rain or shine - with just birds, butterfies and a few friendly geckos to keep one company. Now that's what we call getting back to nature.
Another bonus is that any neighbours are a long way away - the bungalows are designed in such a way that you are able to enjoy total privacy. You can lose yourself in the sheer tranquility of it all, and have as little or as much contact with the rest of the human race as you choose. If it's complete peace and quiet you seek then you can find it here.
Mango Bay's two beaches are both lovely - sheltered coves with little rocky headlands jutting out to sea - perfect for swimming, snorkelling and just plain relaxing. Having started in the far north and taken in Hanoi, Sapa, Halong Bay, Hoi An and the Central Highlands around Dalat - Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) and the mighty Mekong River next on agenda - we are in the mood to do very little over the next five days other than pull up the beach loungers, get out some books and just get plain lazy for a bit.
The resort itself is both informal and spacious, spread out around an open-on-all-sides main restaurant - the front of it almost touches the ocean - and there is also a separate beach bar just a couple minutes walk away.
First call after waking to the sound of birds, and with natural light filtering in through our shutters, is for breakfast - a very relaxed affair with a wonderful spread of fresh fruit, different types of homemade bread, museli, freshly cooked eggs, pancakes, omlettes and sizzling rashers of bacon, mango (naturally), pineapple and passion fruit juices and the most delicious jams - banana and strawberry - that we have tasted anywhere.
After taking a walk around the resort's gorgeous butterfly garden, vegetable patches and woods it's time for a relax on those lovely loungers under straw umbrellas and take a dip in water as warm as a bath.
Having had such a sumptous brekkie - which we linger over far too long (something to do with the view from our table) lunch at the beach bar is a simple affair and shared by the two of us. There are a few other diners there and we watch in amusement over ice-cold drinks as dishes are delivered to the table by waiters on bicycles who have two-wheeled it - one hand steering , the other holding lunch - from the main restaurant about 200 metres away.
After a lite bite there's nothing much for it but to chill out again in the afternoon and repeat the dose - reading, swimming, sunbathing and snorkelling.
Before you know it dusk is setting in and, with Mango Bay west facing, the sunsets here are among the most spectacular we have seen on our travels. Six until 8pm is happy hour at either bar and it would be rude not to join in the fun, especially with some great deals on the cocktails. So 6pm becomes sundowner time in more ways than one before we head to our table for an evening meal which can either take the form of BBQ meats - chicken, beef or pork - or fish freshly caught that day.
Decisions, decisions - and it was while trying to make one of those that we overheard a Welsh accent on a nearby table. Time for introductions all round. The voice was that of Adrian, who hails originally from Tredegar. He and his wife Bah are teachers at an international school in Hanoi and, having recently got married, were enjoying a few days away together with daughter Hanah.
After putting the world to rights, and trying to figure out how far Wales will progress in the Rugby World Cup, it's back to those decisions - which fish dish to go for.
Yes, its that languid and laidback here - and each day falls into the same busy doing nothing pattern. We should be getting out and about on motrobikes to see the island's infastructure, visit the little fishing villages that dot the coast, head for a factory producing a pungent fish sauce and see the necklaces and earrings produced at a pearl farm.
Sadly, and shamefully, we do none of these things. We are gripped by Mango fever - and with a constant high of around 30C, but lulled by gentle breezes and comforted by oodles of shade, we find it's as much as we can do just to decide which beach to visit on any given day. It's gotten as bad as that.
Oh, well. In a couple of days time we will get a serious reality check when we head for fast and furious Ho Chi Minh City, so we will resign ourselves to making the most of playing at lotus eaters for the time being and revel in Phu Quoc for what it is - a taste of paradise proper.
Talk is that this stunning Vietnamese island may fall into the hands of greedy developers over the next few years and could become another Costa del Soulless. Already a huge new main highway is being built and cuts north to south like a deep scar through the forests. There are also plans for a new international airport, golf course and casino.
On the plus side, the vast majority of it - around 70% is protected under national park status - so it would appear that Mango Bay will be safe for others to enjoy it as much as we did. If it's a beach hideaway idyll your after then this is as good as it gets.
Having flown in from Dalat and hopped onto another plane at Ho Chi Minh City Airport we make our way to the peaceful get-away-from-it-all Mango Bay, an eco-friendly resort set around two private beaches at Bai Ong Lang, north of the more popular but still largely undeveloped Long Beach area.
Our garden bungalow set back a few metres from one of the beaches is a dream. It's simple, but perfect - one huge room with four-poster bed replete with mosquito net draped around it, a floor to ceiling mirror, desk and wardrobe, wooden window shutters and a large door shutter opening out onto a wide verandah, with table, chairs and comfy sofa.
Topping it off - and giving it real wow factor - is the bathroom, located outdoors. Loo, washbasin and shower are set back under a canopy from a gorgeous flowerbed. Outside it may be, but it's completely private - surrounded by teak wood walls on every side. Showering in the garden it is then - come rain or shine - with just birds, butterfies and a few friendly geckos to keep one company. Now that's what we call getting back to nature.
Another bonus is that any neighbours are a long way away - the bungalows are designed in such a way that you are able to enjoy total privacy. You can lose yourself in the sheer tranquility of it all, and have as little or as much contact with the rest of the human race as you choose. If it's complete peace and quiet you seek then you can find it here.
Mango Bay's two beaches are both lovely - sheltered coves with little rocky headlands jutting out to sea - perfect for swimming, snorkelling and just plain relaxing. Having started in the far north and taken in Hanoi, Sapa, Halong Bay, Hoi An and the Central Highlands around Dalat - Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) and the mighty Mekong River next on agenda - we are in the mood to do very little over the next five days other than pull up the beach loungers, get out some books and just get plain lazy for a bit.
The resort itself is both informal and spacious, spread out around an open-on-all-sides main restaurant - the front of it almost touches the ocean - and there is also a separate beach bar just a couple minutes walk away.
First call after waking to the sound of birds, and with natural light filtering in through our shutters, is for breakfast - a very relaxed affair with a wonderful spread of fresh fruit, different types of homemade bread, museli, freshly cooked eggs, pancakes, omlettes and sizzling rashers of bacon, mango (naturally), pineapple and passion fruit juices and the most delicious jams - banana and strawberry - that we have tasted anywhere.
After taking a walk around the resort's gorgeous butterfly garden, vegetable patches and woods it's time for a relax on those lovely loungers under straw umbrellas and take a dip in water as warm as a bath.
Having had such a sumptous brekkie - which we linger over far too long (something to do with the view from our table) lunch at the beach bar is a simple affair and shared by the two of us. There are a few other diners there and we watch in amusement over ice-cold drinks as dishes are delivered to the table by waiters on bicycles who have two-wheeled it - one hand steering , the other holding lunch - from the main restaurant about 200 metres away.
After a lite bite there's nothing much for it but to chill out again in the afternoon and repeat the dose - reading, swimming, sunbathing and snorkelling.
Before you know it dusk is setting in and, with Mango Bay west facing, the sunsets here are among the most spectacular we have seen on our travels. Six until 8pm is happy hour at either bar and it would be rude not to join in the fun, especially with some great deals on the cocktails. So 6pm becomes sundowner time in more ways than one before we head to our table for an evening meal which can either take the form of BBQ meats - chicken, beef or pork - or fish freshly caught that day.
Decisions, decisions - and it was while trying to make one of those that we overheard a Welsh accent on a nearby table. Time for introductions all round. The voice was that of Adrian, who hails originally from Tredegar. He and his wife Bah are teachers at an international school in Hanoi and, having recently got married, were enjoying a few days away together with daughter Hanah.
After putting the world to rights, and trying to figure out how far Wales will progress in the Rugby World Cup, it's back to those decisions - which fish dish to go for.
Yes, its that languid and laidback here - and each day falls into the same busy doing nothing pattern. We should be getting out and about on motrobikes to see the island's infastructure, visit the little fishing villages that dot the coast, head for a factory producing a pungent fish sauce and see the necklaces and earrings produced at a pearl farm.
Sadly, and shamefully, we do none of these things. We are gripped by Mango fever - and with a constant high of around 30C, but lulled by gentle breezes and comforted by oodles of shade, we find it's as much as we can do just to decide which beach to visit on any given day. It's gotten as bad as that.
Oh, well. In a couple of days time we will get a serious reality check when we head for fast and furious Ho Chi Minh City, so we will resign ourselves to making the most of playing at lotus eaters for the time being and revel in Phu Quoc for what it is - a taste of paradise proper.
Talk is that this stunning Vietnamese island may fall into the hands of greedy developers over the next few years and could become another Costa del Soulless. Already a huge new main highway is being built and cuts north to south like a deep scar through the forests. There are also plans for a new international airport, golf course and casino.
On the plus side, the vast majority of it - around 70% is protected under national park status - so it would appear that Mango Bay will be safe for others to enjoy it as much as we did. If it's a beach hideaway idyll your after then this is as good as it gets.
Tuesday 3 May 2011
Monday 2 May 2011
Dalat and the Central Highlands
Strawberry fields forever. You won't find much rice grown in the Central Highlands area of Vietnam. This mountainous and forest-clad land, once a refuge for Viet-Cong soldiers during the conflict with America, is instead a paradise for fruit, flower and vegetable growers.
We base ourselves in Dalat, a large town with a French colonial influence - there are elegant chateau-style villas galore and it even boasts its own 'Eiffel Tower'- and check into a hotel in the centre. It's a big barn of a place, but, with the summer season over, there are hardly any guests.
It's night-time and we take a quick self-guided tour of the town, stopping at its central market to see the locals go about their business. Our first impression is that unlike Hoi An, our last port of call, Dalat is much less of a tourist town. Our second is how much cooler it is here - and we quickly learn that its where Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) residents come to escape the searing heat.
The centre of town itself is nothing to write home about - its main street a neon-lit strip of cafes and bars, but over the next few nights we dive into a couple of good restaurants, particularly the bistro-style Long Hoa and the cosy V Cafe which does a nice line in, not only excellent Vietnamese food, but live jazz and blues too.
Breakfast at our hotel the next morning is a tad surreal. The two of us find ourselves solitary diners in this immense ballroom-type annexe, with some five or six immaculately-attired waiters and waitresses. They are all extremely friendly and attentive, to the point of overkill. No sooner are we off our seats to check the content of the buffet than they are fussing around us. They mean well, but we can't help feel dozens of eyes on us, watching our every move.
Our bedroom, too, while fresh, spacious and spotessly clean, is supposed to have a view of the impressive man-made boomerang-shaped Xuan Huong Lake. It does - partially. The lake is there alright - in the distance. In front of it and smack outside is a tatty playground, with rusty carousel and swings that look as if they have been there since the 40s. We can't fault the place for cleanliness and service, but it lacks atmosphere and we are expecting to see Basil Fawlty frogmarch Manuel through the dining room door any time soon.
The next morning we take a 7km walk around the lake, which is flanked by a golf course, flower gardens harbouring hydrangeas, fushisas and orchids, and, on the other side, the top-of-the-range Hotel Sofitel Dalat Palace. On the way we pass by a number of horse-drawn carriage rides that have kitsch written all over them.
Where Dalat scores is that it's a great base for exploring the lush countryside around, and the best way to see it is riding pilion with the town's Easy Riders motorbike crew. They are local guides with a great insider knowledge of the area and for 20 dollars will strap you on the back of their high-powered machines, get their motors running and take you down their very own Thunder Roads.
Okay, let's go for it. Chris on one, John on the other. Our Free Rider (not all embrace the Easy Rider term. Local politics among the bikers, we understand) is Mr Dai Loy and a younger sidekick.
After a false kick-start - John, while clambering on to the back of Dai's bike catches his leg on the box at the rear and, with rucksack full to bursting and off-balance, tips backwards and is sent sprawling to the ground in hilarious fashion. Chris has missed a quite splendid photo opportunity of her husband looking like a dead ant, while there are hardly suppressed giggles all round.
Anyway no damage done (rucksack and motorbike helmet break fall), only to pride, so off we go in Born To Run style. This is the life, leaving the city behind and out into the surrounding verdant countryside, fresh air, clear blue skies and the sun on your back.
We climb and climb into the mountains - the second highest range in Vietnam - every twist and turn offering one breath-taking vista after another. There are frequent stops along the way - at veggie and flower farms, coffee plantations, a visit to an ethnic minority village to see the local ladies weave wonderful patterns into their embroidery. Dai Loy and his partner are proving genial guides and are always receptive to our many questions.
There's also a quick pit-stop to see how rice wine - some of it 70% proof - is made in huge vats. Chris bottles sampling a glass of the moonshine but, naturally, John does not want to miss out on a freebie of the alcohol kind. Verdict - fine nose, full of fruity rice flavour, smooth and full-bodied. Okay, caught in the moment again. Second bite of cherry and sensible answer please - never tried it, but imagine it to be like paint-stripper.
A quick lunch stop - and Dai Loy and mate (whose name we never really got to grips with) whisk us off to the popular Elephant Falls. You can't see much from the top, so we embark on a very dodgy and uneven descent - part path, part cliff - to the waterfall's base. There is a cave at the foot of the falls which we go through to feel the mist-like spray as the water roars over it. You can also squeeze behind the falls themsleves, but it's slippery and unsure underfoot, so discretion being the better part of valour we decide against. Good move, especially on John's part - having already had one tumble and now a glass of rice wine.
Nearby is the Linh An Pagoda. Inside are three large Buddhas, flanked by two more multi-armed ones. But the most spectacular sight lies in gardens behind - a huge Happy Buddha with halo (neon-lit at night). This jolly white giant of a fellow, who sports a huge grin and super-size belly, must be nearly 60-ft tall.
We round off a full day with a visit to the Cuong Hoan traditional silk centre at the nearby Nam Ban village. We enter a small factory and are shown how the fabric is made - from the sorting of locally-grown silkworm cocoons to the boiling, unravelling and dyeing of threads to the finished article of the gorgeous garments themselves.
We base ourselves in Dalat, a large town with a French colonial influence - there are elegant chateau-style villas galore and it even boasts its own 'Eiffel Tower'- and check into a hotel in the centre. It's a big barn of a place, but, with the summer season over, there are hardly any guests.
It's night-time and we take a quick self-guided tour of the town, stopping at its central market to see the locals go about their business. Our first impression is that unlike Hoi An, our last port of call, Dalat is much less of a tourist town. Our second is how much cooler it is here - and we quickly learn that its where Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) residents come to escape the searing heat.
The centre of town itself is nothing to write home about - its main street a neon-lit strip of cafes and bars, but over the next few nights we dive into a couple of good restaurants, particularly the bistro-style Long Hoa and the cosy V Cafe which does a nice line in, not only excellent Vietnamese food, but live jazz and blues too.
Breakfast at our hotel the next morning is a tad surreal. The two of us find ourselves solitary diners in this immense ballroom-type annexe, with some five or six immaculately-attired waiters and waitresses. They are all extremely friendly and attentive, to the point of overkill. No sooner are we off our seats to check the content of the buffet than they are fussing around us. They mean well, but we can't help feel dozens of eyes on us, watching our every move.
Our bedroom, too, while fresh, spacious and spotessly clean, is supposed to have a view of the impressive man-made boomerang-shaped Xuan Huong Lake. It does - partially. The lake is there alright - in the distance. In front of it and smack outside is a tatty playground, with rusty carousel and swings that look as if they have been there since the 40s. We can't fault the place for cleanliness and service, but it lacks atmosphere and we are expecting to see Basil Fawlty frogmarch Manuel through the dining room door any time soon.
The next morning we take a 7km walk around the lake, which is flanked by a golf course, flower gardens harbouring hydrangeas, fushisas and orchids, and, on the other side, the top-of-the-range Hotel Sofitel Dalat Palace. On the way we pass by a number of horse-drawn carriage rides that have kitsch written all over them.
Where Dalat scores is that it's a great base for exploring the lush countryside around, and the best way to see it is riding pilion with the town's Easy Riders motorbike crew. They are local guides with a great insider knowledge of the area and for 20 dollars will strap you on the back of their high-powered machines, get their motors running and take you down their very own Thunder Roads.
Okay, let's go for it. Chris on one, John on the other. Our Free Rider (not all embrace the Easy Rider term. Local politics among the bikers, we understand) is Mr Dai Loy and a younger sidekick.
After a false kick-start - John, while clambering on to the back of Dai's bike catches his leg on the box at the rear and, with rucksack full to bursting and off-balance, tips backwards and is sent sprawling to the ground in hilarious fashion. Chris has missed a quite splendid photo opportunity of her husband looking like a dead ant, while there are hardly suppressed giggles all round.
Anyway no damage done (rucksack and motorbike helmet break fall), only to pride, so off we go in Born To Run style. This is the life, leaving the city behind and out into the surrounding verdant countryside, fresh air, clear blue skies and the sun on your back.
We climb and climb into the mountains - the second highest range in Vietnam - every twist and turn offering one breath-taking vista after another. There are frequent stops along the way - at veggie and flower farms, coffee plantations, a visit to an ethnic minority village to see the local ladies weave wonderful patterns into their embroidery. Dai Loy and his partner are proving genial guides and are always receptive to our many questions.
There's also a quick pit-stop to see how rice wine - some of it 70% proof - is made in huge vats. Chris bottles sampling a glass of the moonshine but, naturally, John does not want to miss out on a freebie of the alcohol kind. Verdict - fine nose, full of fruity rice flavour, smooth and full-bodied. Okay, caught in the moment again. Second bite of cherry and sensible answer please - never tried it, but imagine it to be like paint-stripper.
A quick lunch stop - and Dai Loy and mate (whose name we never really got to grips with) whisk us off to the popular Elephant Falls. You can't see much from the top, so we embark on a very dodgy and uneven descent - part path, part cliff - to the waterfall's base. There is a cave at the foot of the falls which we go through to feel the mist-like spray as the water roars over it. You can also squeeze behind the falls themsleves, but it's slippery and unsure underfoot, so discretion being the better part of valour we decide against. Good move, especially on John's part - having already had one tumble and now a glass of rice wine.
Nearby is the Linh An Pagoda. Inside are three large Buddhas, flanked by two more multi-armed ones. But the most spectacular sight lies in gardens behind - a huge Happy Buddha with halo (neon-lit at night). This jolly white giant of a fellow, who sports a huge grin and super-size belly, must be nearly 60-ft tall.
We round off a full day with a visit to the Cuong Hoan traditional silk centre at the nearby Nam Ban village. We enter a small factory and are shown how the fabric is made - from the sorting of locally-grown silkworm cocoons to the boiling, unravelling and dyeing of threads to the finished article of the gorgeous garments themselves.
Back in Dalat that evening we sit in the V Cafe listening to Beatrice, a cool and sultry jazz singer from the Philippines with a coffee-coated voice not dissimilar to Sade or Nora Jones, and reflect over a glass of the local red Dalat that this relatlively untouched part of Vietnam is unquestionably the real deal. It's off the beaten track a bit - but that is the whole point.
Tomorrow sees us head off to the island of Phu Quoc. It lies off the southern tip of the mainland and promises sunshine, swaying palm trees and a warm turquoise sea. Sadly, it's also under threat from unscrupulous developers, so time to go now before it's too late.
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