Phnom Penh - We're definitely not in Vietnam anymore!

The market opposite our hotel

Cambodia - one has to see it to believe it.  Immediately after crossing the border, it was clear that this place would be very different to Vietnam.  Our bus, careering along now very bumpy highways, began overtaking (among other neck craning sights) giant agricultural trailers, piled high with a variety of goods such as rice sacks, charcoal, trees, sugar canes and chicken cages.  As our bus roared past, a handful of people could often be seen, balancing precariously on top of these carefully balanced loads, their skin dark and sun baked.  And then we'd see the vehicle dragging these ridiculous trailers - and they were all scooters!  Yes, again, the mighty chicken-chaser is king in Cambodia.

This fact has paved the way for one of the more annoying aspects of exploring the cities here.  In Vietnam, it was 'moto' drivers (basically chaps who will take you around town on the back of their scooter for a small fee).  In Phnom Penh, it is the 'tuk-tuk'.  Imagine a horse and carriage, then shrink the carriage a bit and replace the horse with a tiny scooter connected to it with an oily hinge.  The problem is that along all of the roads around us, and at major junctions, tourist attractions and markets, these guys will lounge around in their carriage calling 'tuk-tuk' to any potential customers passing by (ie. the white skinned tourists) - 'hey, tuk-tuk, hello, tuk-tuk'.  Sometimes they will follow you down the road, wait for you to finish your meal and step out onto the street again - 'Hello Sir, where are you from? You want tuk-tuk today? Tomorrow? You wanna going to the killing-field?'  The latter question being an offer to take you to a nearby Khmer Rouge execution ground (more about that later).  Without exaggerating, I probably say 'no thank-you' to these guys 15 to 20 times a day - more if we do a lot of wandering - one after the other as they line up along the streets.  'Tuk-tuk?' 'Tuk-tuk?' 'Why you no wanna go killing-field? You go tomorrow? Where you from?'  And there are still 'moto' drivers and 'cyclos' vying for your business too!

Although we are currently declining as politely as possible, it is starting to get tiresome - when I want a tuk-tuk, I will get a tuk-tuk!  And indeed, this morning, that is what we did, hiring our own driver for the whole day to take us to the killing-fields and other sights that can't be reached on foot. 

It's something of a weighty subject, the horrific rule of Pol Pot, his Khmer Rouge regime and the historical context surrounding it, but I will do my best to give a potted history (as I understand it) and explain some of the sights we saw today in my next post. 

For now, please enjoy some unique images from this fascinating country:

Cambodian Taxi (Tuk-tuk)

Cambodian Ice Cream Van - A scooter with sidecar converted into a shop, and parasol stuck on top!

Cambodian Public Transport

Cambodian Petrol Station - water and Pepsi bottles filled with fuel

It's Hot...Damn Hot, Real Hot!

Cambodia is by far the hottest place we have trodden so far.  At 9:30am today I could feel the sun burning my flesh, as if I were holding it too close to hot coals.  We have therefore escaped to a nearby hotel's poolside to hide beneath giant coconut and banana trees and submerge ourselves as and when required.  Beaming through a faint haze of incense smoke hanging in the still air, the sun is electrifying the water, throwing disco ball sparkles into the shadows in which we lurk and revealing the outlines of the other slovenly souls around us.

Saigon and Out

As our week in Saigon drew to an end, we came to agree on one simple conclusion: The place is amazing! Vietnam saved the best 'til last for us and we would like to one day spend an extended amount of time there. It has everything - from traditional Vietnamese restaurants and bars to the modern comforts of home one craves when away for so long. During the last week, we experienced everything we love about Vietnam, from crouching on tiny chairs in the street beer and food joints, with scooters whizzing behind our backs, to browsing crazy markets or simply wandering the streets where the splendour of 19th century French architecture stands side by side with crumbling 1970's tenement buildings and patchwork fields of rusting corrugated roofs. When the going got too tough (and too hot) Saigon also offers many options for rest and relaxation.  One blazing afternoon found us tucked up on a sofa in the darkened air-conditioned cinema room of a funky little cafe, watching movies and enjoying home-made cherry cokes and a basket of fries. It really is an awesome city.  Everyone is so nice and friendly - you don't get the ice cold city souls that places like London seem to produce. If you're in a cafe, bar, restaurant or shop, and, as I often do, you start flapping your sweat soaked shirt, or simply appear to be suffering in the heat, a staff member will normally do their best to turn on some more fans or even drag an extra fan out of a cupboard for you.  Everyone smiles, everyone says hello, how are you, and we haven't seen a single person shouting or getting angry - in the whole of the Vietnam leg...in this mind numbing heat! This is even more surprising when you look upon the crush of scooters that whirls around the place, crossing huge junctions without traffic lights or any sense of a right of way - they just honk their horn to say 'I'm here' and carry on through.

But, our time in this enchanting country has ended and on Saturday we had to say goodbye. Goodbye to super-cheap beer, goodbye to amazing meals and goodbye to a country that we have loved from day one.

During a six hour bus trip, we made our first land border crossing which saw a giant crowd of people, ourselves included, eagerly waiting for their names to be called by a gruff voiced official stood on a box as and when their visas were approved and passports ready to collect.  After many long hot miles of rice fields, coconut groves, water buffalo and more rice fields, while sat at the back of a limping antique coach (well out of reach of the onboard air-conditioning), we finally reached Phnom Penh in the Kingdom of Cambodia. Sat in the middle of wide flood plains, surrounded by rickety wooden houses on even more rickety stilts and stood at the edge of the Mekong river's final run into the ocean, this city is already proving to be a pivotal point in our long ambling tour of South East Asia.  From here, we will move across country, taking in the ancient temples of Angkor before crossing over the border to Thailand and then northwards into the jungles of Laos - the real adventure begins!

Sunset from the roof of the Foreign Correspondents Club, Phnom Penh (with a jug of fresh pineapple daiquiri)

Country Synopsis - VIETNAM

Likes: THE FOOD! I'd heard good things about Vietnamese food, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality; piles of aromatic leaves and herbs, saucers of fresh chili, pickled garlic and zingy miniature limes, served with plates of beansprouts, baby papaya and other local vegetables, all to accompany delightfully simple but beautifully prepared meat dishes such as barbecued pork, roasted beef or chicken, and perfectly cooked seafood - all eaten with cool rice noodles or rich stocks and marinades. I'm not a "foodie" person, but Vietnamese cuisine is now a firm favourite and something I could not recommend enough.  I even ate, and thoroughly enjoyed, crab claws - yes, the spiders of the sea were devoured by my mighty hand!

Dislikes: To be honest, I have no dislikes. Really, nothing. I'll have another think, hold on.........No, nothing. Amazing weather, cheap and delicious food and drink and the people are lovely. How could it get better?

Favourite Beer: Bia Hoi. Cheap and refreshing and served at the side of the street directly from the barrel. Order a pint, watch the world go by and make friends with the people around you - just what beer was invented for!

Favourite Meal:  Nha Ngan Ngon Restaurant, Saigon, on our last night. Oil lanterns hung from the mesh work of tree branches above this beautiful French Colonial courtyard throw down a soft romantic glow on the dining area.  Around the edge sit every kind of street food vendor the country has to offer, all preparing their dishes by hand from fresh, basic materials and cooking sizzling meat and seafood on tiny charcoal grills and barbecues. Order something from the giant compendium of a menu and the waiters will fetch whatever your taste buds fancy from whoever you fancy it from - plus a beer or two. A perfect blend of Vietnamese tradition with a few French twists adopted from the colonial era, all fresh and bursting with flavour.

Favourite Day: Cycling through the jungle! Click here to see the post on Ha Long Bay.

Cu Chi Tunnels

Yesterday we took a trip to see the Cu Chi Tunnels - this is an area approximately 60km from Saigon which, during the war, was occupied by a pro-North Vietnam population (ie. the VC/Viet Cong or Vietnamese Communists), who launched a guerrilla war on the south (and the US Army) from their formerly sleepy rural idyll - an area quickly identified by both sides as vital in linking the North to the South and a launch pad to invade Saigon.

To escape the barrage of bombs dropped on the area by the US, they dug a staggering network of tunnels and underground shelters, complete with workshops, hospitals and sleeping quarters.  The tunnels were tiny (like, really tiny), and stretched for miles and miles and allowed the guerrillas to launch surprise attacks on the enemy and escape when necessary.  All that remains now are a few sections of tunnel here and there, with one having been dug wider to accommodate the tourists - and this was the one into which we crawled.  The tour guide said it was large enough that we would simply need to bend over and 'walk through' the 100m section, which had been helpfully lit with electric lights.  I was therefore ill prepared when we sunk down an narrow stair case, and down again - taking us to something like 3 metres below the ground - to face a very very tiny, and very very dark tunnel, lit by just a few dim red light bulbs.  The air was thin and oven hot, heavy with moisture which dripped from the walls, and with my knees tucked up under my chest and my head scraping the ceiling of the tunnel, we scrambled into the unknown. 

At times I had to lay down and crawl on my hands and knees and at one stage the walls moved even closer inwards, squeezing down to a point where I had to turn sideways to get my shoulders through.  Where a few light bulbs had blown, we were sometimes in near total darkness, trapped between our own shadows.

And onwards we crawled, trying to calculate in our heads when our 100 metres would be up, when daylight would start to creep in.  It curved and turned sharply, dropped down and rose again, the walls stretching out into the seemingly endless darkness.  Claustrophobia was starting to tap on my shoulder and squeeze my lungs just as I saw the lower part of a girl's legs, upright and standing in front of me, her head up and out of the hole.  A tiny slither of sunlight trickled down to my eyes and after another few steep staircases cut into the dirt, we were at ground  level again, completely soaked in sweat and plastered with fine jungle dirt and soil, elated that we had survived the ordeal (and escaped from the pesky Yanks).  Twenty four of us went in to that tunnel and, to our surprise, just five or six came out, Rosie and I included - the rest, it turned out, had given up and ducked out through the exit tunnel just seven metres in!  We decided not to try out the section of tunnel that hadn't been widened - it being almost half the size of the one we'd just completed.

During the rest of the tour, we saw delights such as a terrifying array of booby traps being demonstrated with a wooden stick - 'this is the GI's leg' the guide said as he sunk it into a hole camouflaged with leaves and branches.  With a snap and a scrape he pulled it out, the stick now pronged and pierced with four large rusty barbed nails attached to a  large steel frame.  'GI gets to take this to hospital stuck to his leg and keep as a souvenir,' he says.  'Now we go to shooting range'.  Here, several members of our group fired AK47's and M1 rifles at targets for prizes while we browsed the nearby gift shop with our fingers in our ears.  Wandering further through the jungle, we came across a mangled US tank, hunched in the same spot where it was destroyed by a home-made anti tank mine fashioned from one of the many unexploded bombs dropped on the rice fields by the American B52s.  A very interesting and harrowing day, and a must for anyone visiting Saigon...sorry, Ho Chi Minh City. 

Our 'guerilla' guide reveals the entrance to a secret tunnel used to escape, hide and launch surprise attacks on the US soldiers

And down I go!

Ever Southward



Rosie, pulling off the beach babe look with ease.

Our time at Mui Ne beach was thoroughly relaxing, with most days spent doing little else than leaning against a palm tree and reading, but with it being the low season (despite the perfect weather), eating and drinking in the nearby bars and restaurants was rather like going out on a Sunday night in winter.  More than a few times did we find ourselves alone among a sea of empty tables, with two or three over zealous staff hovering around us constantly.  It has therefore been something of a welcome shock to arrive now in Saigon (officially known as Ho Chi Minh City).  We are now firmly back in city life, back to scooter dodging and kerbside eating, although Saigon is hotter, stickier, busier, louder and livelier than anywhere we've visited so far - it's going to be a good one.

Florence of Arabia

No, we haven't taken a detour to Africa, this is still very much Vietnam; these are the famous sand dunes near Mui Ne.  And what better way to explore them than on a petrol guzzling, fat tyred quad bike...although, several hours later, we're still finding sand in various nooks and crannies of our clothes and bodies.  At one point, the sand was blowing so hard, in a carpet of dust just a foot or so deep skimming the surface of the dunes, it felt as if my legs were being stripped of their flesh.

We roared up one dune, our 1100cc machine growling and choking between my legs and Rosie clinging on tightly behind me.  Hopping over the top and sailing down the other side, we banked tightly around a giant punch bowl of sand sunk between several dunes and corkscrewed our way up and out, to roar straight to the top of the highest peak allowing panoramic views of the shimmering white virgin sand which rippled, twisted and peaked its way across the lunar-like landscape.  With a rev of the engine and a great burst of sand from the rear tyres as they slipped and spun us around a tight 180 degrees, we were soon hurtling through the grainy air again, back to reality and a cool swig of water to wash the sand from our mouths.

Sleeper Train to Mui Ne



Another rather sleepless sleeper train from the picturesque town of Hoi An ended with a fun morning rolling through the beautiful countryside and getting to know our fellow passengers.  At 9am we were being fed traditional Vietnamese snacks along with very potent, very homemade, very alcoholic, Vietnamese rice wine...a small party therefore ensued in our carriage before we all crashed out in a drunken sleepy slumber.

The purveyors of the rice wine!  A lovely family on their way back home to Saigon.  Mum picked rice to turn it into wine, Son sold the rice wine and Dad was a train driver.  Despite the language barrier, we quickly ascertained that he was a train driver, and not the train driver, as he was knocking back the rice wine as if it were water!

Humidty problems caused my camera to fill with condensation briefly!

And at around midday, we rolled into a tiny train station a few kilometres from the town of Phan Thiet and took a long taxi ride through the countryside to our hotel on the giant crescent beach running between Phan Thiet and Mui Ne.  After crashing out in our room and sleeping until the sun had set, we took a stroll along the beach, indulged in some comfort food (amazing burgers) and fell asleep again in our stylish room on the 1st floor of the Mui Ne Backpackers Hotel to the sound of the waves crashing onto the beach directly below our balcony.

On a Monday morning in the middle of October, we pulled back the curtains to see this:

We're heading down there, with nothing but books and sun cream and a a few hundred thousand Dong for an ice cream and a beer later.  Monday mornings will never be the same again.

Postcards From Hoi An

Ha Long Bay

Sitting around 150km from Hanoi, Ha Long Bay is supposedly the place to visit when staying in Hanoi - it did not disappoint. Recently listed as one of the seven natural wonders of the world, it is a giant area sitting just off of the North Vietnamese coast where hundreds of giant limestone towers protrude from the ocean, forming a maze of coves and bays and some of the most stunning scenery this area of the world has to offer.

Day one saw us leaving Ha Long city on a seven cabin cruiser, bobbing up and down alongside dozens and dozens of similar boats, all pointed in one direction, forming an armada of tourists ready to invade the vast array of rock formations laying on the fuzzy horizon ahead. The scenery just grew and grew, each minute revealing more spectacular views from the top deck of our creaking wooden vessel. Immense stacks of rock floated past, coated in lush vegetation and with sheer faces of stone launching straight up out of the water. Wide glassy bays opened up and closed behind the chugging boat, surrounding us with crescents of towering shards of land, the echo of our boat's engine coming at us from all angles, and giant hawks swooping down from their cliff side perches.

As the sun grew large and pink, sinking slowly between the formations, our boat dropped us at a small beach where we swam in it's warm glow until it disappeared from view. Back aboard, and after warm showers, we ate and climbed up to the deck, now bathed in moonlight, to watch the stars shimmer over the platinum tinged sea. Although the first day was spent shoulder to shoulder (or fender to fender) with other day trippers, there was no escaping the beauty of the place, and fortunately, day two took us further into the formations and away from the crowds. The weather, however, began to turn, and the blue skies of the previous day were replaced by a sky piled high with gloomy grey clouds and heavy showers. With the portholes and hatches sealed, we chugged our way towards "Monkey Island" through driving rain, the small day boat we had switched to rolling and swaying on the rough waters. Our boat landed directly onto the deserted beach of this tiny tropical island. A plank was lowered and we were back on dry land again in the middle of a huge downpour. With my camera safely sealed in a waterproof pouch, we took to the hills and climbed up to the top of the rock on which we stood in nothing but shorts, t-shirts and flip flops, in search of monkeys.

It seems that monkeys don't like the rain (although we weren't too keen on seeing one up close, having heard how aggressive they are - 'sit down and throw sand at them' - was the advice we received for an encounter) but we were glad to catch sight of one as we were climbing back onto the boat, searching for any bits of food we might have dropped.

After a well deserved lunch in rather soggy clothes, our boat continued to Cat Ba island where we were to spend our second night. Again landing in a torrent of rain, we sealed up our rucksacks and virtually waded through the puddles on the small pier. Our luggage was loaded onto a scooter which zoomed off ahead of us and into the jungle. The second night's accommodation awaited us at the end of a 5km bicycle ride through Cat Ba National Park. 'One road in, one road out,' as our guide had said.

The next 30 minutes were unforgettable. Having joined up with two sisters from Canada, the four of us pedalled off along the single track road towards the unknown.  Rosie, Brianna and Hayley clad in plastic bag polkadot ponchos and I in nothing but my T-shirt and shorts which were already soaked. We whizzed along a long sweeping track which hugged the edge of a turquoise lagoon before climbing up into the thick jungle, cutting through a ravine and dropping down into the valley below, the rain streaming from the skies the entire time, filling wide puddles which exploded as our tyres crashed into them and pattering heavily on the giant leaves of exotic plants which reached out from the jungle at us . Crossing flat rice paddies, we entered a small village with banana trees hanging over the road and families watching TV soap operas in the shelter of their tiny single storey concrete homes. Lazy dogs raised their heads as we passed and children stopped their board games to say hello. After cycling through this perfect slice of rural Vietnam, the road ended and a small scattering of bungalows stood before us, surrounded by palm trees and tropical gardens and with a trickling stream running between them. We knew we had arrived somewhere special - a million miles from the noise and fumes of Hanoi.

The rain soon stopped and the land began to steam and swell as the sun burnt through the heavy cloud. After drying out for a moment and catching our breath, we loaded up a washing line with our wet clothes and headed out into the jungle again. This time, the air was filled with pale yellow butterflies, all enjoying the respite from the rain. They flicked and floated around us before landing on tree trunks like a hundred butterscotch leaves of velvet. Freshwater crabs scuttled across our path, splashing clumsily into tiny streams, and ants poured from the ground to devour the giant insects drowned in the rain.

We spent the evening drinking and chatting with our Canadian friends and some friendly Australians in a small bar in the village. Geckos chirped from the walls and large spiders lurked in the shadows beneath the thatched roof. Outside, the sounds of the forest echoed around the valley.  We finished our drinks, staggered through the darkness to our hut and slipped inside our mosquito net while another ridiculously-sized arachnid hung menacingly in the eaves above us.

Despite the unwelcome room-mate, we slept very well and woke early to the chorus of the village's cockerels.  Having enjoyed a pancake breakfast, we climbed aboard our bicycles and soared quietly through the early morning mist, back along the single track road to the dock. A small boat appeared through the haze and we said goodbye to our first (amazing) jungle experience. We then spent a few hours sailing slowly through the maze of rock formations towards the mainland. With the sun now scorching down on us from a clear blue sky, we laid out our entire, still damp wardrobe on the deck, along with a row of soggy Vietnamese Dong & US Dollar notes, and my still saturated Converse trainers.

It was, yet again, an unforgettable experience. We spent a few more days in Hanoi, savouring the atmosphere and revisiting some of our favourite eateries before boarding a sleeper train to Danang from where we took a taxi to Hoi An, a small ancient town on the coast, roughly midway between Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City. A picturesque row of bars and restaurants lines the edge of the river into which tiny floating lanterns are cast in the evening, and beautiful tropical beaches lie just on the edge of town - I think we're set to have a very relaxing week.

Lazy Day in Hanoi

Enjoying a few cups of strong Vietnamese coffee (made with sweetened milk) as I write up the Ha Long Bay episode...

Hanoi

We no longer have to worry about scooters on pavements....because there are no pavements!

Here in old town Hanoi, although there are pavements, the majority of life is conducted on them and over them, and so most of our wandering is done single file in the road itself.  Scooter parking, scooter hire and repair, clothes shops, green grocers, off licenses, bars, restaurants and barber shops - all are conducted on the pavements.

With a sub tropical sun already high in the sky at 9am, an army of scooters buzzes through the narrow streets, swerving and dodging pedestrians and oncoming traffic and loaded up with two, three, sometimes four passengers plus animals and luggage (we've seen scooters piled so high with boxes, fruit, beer, doors, tables - anything you can imagine, that all that can be seen of the vehicle beneath is two small black tyres poking out). Ladies in traditional Vietnamese conical hats wander along the kerbside selling anything that can be carried, from pineapples and bananas to flip flops and bras, all piled high in two bamboo trays hanging from a wooden beam balanced across their shoulders. Tiny restaurants, big enough for just a stove and a fridge, spread children's sized plastic chairs and tables across the kerbside where hungry locals perch just inches from the ground to have their breakfast of beef or chicken noodle soup. The smoke from the wood ovens ribbons through the streets and blends seductively with the sweet aromas of the freshly ground coffee, also being served on tiny tables and chairs beneath the hanging vines of giant banyan trees, their roots bulging beneath the hot concrete. From darkened doorways, small children smile and wave shyly at us, the older, more confident ones dance around our feet calling 'hello, hello, hello, how are you, hello!'

These street side restaurants serve the most delicious yet simple food, and as we squat down at a table, one needs to say little more than 'hai' (two) and within minutes, steaming dishes of food arrive at the table - no choice, no menu, just whatever that particular establishment serves on that day.  One highlight has been 'bun cha' - small patties of barbecued pork in a meaty broth laced with fresh papaya and herbs, served with rice noodles, chili and garlic, and a giant colander of greenery such as mint, coriander and parsley, all smelling like an English garden in spring.  This zingy mixture of components are added to the broth in whatever proportions you choose, to be slurped down with a large glass of Vietnamese iced tea.

Pho Bo - beef noodle soup.

At night, the famous Bia Hoi joints open alongside the restaurants and in front of closed shop fronts, serving super cheap, super cold, locally brewed beer until the barrel is empty. Each place serves something different, whatever the family has been making, and again, the miniature picnic chairs are spread across the sidewalk, often spilling over into the road as more thirsty people arrive and more chairs are unstacked.

Bia Hoi - 4,000 Vietnamese Dong per pint (about twelve pence)

It was while sat at such an establishment this week (at what is known as 'Bia Hoi corner') that a sudden cry echoed through the streets, passing from one shop to the next.  Tourists, with worried expressions on their faces, began pouring from the crowds further up the street. The owners of the joint we were in leaped to their feet along with everyone in the many bars and restaurants around us. In a second, the seats were pulled out from beneath us as they hissed 'You pay, you pay,' under their breath, trying to take the drinks from our hands.

'What's happening, what is it?'

'Poleeese! Poleeese! You go!' came the response from the owner, now stacking chairs inside her small shop front and dragging crates of beer into the darkness.

Above the commotion, a small flat-bed Suzuki truck could be seen crawling slowly towards us - like a tiny troop carrier with a canvas cover slung over the back. People continued to flee the scene and not wishing to be caught up in whatever was heading our way, we downed our beers and slipped away into a nearby alley, still rather confused as to what was going on but keen to exclude ourselves from it.

But then the truck turned, rolling straight into the very alleyway in which we were now stood, catching us in its headlights, through which we were able to make out the silhouettes of a small squad of military police on foot, angrily barking orders at bar owners and street food vendors as they tore signs and price lists from the walls, kicking over chairs and tables and sending bottles and glasses smashing to the floor.

We strode quickly ahead and soon reached the top of the alleyway to merge with the crowds of a busy main road. With the police far behind us, the bar owners here had no clue of what was heading their way and one owner eagerly waved us towards awaiting tables, saying 'hello, hello, welcome, beer!'

'Police,' we whispered, pointing in the direction from which we had just come.

'Pay now! Pay now!' came his response as he turned to his customers and immediately began collecting empty bottles, stacking the chairs and calling to the neighbouring businesses along the street.  The same pandemonium as before ensued.

It later transpired that although these places are allowed to sell beer and food on the pavement, it is illegal to set up chairs and tables in the street itself, and that, in general, the police like to cause a bit of chaos and flex their muscles every once in a while whether the law demands it or not. Having satisfied ourselves that being nothing but naive tourists, we couldn't been seen to be in the wrong, off to a more secluded bar we strode, although we made a point of looking over our shoulders as we walked!

Chaotic, loud, pleasingly rough around the edges yet with some of the friendliest people we've met so far, Hanoi was proving to be a highlight of the trip after just a few days. But then we went to Ha Long Bay...and that is another story.