8itchyfeet

Fish out of water

Published on March 19, 2016 by 8itchyfeetLeave a comment

Like fish out of water. That’s us in India. Flip, flop, flap… gulp. Official sources on such matters (the Cambridge thesaurus) suggest that fish out of water feel awkward because they are in a situation that they have not experienced before or because they are very different from the people around them. One might have thought it was because they can’t breathe.

In any case, we landed in a nice comfortable goldfish bowl at Kolkata. The airport was modern and the immigration officials friendly, jovial even, as they processed our visas. Thanks to Emma’s intelligence gathering we even felt confident as we found the pre-paid taxi window and purchased our taxi voucher avoiding other touts and ‘helpers’.

Our taxi had character and I was initially enthused. It looked decidedly British which I guess makes sense given Kolkata is an East India Company town. It was battered and bruised and shook like an aftershock as it rumbled us off into the night.

Colours swirled, lights flashed, sounds blared and unfamiliar smells intruded through the open windows. We four fish had jumped out of our pond. I don’t think I can quite describe the sensation associated with this taxi journey. It was disarming. I felt like a babe in the woods as we rattled through the streets.

And then there was a really loud BANG! The front right hand side of the car dropped. Our driver said nothing, but pulled the steering wheel to the left as the car limped off to the side of the road. I jumped out with him to inspect the damage, hoping like mad that this clapped out old car had a spare.

It did and our driver silently got stuck into to affecting the fix. Nothing unusual here. Old tyre off, I inspected the cause of the ‘pop’. Tyres don’t usually just go ‘pop’. This tyre however had nowhere else to go. It was completely bald. Like someone had sanded the tread to make it smooth.

Tyre changed we dashed back off into the night. On and on we went. Amy and Oliver snuggled into Emma in the back seat for support as we swerved, dodged and scraped our way down roads and through tiny backstreets and lanes, the traffic governed by no discernable rules and therefore more chaotic than Hanoi’s river like flow. We could have been headed anywhere.

An hour and a quarter later and with a collective sigh of relief we turned a final disorienting corner and saw another goldfish bowl. Our hotel was serene and western looking. We hurried in, took a deep breath, ate dinner and quietly contemplated what on earth we were doing here (at least I did) before dropping off to sleep.

The next day started slowly. No one was rushing back onto the streets after the previous night’s taxi ride. India is a little bit different to Australia. Just a little. Early afternoon however we ventured forth – metaphorical aqua lungs on. Amy clung to my arm like she hadn’t since our first day back in Bangkok. Oliver appeared less phased. Emma summoned internal fortitude and moved bravely on although I got the sense she would have been just as happy to remain in the hotel. How wonderful I told myself that there are still places where just stepping outside is an adventure!

The scene was less chaotic than my imagination. Daylight has a way of slowing things down, or maybe the street just moves more slowly in the light. We gained some confidence, or at least I did, I’m not sure about the others. The streets of Kolkata bear no resemblance to home although it is quite beyond me to describe how. Urban India has a texture about it that is dirty, gritty, colourful and enthralling all at once. To our foreign eyes there is a constant abundance unfamiliar sights, and many more moving parts than we are accustomed to. The streetscape, for example, includes pigs, horses, cows and the occasional camel, all equally a part of the place along with the usual motorised vehicles.

We soon happened across an Indian ‘Thali’ restaurant that looked like the kind of place four Australian fish might take a breather. It’s a good thing we are all so good-looking because otherwise it could have been awkward when all eyes turned curiously towards us as we were shown to a table.

Thali involves a small sample of may different kinds of curries and breads and other bits and pieces and was a culinary treat. We may be fish out of water but we do like the food. After lunch, and with what air we had left in our lungs, we explored Kolkata. Strolling through parklands on our way to the Victoria Monument, we stumbled across dusty cricket games, kids flying kites high above the city, other kids doing head stands on bikes and locals racing up to us on horse back to offer us rides.

Many many cricket games in Kolkata open space

We flew to Jaipur the next day where we met Naresh, our driver for the next two and half weeks and undoubtedly the best decision we have made about travelling to India. Naresh’s white air-conditioned Toyota Innova is a like a goldfish bowl on wheels, moving us through the Indian landscape without quite being part of it. Naresh also knows where all the foreign fish like to eat and what we like to see. He says you need three things to drive in India. ‘Good luck, good brakes and a good horn’. Naresh has all three and in his capable hands we all started to relax into our Indian journey.

We were a little less like fish out of water at Jaipur’s highly trafficked tourist attractions, although on one occasion a group of cool looking twenty something’s sidled up to us phones out and snapping selfies by our side. On another, I flashed a smile at a group of ladies in brightly coloured saris sending them into a huddle of giggles. Nothing unusual here of course, I have that effect on all the ladies. On a couple of other occasions, we turned the tables on our Indian admirers requesting our own photos of them.

The truth be known, it is Amy and Oliver that are the stars. There are other ‘western fish’ here to be sure, but very few of them under the age of 30 and many more in the grey nomad age bracket. When Amy and Oliver decide they have had enough being the centre of attention and opt out of a photo shoot a look of disappointment invariably passes the face of their adoring fans. I dutifully offer myself up as a consolation prize but a consolation prize probably best describes how I am received.

Jaipur’s list of attractions was unexpectedly wonderful. The Amber Fort is perched halfway up a hill on the outskirts of the city. It was the main hangout for Raja Man Singh the first and his twelve wives. Man Singh was the Kacchwaha or King of Amber, a state later known as Jaipur and when he wasn’t off conquering other lands spent his time entertaining his twelve wives, and a bunch of mistresses by all accounts, all of whom seemed bound up within the strict limits of their status and gender.

One of Man Singh’s wives loved gazing at the stars but rules dictated that it was not appropriate for her to sleep in the open air. Humans are so random. Anyway, instead of changing the rules the Man Singh put in a mail order for the very finest glass tiles available which just happened to be from Belgium. Ten months later they arrived and Man Singh built the ‘Sheesh Mahal’; a stunning bedroom plastered with thousands of sparkling glass fragments. Just one candle is enough to make the whole hall sparkle like a starlit night.

Today, shining an iPhone torch on the ceiling of the Sheesh Mahal creates the same star-lit night effect, even in the middle of the day. Our guide showed us how to take some tricky photos with the mirrors that other tourists just couldn’t figure out.

Original paintwork made from crushed gemstones

The king would sit in the middle watch musicians and dancers

Working on getting the kids in the photos

At the Jaigarh Fort we played round two of a new game that is emerging for us as we travel. We call it, ‘How to ditch the dude’. Round one was played back at the Beng Mealea temple back at Angkor where we unwittingly picked up a local who appeared intent on inserting himself into our little party as a guide. It was a little awkward because we really weren’t looking for company on that occasion. Unsure quite how to avoid making a scene we sat quietly as he moved on ahead urging us to follow. As we sat we quietly discussed, ‘how to ditch the dude’.

At the Jaigarh Fort we turned a corner in the maze like interior corridors of the huge complex and were again picked up by an unsolicited helper. This may have been fine except that 15 minutes before yet another helper had already taken it upon himself to explain to us the history of the ‘worlds largest cannon on wheels’. This was great but when the unsolicited tour ended it became abundantly clear it was not free.

‘Tip, as you like it sir’, he indicated to me confidently. ‘Oh, oh ok’, I said as I fumbled through my wallet for some rupees to buy our freedom. The same thing had happened back at Kolkata airport with a guy who jumped in uninvited to load our bags into the taxi and when we were boarding the train to Bangkok back in Thailand. We still haven’t mastered the best way to approach the whole unsolicited help thing yet.

Worlds largest cannon on wheels – towed there by 4 elephants

We followed our next helper along, quite unsure whether he worked for those charged with looking after the Fort or not and just what this bit of guiding was going to get us into. We all looked at each other and whispered something under our breath about another game of ‘how to ditch the dude’. It turned out to be easier than we expected when drums started beating elsewhere in the fort and he dumped us and ran off without a backward glance. We did an about turn and retreated the way we had come before he re-emerged. Another dude successfully ditched without diplomatic incident!

The Jaigarh and Amber fort’s are really part of the same complex despite being built some 500 years apart. Perched high on the hills above Jaipur, Jaigarh is around a thousand years old, Amber roughly 500. Even today they evoke the romantic image I have in my head about India of bygone times. Gorgeous archways frame magnificent views over the countryside and Great Wall of China style defences encircling the complex for 12 kilometres below. These were halls of royalty, wealth and privilege and visiting them even 500 or a thousand years later felt like taking a sneak peak into the goldfish bowl of the Indian elite from another time.

Looking up at Jaigarh Fort from Amber Fort

The Jaipur City Palace I found to be somewhat less impressive although there was a snake charmer at the front entrance. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes. Really, I thought. They actually do that? Apparently so, because there was a live cobra, hood extended and twirling away out of a little wicker basket as its master played his Indian thing-a-ma-jig. I couldn’t help but snap a photo although I’m not really sure I ought to have been encouraging the practice.

Four days in Jaipur done, on our next stop we will be further from the goldfish bowl than ever before. We’re off to Baran to meet Remlekha, a girl we have been sponsoring through World Vision for the last nine years. We will be the first World Vision sponsors to visit her villiage and I’m really excited to meet her.

Angkor observations

Published on March 11, 2016 by 8itchyfeet4 Comments

Angkor Wat. Long has it loomed in our imaginations and as our tuk tuk circled the entrance I whispered in Emma’s ear that I couldn’t really believe we were here. It was one of those moments where I become acutely aware of time. A place like this fires the imagination and motivates you to get out and see the world. It’s the sort of place that inspired us to stop work for 12 months and pack up our lives into a shipping container and a few backpacks. And there we were, looking at it. Briefly. So long in the imagination, how quickly the visit goes.

Many of you have probably been to Angkor yourselves or will have seen documentaries about it. So you don’t need me to tell you it is a wonder of the ancient world worthy of the title ‘wonder’. It is a monumentally large collection of stones; each, as far as we could tell, individually crafted to fit seamlessly next to the ones that surround it to produce a building that is hugely impressive.

I have come to think of Angkor Wat itself as a monument to the equally monumental insecurity complex of King Jayavarman VII. Jayavarman VII, you see, came to power by dubious means; murdering his uncle the rightful king to seize power at the tender age of 14.

Knocking off your uncle to become King however doesn’t tend to inspire others to keep following you for long and so the young Jayavarman needed a way sure up his reign. Of course the best way to do this is to have your minions build something so big and impressive that your god-like status becomes unquestionable. It worked and 800 years later here we are ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ along with a couple of thousand others as we crawl all over the legacy of Jayavarman VII’s ambition and insecurity.

When I feel insecure I mostly tell myself to ‘suck it up’ and get on with it or dump my worries on Emma who tells me ‘she’ll be right, we’ll work it out’. Maybe it’d be better if I built something. Well not me of course, but my minions. No, wait. I don’t have any minions. ‘Suck it up’ is better.

Where was I…

Oh yes, ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’. Emma and I were ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’, along with our new friends Andrea and Peter from Canada. We really have met some wonderful people on this trip. Amy and Oliver along with Andrea and Peter’s kids Sydney and Tobin were melting and dare I say it, moaning. Not that I hold that against them. Siem Reap is really hot. It was 37 degrees as we explored today’s temple and this place may have fired mine and Emma’s imaginations, but that makes it our dream, not theirs.

We towed Amy and Oliver through the temples like they were our minions (maybe I do have some after all) doing our best to explain why it was all so great. Before we arrived we had all watched a few documentaries about Angkor and so I think they got it to a certain degree. Despite our best efforts however I suspect that from their perspective one stone pile soon began to look much like the next especially as they felt like they were slowly roasting in an oven on low heat.

Oliver and Tobin found a shady spot to ‘play’

On another family’s travel blog we recently read what one of their children reflected in his journal about his experience of Angkor Wat:

“Mom took us to see an impressive, large, ancient, temple ruin filled with exquisite stone carvings… and then, she took us to see five more.”.

That probably about sums it up for Amy and Oliver I think. The same family said if they made a movie of their visit it would be titled, ‘Angkor Wat and the search for shade’.

We caught our first glimpse of Angkor at around 11.00 am on the day after we arrived. Andrea and Peter had arranged a tuk tuk driver and we figured we would grab another and follow along. Of course arriving at this time is completely the wrong thing to do. According to the Siem Reap, Angkor Visitors Guide:

‘The visual impact of Angkor Wat, particularly on one’s first visit, is awesome. To maximize this effect you should make your first visit in optimal lighting conditions, after 2.00pm when the sun is on the face of the temple. Do not make your first visit to Angkor Wat in the morning when the backlighting obscures the view.’

Yep backlighting is a problem. It ruins the photo and photos after all are why we come – right?

If you were a visitor from outer space observing the scene you could reasonably discern that touring Angkor is not permissible unless accompanied by some form of photographic device. They’re everywhere; looped around wrists, hanging around necks, go-pro strapped to heads and phones strapped to selfie sticks.

Some of the eager photographers just after sunrise

If you can permit a small diversion from the story, back in Bangkok we were squeezed into a minibus like sardines on one occasion and couldn’t help but look over the shoulder of the lady in front of us as she reviewed the photos on her phone. She went through what surely must have been more than a hundred selfies in front of various attractions. There wasn’t one in which she did not feature.

It is astounding the extent to which Angkor and all the surrounding temples are photographed. Equally astounding can be the behavior of people in search of a photo. Just today, Amy and I were happily looking over a parapet at a fallen tower of Jayavarman, taking in the crumbled piles of moss covered stones within the still standing skeleton of a once huge temple when we were tapped on the shoulder and asked to step aside.

‘What for?’, I asked in a disgruntled tone of voice.

‘Photo’, the man replied gesturing towards his camera as the obvious reason why it was important that Amy and I instantly move out of the way to make room for his significant other to stand where we were. I confess to being annoyed, though Emma quickly counselled me not to let it ruin my day.

Waiting for the ‘photo spot’ at Ta Prohm Temple (of Tomb Raider fame)

It was indicative of the extent to which cameras dominate so many peoples experience, including ours. I confess to being snap happy too, though I try as much as possible to point the camera at the scenery rather than myself or even Emma, Amy or Oliver. If touring ‘five more temples’ in the baking heat after the first ‘really cool’ one isn’t enough to try your patience, then being asked to smile or turn so you face the other way while someone else points a camera at you certainly will.

Nobody ends up happy. The photographer is frustrated by an un-cooperative subject while the subject is frustrated at being used as a prop to enhance the scene. It’s not really as bad as that may make it sound, it just plays out as an unspoken tension simmering below the surface of everything else that is going on as part of your visit right at that moment.

The problem with cameras is that after a while you start to look at everything for its photographic potential, or as illustrated above, just being rude because the photo is more important than being polite. A photographic mindset undoubtedly distracts you from being present, while you are present, in this place that you have wanted to see for so long.

At one point during our visit Amy made a comment to me, the exact wording of which I cannot remember, but to the effect of, ‘all you do is take photos’. It was said in the disgruntled voice of an 11-year-old who thought the first temple was ‘really cool’ but then had to look at five more and who would really rather have been in the pool back at the hotel because it was 35+ degrees.

Her comment made me question what impact my snap happy ways was having on our overall experience. Do I really want the lasting impression I leave from this trip to be ‘my dad was busy taking photos’? Would I be better off focusing my attention on our collective experience of the place and might this in fact have helped others to have enjoyed it more? I couldn’t help but wonder. After Amy’s comment I stowed the camera and started kidding around with Oliver, bouncing him on my back and pretending to be an elephant. This undoubtedly helped lift his experience for a while.

We like taking nice photos and we do use them to share on this blog. I know we have also looked back fondly at the photos from our previous travels from time to time, so they are not a wasted effort in that sense. Still there has to be a happy medium and Angkor Wat has made me think I need to reign it in at least a little bit – it’s not all about the photo and backlighting shouldn’t be allowed to diminish the experience.

One of the many amazing carvings depicting Hindu mythology

So on our last day of visiting the temples I didn’t take a single shot, an over reaction for sure. We took a drive through the Cambodian country side to a temple called Beng Mealea. It’s about an hour and half away from the main complex of Angkor. Emma, admittedly, seized the chance to be photographer for the day, but in a more genteel and subtle way perhaps than I. It was here that Amy and I were interrupted from our non-photo minded observations by the photo hungry hordes.

I don’t know if the lack of photography had anything to do with it but this temple was probably everyone’s favourite. It was more wild than the others and there was more opportunity to scramble over rocks and climb vines, so that no doubt also played a part.

Taking time out from being photographer at Beng Mealea

There is however nothing better than a pool and we did only visit Angkor every second day which ensured Amy and Oliver had plenty of time playing with their friends. In fact, thanks to Andrea and Peter, Emma and I actually got to spend 4 hours looking at Angkor on our own while Amy and Oliver played back at the hotel.

Amy and Sydney spent most of their time in the pool while Oliver and Tobin bonded over games on my phone. Not ideal perhaps but they were having so much fun. Unfortunately, the pool did nasty things to the girls hair. I’m pretty sure Cambodia does not apply Australian pool chemical standards and we were going through a bottle of conditioner a day for a while, trying to repair the damage.

At least we had a pool though. Chatting with our driver on the way to the Beng Mealea temple was something of an eye opener. Cambodia may once have been the centre of a vast and wealthy empire overseeing the better part of south east Asia, but that of course is not its lot today. Peiron (our driver) dropped us at the gate of our hotel after the day out and looked on almost wistfully as we disappeared to get into our swimmers. ‘Very hot’, he had earlier told us, ‘Cambodians no have pools’.

Siem Reap exists today to service fly in fly out tourists visiting Angkor. It and our hotel is a world apart from the real Cambodia we caught only a glimpse of through the window of our air-conditioned car. Alas we are out of time to see more. On the positive side we did enjoy the Phare Circus one evening. The circus is part of a social enterprise formed after the fall of the Khmer Rouge. As the website says:

“… formed 20 years ago by 9 children and their art teacher when they returned home from a refugee camp after the fall of the Khmer Rouge. As survivors of the war, empowered by the creative self-expression learned through their art-making, the group wanted to share this gift of the arts with the underprivileged children of Battambang. They founded an art school and a public school quickly followed to offer free education. A music school and theatre school were next, and finally, the circus school. Today more than 1,200 pupils attend the public school daily and 500 attend the alternative schools.”

The Pol Pot – Khmer Rouge era and its horrors have not been a major feature of this visit for us. We got closest through the personal recollections of another wonderful driver (Mr Khorn) who told us something of his personal experiences as a young boy, including villagers being tricked out to welcome back the king only to be mown down by guns.

This evening we are off to Bangkok for a night before we leave SE Asia. Our minions have caught up on another dose of school work today and are now building a cubby house in the cupboard of our hotel room.

Enjoy the photos!

A holiday in Hoi An

Published on March 6, 2016March 7, 2016 by 8itchyfeet2 Comments

I don’t know what to tell you about Hoi An. There is no single story I can think of that would wind a path between all the various sights and sounds. What I can say is that we came to Hoi An for a holiday from our holiday. Globetrotting, we are discovering, can be something of a whirl wind and wonderful though it all is, finding new places to eat every three days can be hard work. No, we don’t expect sympathy!

Hoi An had all the requisite properties for a place to linger, including a beach and an ancient world heritage listed town that pops up on almost every list of South East Asia ‘must sees’. An Bang beach, is by all accounts, one of Vietnam’s finest. It was nice, warm water with good surf and nice soft sand. It is possible however that Australians are well spoilt when it comes to beaches. It was also endlessly long. Well, in one direction anyway.

About two kilometres south of where we were (at An Bang) the beach has totally eroded away. Nothing left. Which is unfortunate for the many many grand resorts built there, now with concrete walls and sandbags holding back the sea. I couldn’t get to the bottom of the disappearing sand. It may have been the resorts too vigorously protecting their patch by building groins out into the surf; natural processes; or rising sea levels due to climate change (as speculated by our hosts).

Slowing down was a new experience in this globetrotting caper. In Hanoi, we had lingered on street corners and watched traffic instead of dodging it. Similarly, one afternoon in the Hoi An old town, instead of walking the streets we sat (and ate icecream) and watched how others do the walking. Watching just one intersection proved as interesting in its own way as seeing many.

You could ‘do’ Hoi An in three days and have ticked off most of the sights, but in staying for 11 days we discovered there was much more to take in as we covered the same ground we did the day before. Still, before we knew it, it was time to move on.

We spent the first two days on the beach. The sky was sunny, the air was warm and the sea was cool but not cold. It was rough and wild though and Amy had many discussions with us about how to spot and avoid a rip. She took this very seriously. We think she probably recalled the story of her friend Cassandra and her mum getting caught in one back home.

Lunch delivered to the beach – we should start this in Australia!

The next eight days were cloudy and overcast. Every morning we’d wake up and look outside then look up the weather forecast hopeful the sun might shine, but it wasn’t to be. Which, on the upside, meant we spent much more time exploring.

What the beach looked like for the rest of our stay

Each morning’s hearty breakfast (during which I discovered for the first time in my life the joys of Nutella) was followed by a morning of school work. Here I think we are making progress, both as students and teachers. It has taken some time, but there now seems to be a clearer understanding that school work is not an optional extra this year. It will be done! Journals will be written, spelling words will be learned, projects will be completed and Maths and English will be studied. What’s more it will be done with good humour, diligent effort and focus.

Currency calculation school with millions of Vietnamese Dong

We’re not fully there yet, but as I say, I do think we are making progress. It’s hard for Emma and I to play the role of teacher and enforcer of rules on the one hand and comforter and supporter on the other. Probably also hard for Amy and Oliver to see us taking on this strange new role. We have passed through a phase in which I have been chastised by Amy and Oliver for being way too serious. Even Emma I gather was a little confronted by my serious side. Oliver says I am even stricter than Carol (his real teacher) and we know Carol doesn’t take any nonsense.

Back in Laos, while at the Elephant Conservation Centre, Emma and I sent Amy and Oliver off to do some school work in the huts one afternoon while we stayed in the restaurant. We thought some space from us might be productive while they worked. Not long after, giggling greeted out ears and we somewhat reluctantly went to check on progress. We found them both kicking back in the hammocks suspended above the veranda. A hand written note on the door to their room indicated that they were on strike and would do no more school work until they were paid some respect or we could take it up with their union!

I’m not sure Emma or I knew quite how to respond. I think school work was done that day, but I’m not sure. I later recalled a lengthy and involved discussion I had with Amy and Oliver all about unions, management and striking work forces some time back. The information obviously goes in, so they must be learning something.

The best learning seems to take place as they are about to go to sleep. I have found myself in many in depth discussions with them at this time on everything from the sound barrier and why it breaks, to the relative merits of monarchies and democracies. They are thoroughly enjoyable discussions with genuine engaged interest leading to question after question until eventually you just have to say, ‘enough, it’s time to go to sleep’.

But I digress. With schoolwork done we tended to hit the bikes. I’m convinced there is only one bicycle manufacturer in Vietnam. All of the push bikes appear to come in one size and conform to the same functional design. They also have one very comfortable gear which ensures you go neither too fast to work up a sweat, nor to slow to feel you might as well be walking.

Out the front gate of our homestay, every journey began by running the gauntlet of five or so family run restaurants touting for business. The owners of each empty establishment would leap to their feet to solicit you in. It became a little awkward and after a few days we started deviating around the block so as not to disappoint them. There were too many good places to eat and we had our favourites.

At the end of our street was a thin bit of asphalt across an open area which looked like a cyclone had torn through. Turns out it is just the site of yet another massive resort to be built along this stretch of beach. The surface here was covered in thick sand with just one narrow navigable path. Emma tells me Amy and Oliver had expressed their surprise that I had not been down there yet to sweep all the sand away. Those who know my slightly obsessive compulsive tidy streak may find this amusing. I simply replied, ‘never let it be said I did not spend enough time with my children that they didn’t know me’!

Across the bridge along the main road from our beach stay to Hoi An itself was one of the most impressive sights I was not expecting to see in Vietnam. The vegetable village. I loved it. Couldn’t get enough. I’m a sucker for the colours of this magnificent planet and a Vietnamese vegetable village turns on quite a show. Vibrant shades of green of so many different vegies all laid out in immaculately neat and perfectly maintained garden beds surrounded on all sides by slightly ramshackle terrace house like dwellings. It was gorgeous. I took way too many photos.

Out of the vegetable village the 30-minute ride to town continued along concrete paths through the rice paddies. Water buffalo graze, water birds forage and the wind ripples across the verdant green fields. It all feels very oriental when you throw in the odd farmer working the area with their conical Vietnamese broad brim hats.

Out of the rice paddies were a few blocks of traffic madness. Manageable madness unlike Hanoi. In fact, it is a mark of our progress together as a travelling family that we managed, by and large, to ride along quite happily and relaxed in conditions that by Australian standards we would never let Amy and Oliver near.

The traffic would subside as we reached Hoi An old town. No cars or scooters allowed for the most part. Another UNESCO world heritage city, this place also has a really nice vibe. Especially on our first night, when we just happened to arrive in time for the full moon festival. All the electric lights where replaced with traditional lanterns hanging across the streets and in every shop, restaurant, bar and hotel – even drifting down the river in thick fleets.

The Hoi An full moon festival was surpassed, for me at least, only by one other day in which I caught myself shaking my head and saying, this wouldn’t happen at home. We met another family that Emma had found on a travelling family’s forum and before long, there we were, playing bike ‘tips’ in a clapped out run down park with a Russian, her Israeli husband, and their kids from the US.

Round and round we went until Oliver and the Israeli dad made one close pass too many. Down they all went, but the only casualty appeared to be the back wheel of the opposing team’s bike which was now badly buckled. Oops.

We all retired for coffee, but no coffee was to be found. Instead Oliver and his new US friend somehow injected themselves into a game of soccer with four Vietnamese local kids on an odd shaped uneven patch of patchy grass surrounded by streets. An hour and a half of vigorous competition followed. This was Oliver heaven. I don’t think he stopped grinning the whole game, despite being comprehensively out played. These kids had some skills.

The game ended when a city official unceremoniously walked past picked up the ball and walked off. That was the end of that. I didn’t know whether to chase after him and demand he give it back or jump on our bikes and ride off before some other official arrived to arrest us for playing in the wrong spot. Húng, our homestay host, tells us the Vietnamese government is top 10 in the world for corruption so who knows how it all works. The street light outside Húng’s homestay doesn’t work. He also tells us its because the officials there are still waiting for their money!

On the ride back from town each day, or to dinner each evening, I kept peering in at a funky hair salon and contemplating a haircut. Should I or shouldn’t I. I’m not sure this long hair thing is for me, but I can’t quite bring myself to give it up. Maybe just a trim. The funky hair salon was a corrugated tin shed with a rustic looking chair and a friendly looking Vietnamese man. I think partly I just liked the idea of getting a haircut there, for the fun of it. I finally stopped dithering one afternoon – but the man wasn’t there. Guess guess my hair will just get a little longer.

Dinner each evening was always a pleasure. Vietnamese food is easy to love and easy on the wallet. Our favourite restaurant, after a good deal of sampling was the Tamarind Tree. It may have been the food or the people I’m not sure, but probably both. On our last night we all got hugs from the owner. There was almost tears!

Parking at Cay Me Tamarind Tree – our fave

Each evening, and sometimes at lunch time too, we’d order our meal then whip out the cards and head into another game of Euchre, our new favourite game. It was boys versus girls all week and although Oliver and I got off to an okay start, we soon found ourselves being comprehensively beaten, trick after trick after trick. It went way beyond luck and I was starting to feel somewhat paranoid. Oliver kept bolstering my spirits by refusing to change teams, telling ‘it’s ok Boo I have faith!’ We finally redeemed ourselves on the second last night… but still lost by one trick in the last round!

The morning of our departure the sun shone full and bright. So it goes. We skipped school to sneak in a final morning at the beach, likely our last for some time. We bid Húng and his lovely family farewell and headed for the airport in a loud taxi with a young driver with a thing for power ballads. Cambodia and the temples of Angkor Wat are calling us on.