Up the Mekong without a paddle, Pottery fun, and Crystal Clear Waterfalls

We rose early to take in the Buddhist monk procession at 5:30 AM. Not wanting to leave the kids alone in their rooms, Jen and I took turns visiting the main street to see the ochre robes walking up the street. I was a little early and was almost immediately accosted by a couple of women who had made banana-leaf covered rice to offer to the procession of monks. I was still in my pyjamas and hadn’t brought any money with me so had to run back to my room for some. The money is difficult to read as it uses some Laos characters on one side and English numerals on the other. When I first returned to the street I had brought too little to pay for the plates of food I was to offer so had to run back for more. I didn’t have exact change so ended up paying more than was asked, much to the glee I’m sure of these two women who had obviously discovered an entrepreneurial way to make offerings to the monks while also taking in some quid from the foreign tourists. I tagged up with Jen and she ventured to the road meeting the same women and ironically running into the same difficulty with the currency. As the monks proceeded down the street in single file fashion they would open their offering can and you would deposit one of your banana-leaf wraps, or whatever food you had on offer, inside. The monks would then return to their temples and divy up the food for the day.

We met up with our guide shortly after breakfast, picked up some supplies for lunch then saw one more temple before venturing down a market lane selling food stuffs such as buffalo skin, large catfish from the Mekong and fruits and veg. From there we caught a long traditional passenger boat to take us downstream to a pottery village and further on to meet up with our driver again for a short drive to Khoungasi Falls and Ban Thapen, where we would be staying the night. The boys were able to get some hands-on experience with some clay and pottery-making while Jen and I reminisced about our former lives in places like Guatemala or Guyana and how similar the buildings, roads and rudimentary structures of living compared. There wasn’t much difference at all in terms of the buildings and hygienic conditions and the kids were just as cute and lovable. The kiln for the pottery has been built underground and can fit up to 100 pots. Once the pots have been placed, firewood is placed all around them and eventually lit and burnt for up to 3 weeks. The blacker the pot, the better apparently so when they came out of the kiln and were still brownish, they would be painted in black paint so as to earn a higher price at the market.



The waterfalls are obviously one of the highlights of the tourist operators as, aside from many locals, there were hordes of Caucasian, Japanese and other Asian country foreigners taking in the cooler, crystal clear blue waters cascading over beautifully smooth limestone waterfalls. At the entrance of the ‘park’ which requires all foreigners to pay a fee for entry, lies an Asian Black Bear rescue centre which was currently holding about 8 to 10 of the bears. Their stature is just shy of the North American Black bear and they appeared much less frightening. We hiked up to the tallest fall and ogled its limestone features and 100 metre drop, then scampered back down the path to the main pool, complete with rope swing and deep enough water to jump off some limestone reliefs. The kids were keen on the rope swing so I followed and helped retrieve the rope when it was out of reach. On my second go I lost my balance and had to go with the flow of the rope. Unfortunately it was shortly after a local had taken the plunge and not wanting to land on them I held on to the rope which pendulum-ed me back to the tree from whence I had come. A little slow on the reflexes I neglected to straighten my legs in order to bounce gently off the trunk but rather took the brunt of the swing on my left knee, hearing a definitive ‘Ooo, aahh’ from the on-lookers and then jumping into the water below. It was admittedly sore as I swam to the shoreline and when I strode non-chalantly but painfully over to Jen, noticed a small trickle of blood emanating from my knee as well. Fortunately it was only a small scratch and once back at our new ‘villa’, fixed it up with a simple band-aid. Our villa was only a hop-skip and jump from the waterfalls and was quite rudimentary in design, with wooden walls, a couple of homemade beds and a veranda. Not four or five star but nice just the same as only 10 metres from our door ran the lower reaches of the falls and a constant low-level noise of water bubbling and boiling down its nether reaches. After some lunch and journal work we made our way back up to the lower pools of the falls and had another cool off in the water. It was about this time that Aidan began to look a tad pale – his ‘sick’ look, but since he was still enjoying himself tumbling over logs and what have you, we took little notice. Back at the villa we changed into our long pants and shirts for dinner to avoid any mossie bites and headed to the dining area adjacent the running brook/falls. It might just be me but I have an aversion to fish which is presented to me essentially just gutted and cooked – looking essentially like it has just been caught, thrown in the oven and then onto a plate. Our hosts brought out our dinner which was comprised of a chicken curry, noodle soup and a couple of these whole fish. Aidan wasn’t hungry, which given the look of the fish, wasn’t suprising and again we paid no heed, although he was starting to look a bit unwell. Exhausted from the long day, we crawled into our beds and while the kids slept soundly, Jen and I tossed and turned, worried about potential mossie bites as we had no nets and because the beds were simply uncomfortable. It wasn’t until very early the next morning that Aidan announced his illness loud and clear – it seemed the dreaded gastro had somehow found him and was about to make his (and our) life somewhat complicated.

Torture at the Hands of a masseuse, Goodbye to Mr Kimh and onward to Luang Prabang, Laos.

Piper’s injury has left Jen and I the task of having to carry her virtually everywhere and unfortunately my back has given in before hers, leaving her with the bulk of the lugging around. Given we were in ‘masseuse central’ I decided to take our morning off and see if they could fix my back. I wasn’t sure what I had got myself into as when I entered the establishment I was led upstairs to a reddish room and directed to lie down on a mattress adjacent a number of others and a pink silk curtain was pulled. Fortunately the masseuse arrived fully clothed in her regular attire and proceeded to attack my back. “You like it strong” she said and I gave my consent – not sure that was the wisest thing to do in the end as despite her small stature, her thumbs were like jack-hammers – poking and prodding every miniscule myotome on my back. I’m sure she left her fingerprints amidst all the bruising. I discovered my main pressure point was actually distracting the pain from other painful muscle groups in my lower back and hoped my suffering would pay some dividends once the 30 minutes were up. Feeling like tenderized meat, I left to catch up with the family back at the hotel and help organize for our departure later in the day. In the end, my pummelling actually made my main pain worse and I sought refuge in ibuprofen and the occasional thumb into the pressure point.
Countries like Cambodia. Laos and Vietnam have developed a racket in landing visas and departure taxes from foreigners. It actually cost us more to leave Cambodia than enter it! Our Australian passports came in handy on entering Laos though as Asian Pacific Countries had the lowest entry visa cost - $30 US per person vs $42 US for Canadians. Yet another benefit to barrack for the green and gold! We landed in Luang Prabang, the former capital of the Kingdom of Laos, and again – like clockwork – met up with our new guide and driver – ‘Do’ and ‘Knee’ (our driver) (not their actual names). We’d been put up in a colonial-styled French villa near the centre of town and having checked in headed up the street for a quick bite at a very trendy and Westernized bakery which actually had Nanaimo Bars – chocolate covered layered squares with a creamy and chocolate biscuit layer beneath – absolutely delectable and I presume originating from Vancouver Island (where Nanaimo is located). Our afternoon took us to some paper and silk spinning/weaving artisans, various local temples and up to the top of the central ‘hill’ or mountain in town to view the sunset. Whilst at the paper-making facility we started to hear the pounding of drums from up the street. Keen to see where the sound was coming from, Cole, Aidan, the guide and I trudged up the road to the Buddhist temple. It was a call to the Buddhist monks living there to begin their chores. Shaved heads, ochre robes and anywhere between the ages of 7 to their 60’s plus, the monks were in the process of sweeping and cleaning up their temple. We managed to find one young looking fellow to have a photo with the boys – he was just taller than Cole and shorter than Aidan but was 12 yrs old! Like other temples we were to visit, it was ornately painted in gold leaf and contained a large golden-painted Buddha inside surrounded by a number of smaller Buddhas, purportedly gifts from those that visited the temple. The 386 steps to the top of the hill (and back down again) nearly wrecked poor Jen with Piper perched on her back. At the top, a man was releasing birds as a symbolic gesture of peace and goodwill and Cole, like the true sticky-beak he is, eventually got into the thick of it and tried to release one himself only to find the poor thing had broken a leg and couldn’t make it out of the cage. We made it back to the bottom as darkness fell, right into the seemingly never ending market stalls of the weekly night markets. It had your typical market products such as t-shirts, textiles and antiques as well as opium trade and smoking paraphernalia. Jen inadvertently started poking around at a stall and asked our guide about some bizarre-looking apparati which, as it turned out, were containers and scales with which to carry and sell the opium. The elaborately designed and decorated pipes were quite aesthetic with dragons, snakes and incredible carvings around their elongated shafts. Apparently Laos used to be one of the largest exporters of opium in the world and, as per our guide’s account, almost 70% of the population used to be addicted to the drug which resulted in social chaos. Since 1995 the government has clamped down on the trade and essentially caused its collapse. If someone is caught growing or in possession of the drug they are subject to the death penalty.

The people in Luang Prabang (named after and in reverence of a 1st century AD golden Buddha now housed at the state museum) overall seemed a bit over the whole tourism thing but were generally pleasant and kind. Back from the markets we ventured out for dinner and found a place called the 3 Nagas just up the road. Nagas are mythical creatures which are part dragon and snake. They have become part of the architecture of many buildings, carved into the main outer beams at the corners of the roof as protectors of the building/temple. This restaurant was one of three buildings owned by the proprietor, hence the name, and served some of the best food we’d had all trip – although most of it has been exquisite! The steamy night came to a close as we made our way back to our rooms past our villa’s large screen TV broadcasting the world cup in the main entrance courtyard. Germany were ahead by one goal over Argentina – looked like our pick wasn’t going to prevail in this contest.

A Holiday in Cambodia….

An early start and trip to the airport began the day. With sad goodbyes to our guide Tri, we shuffled off to the Vietnam Airlines counter. Our attendant promptly informed us that our flight had been changed to Cambodia Angkor Airlines and we were herded across the floor to another attendant that hadn’t opened yet. We were obviously waiting for the desk to open, two young boys and a girl with an obvious foot injury requiring carrying by her parents. The desk next to where we were standing opened and no sooner had it done so than some self-absorbed overweight family of Swiss decided it was more important for them to jump the queue and approached the counter first – even when I said ‘Hey’ to alert him to our being there first, didn’t seem to make a difference. To make it worse, we moved our gear over to the initial desk line and within a couple minutes the next desk opened with some French fellow and his three girlfriends again budding in front – not even batting an eye towards our obviously overloaded hands of kids – it was unbelievable! We must be too Canadian or perhaps wearing a sticker on our foreheads indicating that we are push-overs – that or other people are simply completely unaware of what it’s like to try to occupy 3 young children in an airline line up. Wasn’t a great start to our Cambodian adventure but things were to improve considerably.

Our dual prop 30 or so seater with only a dozen or so passengers, some quite video camera overzealous, capturing everything from airport gates to grandchildren sleeping or walking the corridor of the plane. Our inconsiderate French friends from check in weren’t much better, filming or snapping virtually everything they encountered. It’s funny how we wish to capture these moments in time either as a badge to acknowledge passage to these incredible areas of the world and their sights or as a seemingly visual recording of our life’s novella. Sometimes it’s simply the beauty or aesthetic of the object being witnessed that compels me, like photographing it somehow makes it partially mine – perhaps it’s the same with others? Once landed in Siem Reap we found our new guide, Mr Kimh, and driver waiting patiently for our arrival. They dropped us at our hotel, the Somadevi Angkor Hotel, in the middle of town and we quickly checked in, got caffeinated and joined Mr Kimh for our tour through some of the temple structures around Angkor Wat and Thom.

The history of this place is actually quite interesting spanning centuries, numerous invasions, entire religious conversions, abandonment and rediscovery. The whole area of temple and ancient structures spans some 410 square kilometres. Angkor means ‘capital’ and Wat – ‘monastery’ and it is the largest religious temple complex in the world, occupying 81 hectares of grounds within its walls. Thom means city and within the city walls there are a number of different temples and historical structures relevant to different Kings and eras. The earliest temples we visited were from the 10th century – over 1000 years ago – and contained amazing bas reliefs depicting stories and images of Hindu or Buddhist symbols and motifs. Symbolism was incredibly important it seemed during their construction and all the temples either face the East or West depending on the beliefs of the King who had contracted to have them built. Angkor Thom has gates at each of the cardinal points, a massive moat that surrounds the inner grounds (dug by hand and previously inhabited by crocodiles) and a number of different temples built by different kings. The Wat is as impressive, with a moat 100 metres wide surrounding it and a myriad of gradually escalating buildings which peak towards the rear of the complex. Most of the windows are decorated with 7 pillars to represent the days of the week, 12 central staircases represent the months and there are exactly 365 stairs (although I didn’t count) to represent the days of the year. Again, it faces west to take in the rising sun. The carvings along the walls are incredibly intricate and span from floor to ceiling for 100s of metres at a time – it is almost inconceivable how such incredible works of art were fashioned and survived the tolls of time. Many of the outer temples have been ravaged by the forest with trees and roots gradually causing the structures to collapse. Due to different invasions from Siam (now Thailand) and other neighbouring countries the majestic kingdoms of Angkor eventually fell and these sites were abandoned and forgotten in about the 14th century. It wasn’t until the 19th century when a French elephant hunter was chasing an elephant through the jungle and noticed that it went around a corner and disappeared from sight as if it had gone into a cave. As he rounded the bend and had a look, he discovered remnants of a temple complex with trees and foliage essentially covering and poking out through the bricks. Restoration of the different temples began shortly after this discovery but was abandoned again during the Vietnam War when incursions began to spread into Cambodia. Currently there are a number of different countries funding and working on restoring the various structures as close to their original majesty as possible. It looks like one massive jigsaw puzzle with large, broken sandstone and volcanic bricks (which formed the core structure) lying haphazardly both inside and around the different temples.

By the end of our first day with Mr Kimh we had visited about 7 or 8 sites and were completely exhausted. We returned to our hotel to get cleaned up, write some journals and prepare for dinner at a local Cambodian Culture Buffet restaurant just up the road. It was a great way to sample a number of different Cambodian dishes, listen to live traditional music and view some classical dances. It was interesting though as the male dancers looked like your average good looking socialite you’d expect to see playing footie or surfing rather than engaging in traditional dance ensembles. The people here are incredibly accommodating and seemingly content with a perpetual smile on their faces despite their hardships and poverty and I would gesticulate that the reason these fellows have taken to the dance isn’t necessarily for a love of their culture or dance per se but rather that owing to their coordination and sporting finesse they can earn a much healthier salary this way plus bask in the glory of masses of foreigners transfixed by their abilities. During our visits to the temples we have not infrequently encountered small mobs of very persistent children selling bracelets, reed-woven ornaments and other knickknacks. Their persistence is such that they will even threaten crying and may offer their entire stock for a US Dollar if necessary while clawing at the window of your van. Needless to say we’ve essentially got Christmas presents for the family covered now.

Day two started with a short helium-filled balloon ride just outside of Angkor Wat. The balloon was tethered to the ground by a large cable which would winch it down to the ground to let people on and then allow the balloon to rise about 100 metres in the air. From the apex of the ride we could look out over the entrance of Angkor Wat and take in some of the surrounding countryside in its classically quilted texture of rice fields. From there Mr. Kimh guided us through Angkor Wat and the other half of Angkor Thom with its Elephant and Leper Terraces, the Red Palace and adjoining King’s swimming pool which he provided for his 7 Queens and 100 or so concubines. Sweaty and spent again, our guide took us back to town past some silk-weaving and silver jewellery artisans and through the main market/restaurant/pub area of town. Back at our hotel we donned swimming gear and popped into the pool for a refreshing dip, having competitions on how long we could hold our breath under water. We still had an afternoon to wander so ventured out into the markets, had our feet massaged and exfoliated by fish in large tanks, suffered the accosting of a few more street urchins selling their wares and ended up at a Cambodian BBQ restaurant to sample some snake and crocodile amongst other meats and veg. With darkness falling we caught a ‘tuk tuk’ back to the hotel and called it a night. This touring of Southeast Asian countries really takes it out of you.

 

Foreign flavours, the Mekong Delta NarBUG ride and the War Remnants Museum

There are some things you just don’t expect when you purchase an ice cream overseas. One assumes all the regular flavours enjoyed in one country are likely those enjoyed in another – not the case. On leaving the Cuchi Tunnels yesterday we were feeling the heat and decided it was time for an ice cream. There were a yellow one, a green one and two purples available and we assumed this would mean lemon, maybe lime and perhaps mixed berry or something close. Aidan was the unlucky sap who had the yellow one and at once nearly spat it out and passed it to Mom who then tasted it and quickly passed it onto me with a rather horrid sour look on her face. The look had nothing to do with any tartiness but rather the abhorrent flavour itself. It tasted for all intents and purposes like onion – not bad with a burger or in a salad – terrible as ice cream. Jen and I (and probably Aidan) couldn’t help but taste the oniony ice cream for the rest of the day as it seemed to cause some disquiet along the digestive track and we kept belching it back every now and then. Another oddity noticed on the way back from Cuchi was an older gent riding his moped desperately trying to balance a mossie coil (alight) on his head – seems he really didn’t want the mossies attacking him while he drove to wherever he was going.

A good nights sleep without the intrusion of a our youngest and most sleep depriving of our children left us refreshed and ready for our planned trip to the Mekong Delta for a bike ride and sight-see. It took us about an hour or so to arrive at the tourist ferry terminal to take us across the Mekong to a Coconut Candy factory and the start of our cycling adventure. It was a busy thoroughfare with dredging boats collecting sand and then depositing it on massive floats to be pushed by tugs onwards to Saigon for the building trade. Flotillas of fishing boats lay in port, apparently waiting out the month due to seasonal rough conditions. We passed through the four small islands in the vicinity named for various animals which symbolize different virtues of greatest importance to the Vietnamese, namely the Tortoise (longevity), the Unicorn (luck and happiness?), the Dragon (power) and the Phoenix (prosperity). One island was decorated with what looked like a strange amusement park associated with the hotel located there. Our guide explained that the area was previously owned or run by a coconut religious cult which had been banned by the government – the cult leader was said to preach that his followers and self should survive only off of coconuts – I think he may have been a little coconut himself – perhaps where the term ‘nuts’ originated in reference to crazy people. Once landed we briefly toured the candy factory, tasted the wares which were absolutely delectable, enjoyed a quick nip of cobra distilled rice liquor (tasted like grain alcohol – nothing special really) and then met our team of cycling guides. The kids had to double or ‘dickie’ (the Oz version) with Jen, Tri, and I which was a novel and in retrospect, rather dodgy proposition. We went quite well although the numerous bumps encountered en route did give rise to some ‘ouches’ from our passengers. We developed some more cycling warning calls, adeptly crying out “motorbike back” or “moped carrying chickens back”. Our technical skills and anxiety was tested on a larger roadway with transport vehicles commonly veering into our path in order to pass slower moving vehicles on the other side. All was going well and near completion when Jen’s precious cargo (Piper) decided to put her foot too close to the turning wheel, inadvertently jamming her poor little heal between the back fork and spokes. I was in the process of stopping for the ice cream man and when I turned around could see something had happened to Piper fifty meters back. Our guide was in a bit of a panic, not used to injuries to pretty little blonde girls on his trips – I’m sure he was thinking he was about to lose his job. With much ado some cotton wool was thrown at me and when our guide returned I sent him off again for some simple band-aids and sticking plaster. Piper’s wound was more of a graze than anything but covered her entire heal with some bruising around her ankle. A few lollies, a good clean with our drinking water and we dressed it up as best we could with some sterile gauze gleaned from some shop up the road. Feeling very sorry for herself we eventually managed to get her to our next stop, a small snack bar with traditional singers, some honey-infused jasmine tea and copious tropical fruits which seemed to lift her spirits. To make it back to our drop off point we hired a lift on a moped and did the Vietnamese double (or triple I guess) with Piper clinging to me like a koala bear. The traumatic experience zapped her energy and once back to the mainland she crashed like a 20 kg bag of rice.

Travelling with a local guide and driver has some immense benefits as they know where the off-track hidden tourist refuges and restaurants lie. For lunch we ended up at a little oasis restaurant tucked away off the main road – veritably hidden from the common passer by. I think its speciality is the Elephant Ear fish – a fresh water fish apparently found only in the Mekong Delta. They brought it to the table in an elaborate fashion with the fish fully cooked yet held upright by some reinforced shallots on a bed of fresh raw vegetables and lettuce. Our server then prepared it for us and wrapped it in rice paper with assorted ‘greenage’ for us to enjoy. Like most foods here in 'Nam, the wraps came with a dip – fish sauce with roasted sesame seeds. Tri explained that with most foods the Vietnamese try to incorporate a bit of Yin and Yang, thereby attributing the food with some sort of mystical balance. The Elephant Ear fish being fresh water and fish sauce derived from salt water was reflective of this unity and balance.

Back into Saigon, we made our way to the War Remnants Museum – a monument and incredibly vivid and graphic depiction of the conflict that ravaged this country for 17 years. Not being a Vietnam War Scholar, I had much to learn and my sponge was ready to soak it all up. The ‘war’ essentially began in the 1950’s after the Geneva Treaty had been signed and Vietnam’s colonizer, France, had agreed to leave the country and allow it to work towards democratically ruling itself. The US were secretly unhappy by all this as it was in this juncture of history that communistic paranoia ran rampant within the US’s governing and military establishment. In conjunction with the South Vietnamese government, the US essentially led a secret war, militarizing and providing both troops and equipment to the Republic of South Vietnam to combat the North communistic regime. Eisenhower was the first to break the Geneva Treaty in this regard and his predecessor, JFK continued the ‘secret war’, not wishing to escalate the insurgency – a decision that likely contributed to his assassination. Once out of power, LBJ took the reigns and in 1965 started the overt Vietnam War. By 1973, the US had started to realize they were fighting a losing battle and began their retreat, culminating in the eventual taking of the Reunification Palace on April 30th, 1975 by the North Vietcong and the end of the war. During the war over 3 million Vietnamese lost their lives with approximately 2 million suffering significant injuries. In contrast, the US lost 58,000 lives with 300,000 injured. It cost the US twice the amount of their involvement in the Second World War – some 64 billion dollars and left a legacy of suffering to Vietnam. The museum was essentially a collection of photographic depictions of the war and included incredibly gruesome photos of US atrocities of war. The ramifications of Agent Orange on the populace were also displayed, with images and stories of children/adults born to parents exposed to its toxins during the war. It was nauseatingly brutal to see, leaving Jen and I aghast and nearly sick to our stomachs in reverence of the immense harm and trauma perpetrated to these incredibly jovial and peaceful people. It was a strong argument for peace and reminder of the incredible cruelty and evil that war brings. In retrospect, the war here was simply an exorbitant waste of resources and humanity almost beyond comprehension. On a good note, the reference of Khe San by Cold Chisel finally twigged – although I’m still not sure why the song has used this town in the northern part of South Vietnam for their song title – I thought the song was about the last train out of Sydney?

Full of remorse and exhausted from the experience we sauntered back to our van and had a short trip back to the hotel to prepare ourselves for dinner and an early night. Tri had recommended a restaurant called the Temple, just a couple blocks from where we ate last night. As usual we didn’t know what to expect and upon accidentally stumbling upon it, found it incredibly appealing, with bare brick walls and elaborate Asian décor. The food was exquisite and if we were to stay in Saigon for long would easily make it one of our favourite dining venues but alas we have to move on. Tomorrow we fly to Siem Reap in Cambodia to take in the wonders of Angkor Wat – should be absolutely enlightening.

 
 

Goodbye Oz! Good Evening Vietnam!

Travels have once again prevented an update until now - it is always go, go, go with the Mitchell Clan - you know how it is. We checked out of the Ashmore Palms Holiday Park and managed to pack all our bags in the Hyundai without too much ado, decidedly taking one more visit to the Harbour Town Centre for yet another bag to distribute the weight. With it stuffed in our boot we headed to Brissie and the soothing enclaves of the airport Novotel. Problem was, although visible from our vantage point on the highway, near impossible to actually get to. It took us a good 30 minutes of wrong turns and missed exits before we were finally able to unload into our evening retreat. They had this great heated lap pool on the top floor with a patio and reinforced plexiglass windows which looked out onto the spaghetti thoroughfare around the airport. In dire need of releasing plenty of pent up energy, the kids and I jumped in and paddled back and forth a few times - releasing our inner demons. While the boys attempted to focus their thoughts on their daily journals and school work remnants, Piper and I ventured to the local DFA - not sure what it actually stands for but suffice it to say - it is the garbage depot of retail stores - where all the excessive and unwanted clothing et al ends up at massively discounted prices. Fortunately, due to our lack of packing space and inkling of taste we were able to subdue our consuming passions and give most of it a miss...Piper did need new PJ's and some new tights to go with her ensemble from Byron Bay - had to contribute to the economy in some way - besides I had a few Aussie Dollars still left to unload. We ended our last evening with a nice meal at the Novotel restaurant and the Squealkel Movie (The Chipmunks II) in the privacy of our room.

Our journey to Ho Chi Min (more commonly known as Saigon historically and by the general populace) took us from Brissie to Darwin and then across to the ditch. With mere remnants of Aussie Dollars and coins in need of liquidation, we had a field day at the news agents and with the vending machines - packing as many 10 cent coins in as possible. Our stack of 5 cent pieces were generally unwanted anywhere so ended up filling the Rotary club's coffers.  We flew Jetstar - a truly minimalistic airline in which even the blankets cost $5 to shield one from the cold .. The seats in our A320  didn't even recline - making the trip a tad more uncomfortable than your standard economy class! It was only 9:25 pm in Ho Chi Min when we arrived but this equated to 12:25 AM our time - needless to say, the clan was nearing complete exhaustion. Foreigners in a foreign land we had to negotiate our way through customs which involved a visit to the landed visa office and then through the customs agents. Cole was completely passed out on the waiting room chairs with Aidan fighting off his fatigue with increasingly silly and obstinate behaviour - his norm when completely exhausted. Piper gets clingy and whiny in this state, wishing to be carried wherever we need to go but is at least manageable. We had booked our tour through Private Asian Tours, a Vietnamese Tour Company located in Hanoi (the North of the country) and were counting on our email contact, Ha (his name), coming through with someone to greet us as promised. Sure enough, as we walked out of the terminal a short bespeckled fellow was smiling and holding up my name in large letters - I can't recall the last time I felt so good and relieved to see my name! Our driver pulled up and we piled in seeking the solace of an air conditioned hotel room. It took a good 30 minutes to finally arrive at our hotel - The Hotel Continental Saigon - a magnificient looking place built in 1880 by the French. Walter Cronkite, Somerset Maugham and a handful of other famous people have resided here at one point and time giving it a majestic, historical feel with classical french architectural finishes all around. We felt truly blessed as we had placed complete faith in our tour organizer to find us appropriate accommodation. With orders to be ready to 'tour' by 8 AM we crashed heavily into our beds.

Cole woke at about 5 AM - around 8 AM to his biological clock, gradually incensing the rest of us out of our beds in a truly weary state. A couple Panadol and a shower fixed my jet lag headache and we ventured to breakfast. The restaurant sits in the middle of the complex with both an inside and outer area at the edge of a large courtyard. The employees and people in general are incredibly friendly and completely enamored by Piper and her blonde hair. Breaky in the courtyard had an old-world charm to it and we regaled in our luck to have such a place on our itinerary. 'Tri' (sounds like Tree) - our tour guide arrived right on time with Mr. Chi (our driver) and we started the congested and long trip to the Cuchi Tunnels on the outskirts of Saigon. The predominant mode of transport here is by motorbike or moped and it is literally chaos on the roads with road signs, lines on the road and stop lights being more of suggestions on how to drive rather than legal entities aimed at alleviating risk and helping traffic to move appropriately. The bigger the vehicle the more right to the road it seems. Our driver would slow for other like vans or trucks but not bat an eye if he was heading into a mob of motorbikes/mopeds. Pedestrians are the lowest of the low and zebra crossings are simply decoration on the tarmac. There are over 8.85 million people in this city and apparently about 5 million of them have motorbikes. They carry anything from fridges to rainwater tanks and industrial supplies on them - it is phenomenal to see. I can only imagine the horrific accidents that must occasionally occur - the emergency departments of the hospitals must be a trauma haven. Surprisingly though, our tour guide informed us that the life expectancy of the average Vietnamese is somewhere around 80 yrs (more for females than males) although I haven't been able to check on his figures. Obesity, other than in tourists, is virtually non-existent and in general the streets are clean, virtually clear of graffiti and people happy and friendly. We eventually made it to the Cuchi Tunnels - a Viet Cong hold out during the Vietnam War which was virtually impenetrable due to the clever tactics and 230 kms of underground tunnels of the Cuchi guerrillas. Our first stop was in front of a TV screen on which a film from 1967 was played, giving some historical pretext and significant communist propoganda to the guerrilla insurgency against the US and South Vietnamese. It was in black and white with barely audible dubbing at times and minced no words in deprecating the US invasion. There were tiny secret refuges under trees where individual guerrillas could hide if the enemy were near, a three level system of tunnels and burrows barely tall enough to crawl through, demonstrations of various booby traps, special smokeless kitchens, underground meeting rooms and much more. Necessity was truly the mother of invention for these freedom fighters, taking whatever refuse or bomb scraps they could collect and reusing them to make spikes for booby traps. Aware of the tunnels the US would send out German Shepherds to sniff them out but even this attempt was of short-lived success as the guerrillas soon found out that they could disguise their holes from the German Shepherds by making them smell like the Americans. They used clothing and other wares collected from US camps to foil the dogs. Widespread bombing also failed in that the tunnels would sometimes descend three levels below the surface. They even made shoes from bombed out jeep tires and fashioned them such that the widest portion of the show was at the back and narrow part at the front giving the impression from above that they were moving in the opposite direction to which they actually were. It was truly fascinating and perplexing at the same time as seeing such ingenuity formulated towards the killing of other human beings and imaging the pain and suffering which must have befallen both sides in the conflict left me feeling a bit queasy and unnerved by the end. In the midst of the tunnel display is a shooting range where you can purchase some bullets and fire them into some oil cans/ sand bags some hundred metres away - I was tempted but gave it a miss. The souvenir stand on the way out had various airforce jet planes, tanks and other war related contraptions all fashioned out of bullets - again - all a little bit odd and seemingly pro-violent in its formulation - like we've all been desensitized to mass destruction and killing machines.

From the Cuchi Tunnels we ventured back to the CBD for a bite to eat and our intrepid leader guided us to the Pho Restaurant adjacent the largest markets of Saigon. It had particular significance in that President Clinton and his daughter Chelsea had eaten at the same establishment back in November 2000. We actually sat at the very same table and instead of your typical table cloth, it had a glass top covering an A4 piece of paper detailing what both Bill and Chelsea had to eat on the day. The Beef Noodle soup came highly recommended so we all ordered one. Chopsticks have never been our kids strong point but they managed quite well today after a few pointers from our host. After lunch we headed into the markets and at one end was herded into a stall by some very keen and friendly women determined on re-clothing our children. We caved in and paid a bit exorbitantly for some soccer jerseys and a pretty Vietnamese get up for Piper - seems we're not the best at the haggling game.  From there we hit the Reunification Palace - another majestic building akin to the White House in that it previously housed the deposed President of South Vietnam and his family. When the North Vietnamese eventually overcame the US and South Vietnamese forces in April 1975, the building was taken over and converted into a museum of sorts as the prevailing forces had their government in Hanoi in the North. The building is spectacular in its layout and decor, sadly displaying massive elephant ivory tusks and hoofs as symbolic gestures of power from yesteryear. Our guide was an encyclopedia of information and took us through the 4 story building room by room, giving a play by play of their use and the symbolic patterns or objects inside. By this time the kids were on the verge of collapse but we still had the church of Notre Dame and the colonial Post Office to visit. En route, Tri guided us on how to cross a road in Saigon without getting run over. Stepping off the curve into oncoming traffic is not for the faint-hearted but as a group we managed to manouvre through the flotilla of buzzing mopeds and safely arrive at the other side. The church and Post Office were intriguing but we'd lost the drive by the time we'd arrived to view them and only gave them a cursory look. We'll hit the War Museum tomorrow and do a bike ride of the Mekong Delta - should be a rather sweaty, scenic and solemn day - will be sure to report every detail when we return from our ventures in the arvo.

The Bay of Lord Byron

I have been pining to visit Byron Bay since the outset of the trip having read a number of airplane magazines and travel articles highlighting its bohemian glory. With a day in hand we decided to make the trek as it was only about an hour or so away down the coast. It was funny though, as we entered NSW Jen commented how it suddenly felt like we were home – like she could sense the different feel or sense of place that NSW has compared to Queensland. With the preconception of entering some modern hippy enclave we headed into town and found a parking spot off the beach ready for an explore. Of particular note was the absence not only of large multi-national food chains such as KFC or Maccas but also the big box malls on the outskirts of town which have the parasitic tendency of causing all the interesting independently owned shops in the main drag to suffer into bankruptcy. It was refreshing to wander down a multitude of avenues with assorted shops and cafes with varied multi-cultural fares. It was touristy without a doubt, but in general there was an air of contentedness. For a touristy place it was also surprisingly clean with very little in the way of litter tarnishing the parkland or streets – people seemed to be conscientious, courteous and generally healthier. We bought a few rolls of sushi for lunch, ironically, from a small Sushi Franchise shop (Euro Sushi) owned by a Caucasian proprietor with a foreign accent and purporting to be the best sushi in town. The meal deal of the day was 2 sushi rolls with a juice – not a soft drink – a subtle but refreshing change to the ‘supersize’ mentality so commonly taken for granted. The ‘Bay’ was beautiful and I can see why it attracts the wealthy and back-packer alike. Stretching a few kilometres in either direction, it would be an ideal training ground for runners or triathletes and definitely cater to the surf-junkies. Jen was less enamoured by the place until our drive home when she opened up one of the tourist guides we’d found at the info centre and had a gander. In between pages of touristy information were essays from present and former eminent Byron Bayites about the virtues of the community and why they had come or previously lived there. One piece focused on the evils of globalisation and need for ‘localisation’ to overcome the environmental and community ravages perpetrated by the former. It emphasized the importance of ‘community’ and working together with a general awareness and conscientiousness. The author, a woman in her forties or thereabouts, had been awarded numerous community prizes having helped to re-establish farmer’s markets in the area. Another article was written by an entrepreneur who had established the first backpacker’s hostel in Byron Bay and essentially made his fortune in this way. His piece suggested he was more disillusioned by the invasion of backpackers to Byron (which he himself had helped to facilitate) and that before the masses of tourists, it was truly a noble and peaceful spot to live but had since become tarnished by the tourist influx. If I was back in my twenties and free to roam, I could definitely see the appeal of such a place and could easily have gotten stuck there (in a good way of course). Back at the holiday park on the Gold Coast, the boys settled into some overdue schoolwork, an endeavour one would think would become second nature after 6 months of near daily entreaties. Unfortunately, it seems to still drain us both and particularly Jen who predominantly takes on the task. Alas school holidays are upon us this week so aside from journal writing, we’ll be able to relax a bit. Today we’ll say goodbye to the Gold Coast and head back to Brisbane for one more night, then off to Vietnam on Monday.

Harbour Town, a new PM, Goodbye to the Beaumonts and off to Sea World

We’ve again fell into a bit of luck in choosing our Caravan Park accommodation (staying in a small hut adjacent the Beaumonts). Everyday they have a new kid friendly activity first thing in the AM and today it was a visit and feeding of the numerous birds they have holed up here on their property. Their collection is zoo-like in proportions with a beautiful collection of bright red, green, blue Macaws and cockatoos. We fed them numerous almonds and attempted to get some to say ‘Polly wanna cracker’ to no avail. It was a great start to the day and permitted a wander around the grounds and the all important discovery of a nicely heated pool.
There is Pacific Fair, Australian Fair and now Harbour Town (actually it’s probably been here for years) – another mall complex but different in that all the stores open up to small walking areas rather than enclosed in a massive complex. We’d gone to meet up with a friend of Phil’s and enjoy yet another coffee – it has become a bit of a theme on this trip. A bit of bargain hunting later we were starting to feel the hunger pangs and had children chanting “beach, beach, beach” under their breath – keen to leave the ‘harbourless’ expanse for true sand and ocean breeze. Although sunny, it was still a bit nippy – especially out of the sun where the breeze could get at you – mind you it was still about 20 degrees celsius – a temperature that would make most Canadians feel as though they were in a sweat lodge and relate very poorly to any sense of ‘cold’ or ‘nippy’. Some greasy fish and chips were enjoyed by most of the crew with few exceptions and we ventured into Surfer’s Paradise for a little driving tour behind our SatNav intrepid leader – Phil. Given the relatively frigid temp we decided not to try the beach but instead head back to the caravan park where that heated pool awaited us. Interrupting a seeming romantic liaison in process by much splashing, raucous yelling and play involving the launching of children into the air, we eventually took over the pool and burned some pent up energy. With the sun on its descent, completely water-logged and spent we sat down to watch the news and catch up on the sudden ousting of the PM by Julia Gillard – Australia’s first female Prime Minister. We were all a bit shocked, like most of Australia, by the turn of events and felt sorry for Kevin 07 – he did get a bit of the blunt end of the stick – such is the way with politics though I guess. He is sort of the Bill Gates of Australian politics in terms of looks - only geeky in a different ‘political’ sort of way. Julia, although to be quite the thorn in Tony Abbott’s side (leader of the opposition), will unfortunately be judged through different spectacles – having to not only fill the shoes as the nation’s leader but also work the part in looks and fashion choice – seems almost unfair in this day and age but alas – it is what it is.
For dinner we joined Phil’s friend Pete and his wife at a local pizza joint seemingly wrapped up in Knights of the Round table/King Arthur sort of lore, serving pizzas with names such as Merlin’s Magic or Dragon’s Breath and Excalibur. Cheesy names aside (and no pun intended) the ‘zas’ were actually quite tasty. Merlin’s Magic was a mixture of banana, prawns, bacon and your regular toppings – sounds hideous but was absolutely delectable. Dragon’s Breath was touted to be a bit fiery but never required much in terms of extinguishing. Regardless, the tucker was tasty, conversation intriguing and a great way to spend Phil, Tamra and their clan’s final night up here with us. They’ve been wonderful friends almost since our arrival in Narrandera and will be missed greatly as we take up a new home overseas.

Feeling a bit toxic from many moons of good food and drink and a modicum of what one might term exercise, I woke early and donned my running gear to brave the early morning streets and chill. As always it felt good for the first kilometre or so and then began to hurt – problem was I was now committed and too far from home to simply hobble back, tail between my legs, so kept on hoping the route I’d chosen wasn’t going to end up being some epic 15 km classic. I had missed the meditational side of things such ‘me-time’ affords and despite it being a bit painful – it was a good pain – one I needed to come back to more regularly. I could feel all the toxins getting pumped out of my body and on my eventual return, felt cleansed by the experience. I remember thinking in a few races of my past - “why am I doing this? My legs are numb, lungs feel like someone is stabbing me with upteen number of tiny knives and some plump, knobby-kneed girl has just blown past me like I was standing still…” and now have an inkling again of why it’s worth the suffering. The feeling at the end makes it all worth the while – a feeling not only of euphoria from the endorphins kicking in but simply that of accomplishment and some improved inner completeness. Once back in some organized lifestyle, getting back into the swing of things will be high on the agenda.
The Beaumonts were shoving off, so having passed off whatever we could to alleviate some of our load and enhance theirs, we gave our final goodbyes and saw them off into the sun. We had some final admin jobs and some haircuts to attend to so got on our way as well with aims of hitting Sea World in the afternoon. As they do, things usually take more time than you anticipate but in the end we did make it to Sea World in all its splendour. The crowds were definitely much younger than those at Movie World and for good reason given the types and number of rides available. We were keen on hitting the rides mostly and perhaps some of the shows if they fit in to the schedule. We headed to one of those water rides to start as our kids usually fit the size restrictions but for some reason Piper – usually the most fearless of us all – had a little ‘caniption’ – indicating it was to be too scary for her. A bit dumbfounded, Jen decidedly took her to the kiddie rides while I and the boys ventured to the bigger kid ones. Cole was completely stoked as he wasn’t able to ride much at Movieland due to his stature and now he met all the requirements! The numbers at the park weren’t overwhelming so on one of the roller coasters which afforded us a loop-de-loop and a few upside down twirls, we were actually able to run around and get a second ride right away. The aquariums were fantastic with oodles of interesting looking fish and sharks all co-habitating. They had assorted touch pools as well including one with rays which was a thrill. We ended the day enjoying the Pirate Show with all its acrobatics, high-diving and jet-ski/motorboat feats. Although it was only an afternoon visit, we felt we had done Sea World justice and ticked it off our list of things to do. We have yet to be to Byron Bay which is only a short trip down the coast so will plug it into Google Maps in the AM. It will likely be our last venture on this ‘near-circumnavigation’ of Oz so we may feel a bit of sentimentality as we head home at the end of the day – our trip in Australia for all intents and purposes at a close….(for now).