Lethbridge, Head-Smashed-In-Buffalo-Jump, the Dinosaur Trail at Drumheller, and onward to the ‘Jaw’

One would think idyll time would be of the essence while making a trek across or around a country, but as has been the case since this monstrous adventure began, getting much done in terms of personal tasks – writing, studying, guitar playing, fitness, etc. is often a daunting achievement given the needs of family and inherent jobs of travel. Although relegated to sitting (and eating) for a good portion of everyday while travelling, I’ve struggled to find the time to keep up with our adventures on the blog. So without further ado…

From the mighty (and rather cool in temperature) Rockies, we descended into the plains of Alberta and the homestead of my Aunt Sharon (mother’s sister) in Lethbridge. My cousin Kelsey and his family also live in this neck of the woods – a flatish grid-work of a city with a penchant for traffic lights and big box malls on the outskirts of town. On one entry point leading to our eventual refuge, there was a traffic light for each city block. From one end it appeared almost Christmas-like as the series of lights changed from green to ochre to red. The town is divided almost down the middle by depressions of greenery referred to as the ‘coolies’ – reflective of ancient days when a river likely flowed through the area. Our first day saw us visiting my cousin Kelsey’s emerging bio-fuel plant near the Lethbridge airport. He’s been slaving for the past 4 years on this project, aiming to successfully convert animal talo (refuse from abattoirs) into bio-diesel in the most environmentally-efficient and effective manner possible. Like the typical second-born son, he seems determined to change the world and make it a better place and in 2 months, when the plant is operational, his efforts will hopefully come to fruition. As he was giving us an intro to the plant and business plan behind its design and purpose, an F-18 fighter jet was practicing aerial manoeuvres in preparation for the air show scheduled the next day. Being only a few kilometres or so from the air field and almost in direct line with the runway, the bio-fuel plant’s boardroom was an ideal place from which to observe the jet reach incredible speeds and perform various twists and turns. On its final approach though it seemed to be moving uncannily slow and as my attention drifted to it from the talk at hand, it seemed to gradually float towards the airfield eventually dipping a wing, ejecting its pilot and crashing in one massive fireball and smoke – unbelievable! None of us had witnessed an airplane crash in our lifetimes and it was almost surreal to see it first hand. Needless to say, it gave pause to the bio-fuel plant discussions. We eventually had a tour around the facility and felt rather diminutive in contrast to the achievements of this incredibly complex and sophisticated enterprise my cousin and his cohorts had put together. Our afternoon was spent hitting the most unpopular ‘journals’ and then visiting with second cousins and my cousin-in-law (wife to Kelsey).

Our final morning in Lethbridge involved some touring of the town, visiting the university grounds and other prominent sights before forging onward to a wonderfully named Unesco Heritage sight called ‘Head-Smashed-In-Buffalo-Jump’ on the outskirts of Fort Macleod. It is essentially a museum built into a cliff which reflects upon the former glory days of the Blackfoot Indians or first nations that used to inhabit the area. In late fall every year for almost 6000 years they would create a foliage-enhanced human funnel leading to a cliff edge and surreptitiously, through donning pelts of wolves and buffalo calves, fuel up the buffalo herd into a stampede, which would then careen over the cliff. The natives would then skin, gut and butcher the beasts, drying the meat and mixing it with berries to form pemmican, their primary source of sustenance over the ensuing winter months. Over the years the bones of the buffalo would gradually stack up under these cliffs owing to the numbers that would be killed and archaeological digs have proceeded in some of these areas uncovering numerous tools, arrow heads and other remnants of previous Blackfoot tribes. It was a wonderful intro to the aboriginal cultures of Canada and set us in good stead for venturing further afield – next stop - Drumheller and Canada’s dinosaur trail!

On reflection, we were impressed with the Australian Dinosaur Trail when we ventured to and fro around the hinterland of Queensland, but it seemed rather under-funded and miniscule for what it was – perhaps all it needed was a bit of oil-money to give it a makeover and attract the hordes! Alberta is probably the wealthiest province of Canada owing to its oil-resources and it shows. The Royal Tyrell Museum a few kilometres outside of Drumheller (and in the middle of seemingly no-where) is an incredible place, with majestic grounds and a massive museum containing hordes of skeletal dinosaur remains. The layout essentially follows Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution, following a path from one prehistoric era to another in a seemless and most impressive maze of installations. Numerous programs are on offer as well allowing hands on ‘palaentology’ out in the field or in the lab making casts of fossils. Owing to the 30 degree plus temps we elected for the inside program and the kids contentedly made plaster casts of claws, bones and other fossils. Before heading further afield into Saskatchewan we stopped in the town of Drumheller – home of the world’s largest model of a dinosaur – a T-Rex. The 20-30 meter tall beast stands adjacent the information centre and as big things go is absolutely massive. A waterpark with wading pools and fountains fronts the information bay and attracts tourists and visitors alike, looking for some respite from the heat during the summer months. There seems to be a naivety or lack of concern for skin cancer here in Canada as bare skin seems to predominate in most aquatic facilities with few if any sporting rashers or suitable head-wear. I’m sure the legacy of such callous regard for UV will eventually catch up – could make my life quite busy if such is the case in Ontario as well. From Drumheller we trekked a short distance to a place just over the border of Saskatchewan called Kindersley, spent the night and then made our way down to the mighty Moose Jaw and more relatives.
I’ve travelled to these parts on numerous occasions with my parents in years gone by but as a passenger never fully paid attention to where I was going or coming from. After 39 years I’m finally getting a sense of where I am in these parts and developing an appreciation for where my parents and much of my extended family owe their heritage. Growing up in the shoulder provinces, one often becomes ignorantly jaded about the ‘prairies’, fearing or gesticulating about their vastness, plainness and apparently flat (and perceived boring) appearance. Nothing could be further from the truth though. The roads although often long and horizons distant, exude an incredibly scenic and inherently beautiful aesthetic with green (and oft yellowish) rolling hills, seemingly strategically placed rolls of hay bales dotting the immense and never-ending fields, and massive skies, sometimes dominated by almost unimaginably large cumulo-nimbus ‘thunder’ clouds. I’ve been nothing but impressed since entering these parts and thankful that I finally get to take the steering wheel – a venture that helps one to actually understand and make sense of the area.

Moose Jaw derives its name from an apparently historical situation in which a family or perhaps a group of families were making their way across the prairies by ox-cart and ran into some difficulty when one of their wheels fell apart. In true MacGyver-style and ingenuity they were able to utilize a moose-jaw that they found in a local waterway to fix the wheel and continue their journey (or so the story goes). Our first day here followed a quick lunch and game of mini-golf at the South Saskatchewan Landing Provincial Park. I’ve likened this day our ‘free-day’ as entry to the park was granted free of charge owing to my father’s age and birth in the province of Saskatchewan. Later in the day we were granted a free entry to the ‘Natatorium’ or swimming complex (complete with 10 and 15 meter diving platforms) owing to the lateness of our arrival (only 40 minutes left in the session) and finally, we inadvertently skipped paying for entry to the indoor water slides and pool harboured in the caravan park – thinking it was a free facility for any residents or visitors in the park - naivety sometimes pays dividends!

Day two was one of re-acquainting and introducing the kids and ourselves to the roots of my side of the family. South-west of Moose Jaw sits the small town of Assiniboia – where my mother was born and raised. My grandfather died a couple years ago and bequeathed the family farm to his four daughters. I have numerous fond memories of visiting the family homestead in times past but never realized how close it was to town or how small 640 acres actually appears in the prairies. The house where my mother grew up is essentially derelict now as are most of the farm buildings on the site. It was like visiting a museum of one’s own family in some ways and the kids were in their element exploring the relics of a former existence. A visit to the local cemetery to pay respects to my grandfather was somewhat of a reminder of our inherent mortality. It was the first time in my life that someone I knew and had spent not an insignificant amount of time with, lay buried before me. It struck me with a relevance I’d previously ignored or been unaware of and seemed to enunciate the precarious division of life and death – a soul-twigging experience to say the least. On the way back to the ‘Jaw’ we had chance to visit my father’s old homestead as well as my paternal grandfather’s grave which sits just outside of the city. I’d never inquired before but now had the need to know how and why it all came to be. My grandfather was the product of a marriage in which my great grandmother became widowed one evening when my great grandfather was lost in a blizzard and couldn’t find his way back to the house. She found work as a house-cleaner with a bachelor farmer outside of Moose Jaw and eventually married her employer, taking her three children (one being my grandfather) with her. Upon the death of my great step-grandfather, my grandfather was given the farm and the rest is history. My grandmother (at a ripe young age of 90-odd years) joined us for dinner and although she is rather stooped from the ravages of osteoporosis, she is sharp as a tack and had Piper tagged as a ‘devil’ child as soon as she met her. I’m not entirely sure this is wholly accurate although there have been times of late….Today we’ll hit the tunnels of Moose Jaw – remnants of the age of prohibition when Al Capone and his cronies made use of the railroad facilities of the area to cart booze across the border into the US. Should be enlightening in a dark, underhanded sort of way.

Oi Canada, a touch of viral meningitis – ouch, and the 'Be Mary' makes tracks

Yes, it’s been a week off – not necessarily because I haven’t had anything to post or that I’ve been particularly slack either. At first, the jet-lag essentially caused all systems to fail come 8 pm in the evening and keeping my eyes open was literally an onerous task – this lasted a good 3 nights! By the time I was able to stay awake to write something I was lacking in muse. It was like I had come back to a place that I already knew so well and saw from an already pre-conceived perspective – so nothing really shone out to peak my creative forces. Lots had changed though and we did pack a few things into a week including a couple of visits to the Emergency at the local hospital, not for the kids, for Jen and then, me (yet another excuse for my dismal blogging). A couple of days after arriving back, Jen began getting this nagging global headache which seemed to sharpen whenever she altered position and resolved – albeit reluctantly, with large doses of Aspirin. She couldn’t seem to get adjusted to the only slightly cooler temperatures (21-25 deg. Celsius) and shivered now and again without any real fever to speak of. Being the tough, child-bearing-without-pain-control Iron Woman that she is, she let it slide for a couple of days until one night when she was literally completely debilitated by the pain. Being a good doctor (or so I like to think) I knew this wasn’t right and trundled her off to the local walk-in clinic for assessment the next day. Two and a half hours wait later (and some coffee, a new phone and some movies) and she finally saw the other good doctor who quickly put her in the too hard box and drafted a note for her to attend the local emergency for a work up. Yet another 3 to 4 hours later she was finally assessed, stabbed by the nurse, given a single dose of Stemetil (an anti-nauseant) and, as they say in French, voila – she was all better but none the wiser as to the cause as our busy emerg doc wasn’t so much interested. That evening as we were enjoying the company of some Swedish friends, I began getting light nagging pains to my head and just the hint of heaviness in the neck. By mid morning the next day it was obvious I had never laboured for 16 hours and pushed a watermelon out my backside, as I was in a sordid heap and not wanting to be there any longer, announced that I was going to the hospital for the magic jab. Whereas Mondays are usually the slowest and busiest days (at least when I was in Narrandera) I seemed to have inadvertently found a day (Tuesday) of usual ease and fluidity in a state of stasis at the local ER and waited what seemed to be an eternity just to make it into an overflow room. The doctor did eventually catch up with me and in seemingly slow motion, had a nurse set up an IV, dose me up on Stemetil – to no avail – and sequester some blood for testing. The infectious disease expert in the big smoke was consulted and all worries of cerebral malaria or Japanese encephalitis were cast aside. Apparently, within the past 2 weeks there had been a spate of viral meningitis and was the most likely explanation for both Jen and I’s demise. A dose of the big guns (Toradol) and the threat of a lumbar puncture/ CT later and I was good to go. I suffered for another day or so much to Jen’s chagrin as it got me out of packing up the beast for our imminent departure across this great land.
It seems appropriate that one great journey should be followed by another, and in that the first was left slightly incomplete, so shall this one. Whereas the iconic trip for Aussies is the circumnavigation of the country/continent, the cross-Canada tour (from Coast to Coast) is the ‘piece de resistance’ for Canadians. Our stead is a 31 foot Ford Econoline powered monster with a side extension, 2 double beds, and two twins – sleeping up to 7 (or 8) people. It has all the amenities – shower, toilet, kitchen, TV/DVD and A/C. Owing to the source of funds used to finance the monster, it has been named in honour of our former and now deceased world-wandering Scottish friend (Mary King) and has been christened the ‘Be Mary’. Although I missed much of the first day of the drive, virtually cemented to the plush mattress at the back of the beast, what I did see at times of manageable head pains was magnificent. Although I’ve driven much of this province in my pre-Aussie days, I had nothing by which to compare it to – nothing to give it contrast and reality. Sweeping canyons, pointed-hat-like mountains jutting out around almost every bend, seemingly painted in virgin forest and unpolluted clear running streams, lakes and rivers bordering the drive. The people have been incredibly kind – nearing Japanese placability – polite, conscientious, etc, etc. I’ve also been impressed by a near integrated consciousness of healthy living with good nutrition and lifestyle virtually oozing from adverts, local restaurants and general populace at local markets. Boston Pizza (a franchise restaurant) even offered whole-wheat pizza crust and steamed veggies for the kids’ meals – it left me agog with surprise and awe. Environmentally, garbage is now divided three-fold – one bin for organic debris, one for solid but recyclable waste such as paper or plastic and one for non-recyclables – all retrieved from the curb once a week! There are also free recycling depots where different sorts of materials can be separated and regurgitated into the system of consumption.
Our drive took us through Nelson, BC, deep in the hinterland of the province in what the natives formerly referred to as the Valley of the Lost Souls – fabled to be a sort of purgatory for those who died and were unable to make it to whatever their cosmology dictated as the promised land. It has now erupted into a sort of hippie/organic/hemp/outdoor adventurer happy go-lucky young family enclave where my best friend from medical school and his family have come to reside. It’s been a few years since our families have met and it was a great, albeit short, reunion – but plans have been loosely set in motion for future reunions and adventures now that we’re back on the north half of the equator. The kids have been taking it all in and aside from some blonde-ambition attention-seeking and the occasional backyard minor brawls (as expected from their kind) we’ve been in auditory/visual overload. We’ve made it through the Rockies (catching glimpses of deer, bears and mountain goats on the way) and are now in a place called Lethbridge to visit some family before trekking further up the road through Canada’s dinosaur territory and onward to northern Saskatchewan for a family reunion. It’s all on the up and up.

Vietnam’s Gold Coast – Nha Trang and Canada Bound!

We were looking forward to our coastal visit to Nha Trang with visions of prisitine beaches, good snorkelling and maybe some R+R at the end of a whirlwind trip. Like every good expectation, it never quite turns out to be exactly as you’d have hoped. We flew in from Hanoi mid-day and met up with our final guide of the trip – Bi. He was an affable fellow…almost too affable and had an annoying tendency of saying “Oh My God” a lot. Nha Trang is the ‘Gold Coast’ of Vietnam and big dollar tourist developments are popping up all over the place amidst areas of moderate to abject poverty. As you drive in from the airport a large Soviet-era like monument within a massive quadrangle states itself profoundly, indicative of the previous and current strong ties Vietnam has with Russia. One of the largest developments is actually (apparently) owned by a Russian Mafioso who is married to a Vietnamese woman. It adds the theme park to the ‘Gold Coast’ equation and sits on an island off Nha Trang connected by the largest land to land over sea Poma lift in the world. Nha Trang’s greatest claim to fame is its hosting of the Miss World Pageant in 2008 – an event that still holds strong in its marketing of itself with various large banners and signs on the outskirts of town announcing its feat.  We’d been booked into the Yasagaki Saigon Hotel along the main strip – a large pink building which was essentially holding onto its former glory as the host hotel to contestants of the Miss World pageant in 2008 but had since fell slowly into disrepair and the contours of age were getting the better of it. Keen on a swim we found the ground floor pool and jumped in, disregarding the fact that the water was generally cloudy. As I walked along the bottom I could feel the occasional wayward rock and then something a little different – something sharp. I reached down to explore my find and found the bottom of a broken glass. Fortunately it had simply grazed my foot and not done any major damage – needless to say we exited the pool fairly quickly and headed to the beach. Each hotel has its own private beach set up complete with bar and ‘adventure’ desk for para-sailing or jet-ski rentals. The beach was scattered with litter and water appeared more greenish brown than turquoise blue. Aidan and Cole were mixing it up with the locals seemingly roughing or getting roughed up while piling into the surf. Jen and I fought off the ‘z’s and after the boys had had enough, trekked up the beach in search of an ice cream shop. One wasn’t far away and in no time we were digging into our respective choices. Jen and I opted for an Affogato and shortly after the first bite realized we’d been scooped, literally and figuratively, as the ice cream within our treat was our evil friend Mr. ‘Onion’ flavour. Imagine a sort of putrid, sour and bitter taste sensation (especially with the coffee in the mix) which has a tendency to linger for hours after the first insult – such is the character of the Mr. Onion – one I hope never to encounter again. Disappointed with our ice cream tasting we ventured further up the beach and found a microbrewery restaurant in which to enjoy some repast. In a great turn of luck – the beer was the best I had tasted whilst travelling around ‘Nam – fresh, lacking in any chemically tasting overtones and very quaffable. We caught a cab back to the hotel and called it a day.

As has been our tendency, we woke early again and managed to get ourselves fed and ready for our 9 AM pick up to do some water-based sight-seeing and snorkelling. It is currently summer holidays in Vietnam so domestic tourists were everywhere clambouring to find a boat and take a day trip to some of the local sights. The boats were predominantly old beaten up wooden structures with row upon row of wooden seats. Like many transport-related activities in Vietnam, finding and embarking on a boat was chaotic, with other crafts essentially edging themselves to the pier to load up passengers then basically bumping and grinding their way out. It was like a smash up derby with boats. We had a full boat to ourselves for a private tour so didn’t have to grapple for seats which was nice. Our first stop was what our guide called the Vietnamese Titanic – a massive concrete model of a pirate ship complete with eerie looking jaws, skeletons and the appearance as though it had been lifted from the depths. Inside there were a number of smallish aquariums and an assortment of fish – mediocre as aquariums go but still appealing given the mass of intricately sculpted concrete. From here we headed to Mun Island for a snorkel around a small reef. The waters were pleasantly warm and reef surprisingly intact with little bleaching or damage from souvenir hunters. By noon our tour was essentially over so we elected to head to the theme park for a play. The mafia-owned establishment is known as Vinpearl Land and when we arrived was uncannily quiet – at first we were wondering if it was open at all. Piper had been complaining the past few days of being sick and at times did feel a bit warm but was acting her normal self so we didn’t pay much attention. As we reached Vinpearl Land though she was heating up again.  We had a bite to eat (the worst fast food ever – had to apologize to my temple profusely) and then ventured to the water park facility a little further on the path. Piper was still up for a couple slides albeit she was shivering every time I hoisted her up the stairs with her uttering “this will be wicked” – so maintaining her go-lucky gleeful self. It didn’t last long though, within an hour she was assuming the fetal position in Jen’s arms and shortly thereafter began to bring up our tasteless lunch. Needless to say our afternoon was cut a bit short but just in time as the rains just started as we jumped on the Poma Lift across the seaway. Back at the hotel we managed to get her medicated and settled so we could head out for dinner at the microbrewery we enjoyed so much the day before.

Our last day in‘Nam began with a lateish breakfast - Piper seemed a bit better but was still febrile. We spent the morning in the upper pools of the hotel as they seemed the clearest and were less likely to have broken glass cluttering their bottoms, then headed out to find a bakery for some lunch. By the time we had made it to the airport, Piper was heating up again but fortunately kept her cookies in check throughout the flight. Seems we’ve developed a penchant for kids vomiting at airports and Jen seems to be the chosen vomit manager. Piper went well up until our arrival in Saigon where we were in transit for a few hours before our flight to Tokyo. She was burning up so we attempted to dose her again with some Panadol which seemed to only make her gag and induce near projectile emesis. Naturally I wasn’t quick enough finding a suitable bag to catch it all and for the next fifteen minutes attempted to clean up the mess that decorated a couple of our bags and the floor of the departure terminal. She perked up though and was hungry for a spot of dinner a little later - overpriced Ramen noodles - which only lasted a few minutes in her gullet. We eventually did get her to Japan without any further event but as we entered the customs area felt we ought to concede to the signs and took her to the clinic for assessment. Surprise, surprise her temp was down so fortunately she didn’t meet the criteria for Quarantine and we hustled out, found a chemist for some more Panadol and then a hotel to bunk up at for the day. Jen had been pining for true Japanese Sushi – from the source –  but alas her wish was not to be fulfilled. Lunch at the Holiday Inn had nothing but Western and cooked Japanese foods and back at the airport, more of the same – it was tragic! We did find some interesting Japanese sweets though and bought a ‘hamper’ box to bring back to share with family. The final leg of our journey was only an 8 hour flight and had the benefit of personal televisions in the seat backs to enjoy any number of movies or games. Piper was on the up and up (finally!) and like myself, Cole and Aidan didn’t bat an eyelid for the whole flight while Jen attempted to find some respite as best she could given the economy-sized seating arrangements. Landing in Vancouver brought a sense of completeness to our 7 year journey – I actually felt like I was coming home and there was a sense of contentedness that overwhelmed me, ready to take on the new challenges which were about to erupt over the next month or so – finding work, getting settled, etc, etc…It was great to see the parents again and share the children – 6 months virtually unseparated from them has its definite ups and downs and some space was desperately needed on both sides of the fence. It was hard to believe we’d finally made it back to the Great White North – now all we had to do was make it across the country on yet the start of a new adventure – I’ll be sure to keep you posted!

Aidan has a Sick Day, An Ice Cold Ho Chi Min, and then…the Whirlwind of Adventure!

Apologies for the recent chaos. We’ve been struggling to get WiFi and due to a minor dropping accident back in Siem Reap, Cambodia – our good camera’s lens has gone kaput, thereby leaving us with our little Panasonic Snapper and no cord with which to attach and download pictures onto my computer. We eventually got it sorted though – hence the 3 blog posts in a row. I’m up to date on the World Cup now as well – Viva L’Espana!! So – from where we left off we had arrived back in Hanoi – the capital of Vietnam and former headquarters of the Viet Cong headed by the enigmatic and obviously impressionable, commie-to-the-core – Ho Chi Min. He is essentially deified in these parts, with signs and monuments dedicated to him virtually everywhere. The story goes (based on my guide’s historical knowledge) he studied in France and then spent about 30 years travelling around the world learning about how different countries functioned. He became enamoured with Marxist and Leninist theories and returned to Vietnam in 1941 to lead a political movement to oust the French colonialists. By 1945 the French were gone but returned again in 1946 which led to the early makings of the Vietnam War. He died in 1969 at the age of 79 (old for a Vietnamese) and although requesting to be cremated was not granted his dying wish. Instead he was embalmed and 5 years later placed in a massive mausoleum in Hanoi which is supposed to look somewhat like a lotus flower reflecting his continued adherence to Buddhism despite his socialist view of the world (remember Marx – “ Religion is the opiate of the masses”). The massive marble structure looks more like a cubic Parthenon than a flower but to this day it is where he resides. Everyday the mausoleum is open for an hour and a half in the morning to receive visitors. The road in front is cordoned off and cameras and phones barred from entry. Literally thousands of Ho Chi Min fans and tourists take the walk through looking upon his greatness in all its dead glory and you know what – he hasn’t aged a bit! Aidan and Jen were amiss from our visit owing to Aidan’s rip roaring temperature – he’d earned a day in bed so we split up the troops. From Ho Chi Min’s current resting place we ventured through his old office buildings and home then onward to Vietnam’s first university dating back to the 10th century AD. It was a monument to the aspiration for knowledge and education with massive statues of some of the initial ideologues of the time such as Confucius and some related Vietnamese Scholars and teachers. The afternoon took Jen, Cole and Piper to the museum of ethnology which provided a hands on view of some of the cultures of Vietnam such as the Hmong while Aidan and I held down the fort, catching up on the blog and dealing with the raging fever which eventually abated. Feeling he was on the up and up, we forced him out of bed and off to the Water Puppet Show a 10 minute walk up the street. He managed alright, albeit with a bit of grumbling and made it right to the end of the show before emptying his stomach contents discretely into a bag out in the foyer – all class. We took one of the rickshaw rides home as he wasn’t up to walking and put him back to bed with a large dose of Ibuprofen. Our treatment seemed to work though and by morning he’d turned the corner and was almost as good as new. It was a good thing as we were off to Ha Long Bay for a night on the South China Sea.

It takes a good 3 to 4 hours to travel 150kms to Ha Long Bay due to the chaotic traffic conditions and speed limit of only 40-80 km/h. We stopped about 2/3rds of the way for a refreshment at a road side Vietnamese Souvenir/tourist shop filled with massive marble sculptures, incredibly intricate needle-point pictures, traditional clothing, jewellery and a café. Most of the artistry is done by victims of land mines, all of whom are missing either a limb or digit here or there – simply amazing. Ha Long Bay is essentially a tourist port with numerous ‘junk’ boats – not really ‘junk’ at all as we found out but beautiful wooden boats with luxurious cabins and decks to motor around the numerous karsts jutting abruptly 100’s of vertical metres out of the sea. We settled into our air conditioned cabins and powered over to a floating village to visit a massive arching cave at the base of one of these karsts. Our tour guides were these tiny Vietnamese women who didn’t speak a word, simply rowed their small reed-woven boats around the village and back to the pier from whence we started. The Victory Star (our ‘junk’) has a couple of dragon boats moored in this area and part of the day’s festivities was to split the tourist squad into two teams for a race. Naturally, Jen and my team conquered with boat lengths to spare – wasn’t difficult with most of these out of shape Europeans! Dinner was 5 courses ie) way too much food but delicious just the same. Bloated and tired from our recent exploits we had one quick attempt to fish for some squid off the back of the boat (without success) then sunk into our beds and slept in until the sun began peaking through our blinds unrelentingly. Our second day on the boat brought us to one of the largest caverns I’ve ever seen. Along with hundreds of other tourists, we ascended the steps and entered the chasm, venturing deeper and deeper into its core, listening to our jovial tour guide point out the different stalactite shapes and their animal or phallic representations. From there we headed back to shore and a drive back to Hanoi to prepare for a night train to Lao Cai and couple day trip to Sapa and surrounds.

Lao Cai is 9 hours by train from Hanoi up in the north-west of the country. The A/C cabin with four bunks fit us snugly and although sleep came quick to the kids and Jen, I tossed and turned, struggling to find comfort on the platform-like beds listening to the constant rattle of the clackity train. We arrived at 5:30 in the morning and were immediately met by our new guide Zung. A sleepy drive up to Sapa gave us a bit of steam to enjoy a buffet breakfast and head out the door to acquire some proper rubber boots for our trekking. It was drizzling when we exited the restaurant so we pulled out our multi-coloured rain ponchos and truly looked the part of the ill-prepared traveller. All but I were able to find appropriately sized footwear – Jen really liked the black tall-boot look. A short jaunt up the road took us to beautifully green terraced valleys spreading out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Finding our path, we ventured down to the valley floor being followed the whole time by Hmong women or young girls wishing to sell us intricately designed handbags, woven bracelets and other trinkets. By mid-afternoon we had finally made it to our homestay residence in a place called Tavan, 3 or so kilometres from the main road. Our hosts we’re some wonderfully accommodating Vietnamese with 4 young children in and around our children’s ages. Although language was an issue we seemed to hit it off quite well and settled into our new surroundings. In the distance we could see a large structure which looked to be almost like the inner framework of a tepee but on closer inspection occasionally had kids swinging on it from a large central platform. Keen to check it out our hosts’ children escorted us down the path and we all had a go. The tiny Hmong girls selling bracelets could get it really moving with little if any fear whatsoever. I had a go and it was laughable – seems it takes a bit of practice. Our guide joined us later to take us to the river for a swim – unfortunately the swimming area was essentially an open area of a rather fast moving water and after some tom-foolery Cole just so happened to slip off the rock upon which we were sitting into a serious rapid, holding on for dear life. As I quickly tried to grab him I accidentally pushed Aidan on top of Cole – so then there were two. It didn’t take long though and I had both out – Aidan with a couple of abrasions but essentially both no worse for wear. Back up at the house, we introduced the host kids to some Uno and began to help out with making dinner. Cole was right into helping prepare the duck while Jen took on the spring rolls. Dinner was a feast of Vietnamese dishes – far beyond any of our capacity and was interrupted by not infrequent “Mo, Hi, Ba, Zo!!” shots of homemade rice wine made by our host. They seemed to like the rice wine and attempted to seduce me into liking it as much – fortunately I pulled through with some reserve insight and resisted further doses ….after the first 5 or 6 of course – one has to be accommodating in these circumstances. Our beds were up in the loft of the house and consisted of thin mattresses, some bed coverings and a mosquito net overhead – only slightly more comfortable than the beds on the train but I did manage to get some sleep. The next day we were treated to a thin pancake or crepe breakfast and then bid our hosts adieu, trekking up the road through the rice paddies, a bamboo forest, past a water fall and back to the main road some 5-6kms from where we had started …and Piper did it all! The track so thin in parts and up and down it would have been impossible to carry her without losing our balance so the little trooper forged on – a little disgruntled but unbowed. Needless to say she was a tad tuckered by the end and had a good snooze as soon as we caught our ride back to town. We had a few hours to poke around before heading back to Lao Cai and another night train back to Hanoi so checked out the Sunday market and hob-knobbed with many a prying yet peaceful Hmong – often wishing us to buy some of their handicrafts. We were able to sell our rubber boots back to the store where we had purchased them and gave our new umbrellas to a poor Hmong woman with a sordid history of maternal woe which she spilled in great detail to Jen as they walked along. The train ride back to Hanoi was as bad as the initial journey, pushing me nearly to delirium with the caustic voice of Axel Rose filtering through my subconscious at times with his rendition of “I’m on a night train…” – echoes of a misspent youth and questionable musical tastes. Fortunately, our program had us set up in a day hotel when we returned from Lao Cai and we were able to shower, catch up on some sleep and become human again before venturing to the airport for a flight to Nha Trang – the last port on our journey.

The Luang Prabang Museum, One sick boy and Onward to Hanoi!

When you embark on a trip such as this you often expect some funny tummy bugs to befall you, you just hope the infection you get is minor and clears up quickly. We’d taken all the precautions, had our acidophilus dust to lower our risk and been virtually hygiene-nazi-esque in dolling out the hand cleaner and trying to keep the kids from doing anything that might put them at risk. Admittedly, sometimes our instructions have been misunderstood or forgotten as quickly as they’ve been said and absolute indiscretions have been taken – Cole being the worst of the perpetrators. Unbelievably he’s the only one who has avoided much tummy rumblings (knock on wood). Aidan has fallen in a veritable heap but managed to stagger around with us to the Luang Prabang Museum on our last morning in Laos. The museum is housed in the former King’s residence and displays a number of artefacts from the royal era as well as the Prabang solid gold Buddha – from which Luang Prabang has derived its name. We managed to get Piper to try walking in the morning and her confidence has increased immeasurably – she’s a hard girl to keep down – so now we’ll be likely back to chasing her rather than pushing or carrying her along. We decided to take some free time after the museum and hung out along the Mekong at a café until we were meant to meet up with ‘Do’ again for our trip to the airport. Jen and I took turns with either Piper or Cole checking out the tourist/souvenir shops but nothing appealed all that much – I think the shopping urge has been purged from us almost entirely. Aidan languished in the heat taking up 3 chairs to lie down and catch some shut eye. We managed to get to the airport and on the plane without much ado and only ran into a hitch when filling out the entry declaration papers and deciding whether to tick the box on Aidan’s form indicating whether or not he had symptoms of nausea or diarrhea – he didn’t currently ie) on the flight – and he did seem to be improving so we indicated ‘No’ on the form and covertly encouraged him to not announce his malaise as we were trying to get through customs. All fared well and we managed our way through the airport to find Quyen (Quin) our next guide for Hanoi and Ha Long Bay. The temperature was Aussie-Hot which Quyen liked to describe as ‘excellent’ hot – another Vietnamesism perhaps and sat at about 38 to 40 degrees with 75% or higher humidity – near stifling. The drive took us past massive factories of companies like Canon or Panasonic – obviously taking advantage of the people resource and cheap labour. On entry to the city lies a massive archway not dissimilar to the Arch de Triomphe in France. The streets seemed to be gradually getting narrower and narrower, busier and busier the deeper we travelled into the city. We eventually arrived at our hotel – the Maison D’Hanoi and checked in without ado. Aidan was nearly crawling by this stage and we brought him upstairs, drugged him up with Ibuprofen and put him to bed. Having been without TV for a couple of days – Cole and Piper became immediately glued to Monsters Inc. which was playing on Disney and were undetachable until it was over and dinnertime had arrived. Whilst Jen ventured out with Cole and Piper for a bite to eat, Aidan and I made the best of our little pad and ordered in. He seemed to perk up over some spaghetti bolognaise but it didn’t last long – soon he was shivering again and making visits to what the Vietnamese call the ‘Happy Place’ – the WC or toilet. With any luck, the boy will turn the corner soon and be back on track for the rest of the trip.

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.