Sleep and Time
I'm used to spending a week in a place if I don't feel like moving - inertia is my major driving force. Phase two of my travels consists of two months of package tours - the first a Gecko's from Saigon to Beijing; the second an Intrepid starting the day after the Gecko's finishes from Beijing via Tibet to Nepal. I was originally going to have a week between to go down to Shanghai, unwind, etc., but unfortunately the cancellation of the original tour means that that isn't an option.
I'm a marathon traveller doing two months of sprints.
A lot of the travel for the Gecko's tour is on overnight trains. This saves time and is more comfortable than buses since you can lie flat, but it's still not entirely comfortable - the beds are bunks and you sleep
wearing your cash since break-ins can supposedly happen. A big downside of overnight travel is that you arrive at your destination at inconvenient times - an 05:30 wake-up means 3-4 hours of sleep that you probably won't get back - particularly since you're in places for only a day or two and there's so much to do at each place. I expect to quietly die for a week in Kathmandu before doing anything Anapurnan.
Who's Who Anudhi - Tsunami redevelopment coordinator from Sri Lanka.
Cameron - Paramedic from Melbourne, my roommate until Hanoi
Jock - Mechanical engineer from Bunbury
Long - Tour leader for the Vietnamese Leg from Saigon.
Margie - Nurse from Bunbury, married to Jock
Mia - Social Worker from Perth
Tanya - Travel Agent from Perth - best friends with Mia
Yoshan - Programmer from Melbourne, friends with Anudhi.
... Which really tells you very little.
Sea In Sydney, I lived beside the water for most of my life. We went to beaches quite frequently. During high school we did a lot of swimming - we had to qualify for the Bronze Star, Bronze Medallion, etc. If I had to swim for my life, I probably could, but I still don't feel particularly comfortable in the water. Perhaps it's a few near-drowning experiences; perhaps seeing Jaws at too early an age. So, despite having seen beaches in so many coastal towns in the last four months, I hadn't done more than set foot in sea.
The beach at Nha Trang was somewhat clean, but artificial in feel. It had umbrellas, deckchairs, and attendants. Its promenade was clean and thoroughly designed, with deliberately placed trees and paths. With its backdrop of hotel after hotel after building site, it unappealed.
Instead I crossed a couple of bridges to the Cham temple - enough said; I'm still templed out from Angkor - and then headed over to Hon Chong Promontory. There was a beach on the other side - probably nicer - but thise one was filthy with flotsam and jetsam. Oddly, as one who wasn't planning on swimming there anyway, I found it far nicer than Nha Trang, with views of the fishing boats and locals in coracles, and a small island barely separated from the mainland. The area was far wilder, with a few basic tourist-free eateries.
We had a cruise the next day - out through a fishing village with its battery of fish-pens, and thence to a reef area. The water was cleanish, there were some black-and-yellow striped fish, but the coral was generally whitish - there were a lot of tourist boats for such a minuscule reef, and the scuba divers weren't particularly careful about avoiding contact. Outfitted with mask and snorkel, I went swimming for the first time since January.
At Hoi An we cycled out to China Beach. The water was wet; the sun was hot; the sand was white and covered with hawkers. I sat beneath a palm tree and enjoyed the shade.
Land "It's amazing what you can grow in sand", said Marge. She and Jock live in Bunbury, WA, on "the side of a sand dune", which sounds unstable, but apparently with sufficient compaction it's safe to build on. You can also have a vegetable garden - the sand is good for growing potatoes since they only need to be shaken to be cleanish.
They plant in sandy soil in central Vietnam's former demilitarized zone, too - sickly scrubby crops, and grave after grave too. Through the bluish tint of the Hue to Hanoi train window, you can see the sand lying like snow among areas of sparse vegetation. Agent Orange laid waste to much of the area, and Long told us that the only trees that thrive here have been imported from Australia - gums and casuarinas, used to harsh conditions.
Smooth boards and Moxie "I didn't think you were the type of person to dance.", said Tanya afterwards, when Hanoi's Crimson Love Dancing Studio closed at 10:30pm and we'd all headed down to a Draught Beer cafe - it was her birthday the next day, and she was partysome. I've danced a few times this trip, discovering - incidently - that it's a really good idea to plastic-bag one's passport before stepping out in torrential rain: visa ink smudges and runs!
As my fellow travellers now know - as do any of you who've been <cough> fortunate enough to see me dance - when I dance, I do so enthusiastically, in a style best described as "epileptic marionette". Give me something fast and I'm happy -- if a danger to others.
There was no continuity of music at the club - it went from waltz to pop to techno to salsa. The DJ tried one crossfade but it was hideously rough. At every change, the music would stop, everyone would clear the dance floor, and then new partners would be selected - at least among the locals as we foreigners were cliquey. There were resident professional dancers, each in their black and whites, with identification pinned on. The locals were of varying standards - some rather good - but their dance style was very sedate - fine for waltzing but using low energy shuffling during high energy techno - showed their classical training. Meanwhile Anu and I did our best to give them the very worst impression of foreigners as we refused to shuffle lifelessly and took up way too much dancefloor
.
End of Phase 2a - Saigon to Hanoi, 23/8/06 to 1/8/06. Only Margie, Jock, and I continue on to China with two others yet to join us.
