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| 2007-11-28 - Cambodia - Siem Reap to Bangkok |
| • It's a long way to Bangkok • |
 The bus jolted along, shaking all the passengers making them wish they hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning. Windows were propped slightly open to provide some kind of fresh air in the non-air conditioned bus, but still mostly closed to keep out the swirling red dust of the dirt road. In the front the driver downed another can of Angkor beer as he expertly dodged an oncoming Toyota Camry, streaked with road dust. As passengers, were more like sardines packed tightly into an airless can then happy tourists on another adventure. I tried to concentrate on my book instead of the heat that was quickly rising and the road dust that was making it difficult to breathe.
Yes, this is the overland trip to Bangkok from Siem Reap. It’s known for being bad, but as a well-traveled friend of mine told me when I asked if I should consider wimping out on the adventure and buying plane tickets instead, “no, you just need to experience it.” So there I was, on a cramped bus, in the middle of nowhere in northeast Cambodia where the roads are narrow and made of dirt, and secretly praying that the bus wouldn’t break down and that the luggage stacked all the way to the ceiling in the back wouldn’t jolt forward and hit me on the head. The day before, after some asking around, we had purchased out tickets for $9. Good choice considering everyone of our fellow travelers were with us the whole route from Siem Reap to Cambodia and many had paid $14 and $15 per ticket. It’s clearly all about commission. Ticket prices aside, the departure time of the bus was typically Cambodian: give a time, leave later. I had been told the bus would leave at 8. The English woman next to me had been told 7:30. We took off at 9. As there was no storage room under the bus luggage was crammed into the back row of seats. Upon arrival the bus was already full, and we scored the last two seats. Suddenly two more travelers came and needed a place to sit. One of the Cambodian men that had been conversing with the driver made his way to the back and began rearranging the mountainous ensemble of suitcases, backpacks and large plastic bags. Stacking them as high as he could got remarks from us foreigners: “Isn’t that going to fall down during the bumpy ride?” “Is that safe?” “Is he serious?” But somehow he managed to stack them so the two tourists, who were largely built, could uncomfortably stuff themselves between the window and the luggage. After five hours my body was exhausted as well as my eyes that had been busy trying to read from a book that wouldn’t stay still in front of my eyes on account of the jolting bus. Arrival at the border town of Poipet was much appreciated. Here we were told to go through Cambodian departure customs and walk over to the Thai side where we would get our passports stamped and find our new bus. People who have traveled in Asia will understand the chaotic mess that defines a border crossing. Western travelers who in their home countries have a respect for lines and personal space cram themselves in front of the booths, pushing with their elbows and forcing their way forward. A five hour bus ride and hour of border crossing and passport stamping later, we were finally on the Thai side, where instead of sad, rundown looking mini-buses there were large, flashily painted coaches. We were instructed to sit in a café and wait for ours which would depart at 5pm. I have never been happier to be on a regular highway in a large mode of transportation. After over a month of crazy, reckless driving on small backroads, sitting in a coach bus on the Thai highway felt like luxury. As one of the loud-mouthed Americans in the back pointed out “I feel like I’m floating.” Sweaty and drowsy we rolled though the sparkling lights of Bangkok. Overpasses and underpasses interlaced together, while new cars sped by and remained at all times in their designated lanes. Coming back into a big city felt like a shock, but at the same time it was appreciated. Especially with my sore muscles from the bumpy ride of the morning. After over 12 hours of strenuous travel it was definitely time to find a room and crash for the night. |
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| 2007-11-27 - Cambodia - Siem Reap |
| • An absurd amount of digital cameras • |
 Considering my $40 investment in a three-day pass, I figured I better make us of today, even though I am too exhausted to spend another day in a tuk-tuk adventuring through Angkor. So I did what any good tourist would do: set my alarm for 4:30, met my favorite tuk-tuk driver and made my way to Angkor Wat to experience the much talked about sunrise.
The magic of being alone in the temples yesterday turned into a mere memory as I crossed the moat bridge. If you think people like to sleep in on vacation then you’ve never been to Angkor; even at 5:30am when most people had to find their way by flashlight, there were still busloads of visitors unloading and making their way into the inner walls of the temple. As the guidebook had correctly predicted, the colors that appear behind Angkor before the sun breaks over the horizon were the best. Behind me, an almost full moon shone brightly, making the lighting of the morning sky seductive. Behind Angkor Wat’s signature three towers the sky gradually turned from pink to yellow to blue. Digital and cell phone cameras went off, most of them with flash, indicating the photographic intelligence of their owners. This was definitely not the crowd of yesterday. The early morning craziness of Angkor Wat was off-putting compared to the tranquility and simplicity of yesterday’s sunrise at Srah Srang. But I must admit that the sun rising behind Angkor Wat was impressive and I can only imagine the effects it had on the million inhabitants of the Angkor Empire thousands of years ago. They at least didn’t have cell phone cameras; it was most likely just a simple occurrence of everyday life. |
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| 2007-11-26 - Cambodia - Siem Reap |
| • A day without the tourist rush • |
 At 5:15am we are out the hotel gates and walking down the dirt road to the bridge that leads to the center of Siem Reap. Despite the early hour and the fact that it is still dark out, finding a tuk-tuk driver is easy and we are soon on our way to Srah Srang to catch the sunrise.
Instead of taking in the rising sun at the usual place, Angkor Wat, I have decided that doing it at the less visited “baray,” ancient water reservoir, of Srah Srang will be more enjoyable. With only a few scattered tourists, most with large camera lenses and tripods – this is obviously the photographer crowd – I know that I have chosen well. It may be early but children are already out asking me if I want to buy a book or a bracelet. Others propose coffee. “No thank you,” I say remembering to smile. “Lady, you buy coffee from me later.” “No thank you.” “Maybe later you buy coffee. You remember me lady.” “No thank you.” “Later lady, ok?” They certainly are persistent. When one of the older boys trying to sell me a book realizes I am not going to purchase it, he remains friendly and tells me that if I want to have a really good view of the sunrise I must make my way to the north side of the reservoir. “Good sunrise,” he says pointing across the still water to where the sun will surface from the hazy trees. He’s right and as the sun rises, the golden orange color reflects onto the lake. Everyone is quiet and enchanted by picturesque moment we are all taking part of. For a second even the children stop trying to sell their bracelets. The calm of the morning’s sunrise stays with us, and we miraculously manage to visit most temples on today’s route with no tourists. As opposed to yesterday, the old stone passageways are empty and mysterious. The morning sunlight shines down onto the sandstone and paints it gold. Even the temperature is perfect, and the sticky heat of yesterday afternoon is replaced with a cool tropical breeze. Alone in the temples may seem slightly unsettling, but instead it is relaxing. The magic and beauty that circulates with them emanates from the walls, inducing the visitor into a mellow state. The effect is addicting. I can see why the French were so ecstatic when they discovered the Angkor temples. They are exotic and mystical, people would be crazy not to be drawn to them. |
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| 2007-11-25 - Cambodia - Siem Reap |
| • Exploring Angkor • |
 One of the main tourist draws of Cambodia is undoubtedly the Angkor archeological ruins. Today’s incredible collection of temples and ruins once was up the capital city of the Khmer Empire that existed in Cambodia between the 9th and 12th centuries A.D. At its height, the Angkor area contained more than a million people and the empire’s kings undertook grand construction projects of waterworks and temples. In every ruin and temple, history runs rich. Angkor’s size and scale is impressive if not at times overwhelming.
We start at Angkor Wat, Cambodia’s signature temple, often depicted on everything from t-shirts to the national flag. Taking in the temple is almost too much. We arrive at 9am and are definitely not the first. The three famous pyramid towers that rise from the center are ominous looking in the sun. Tourists scurry across the bridge that traverses the moat and leads to the exterior wall. Compared to the enormous scale of the temple they look more like ants than human beings. Once inside it is time to explore, but I find that the large scale of the architecture and surroundings is too much for my brain or camera to handle so I focus in on the easier to deal with bas-reliefs and intricate carvings that cover the walls. Dancing women delicately hold their hands and they look almost real enough to jump out of the wall. Columns are covered in elaborate floral designs, so symmetric it seems impossible that they were made by a human being. The elaborate carvings are the theme of the day and as we move on from temple to temple, they continue to be inspiring. In some of the temples it is as if the Angkor kings wanted no stone left untouched; space is used consciously and beautifully. The whole day is spent driving around the “Small Tour Circuit” in a tuk-tuk. The circuit is made up of several kilometers of road that passes by some of the most well-known temples. As we are on the most traveled section of Angkor route, the temples are full of tourists. In Angkor Thom however we manage to break away from the pack and explore the forest. Here we find a temple ruin, almost hidden from the masses. In the quiet I can see why such a place can be so spiritual. In fact, even today most of the temples have Buddha shrines in them, attracting locals to light their incenses and kneel before the great deity in the middle of ancient ruins. Completing the whole circuit takes the whole day, and by the end I am exhausted, my feet have taken on a dirty red color on account of the sandy roads and my brain is overloaded with images of old rocks. This is what seems to happen at the end of the day; so much beauty and awe-inspiring history turns my brain to temporary mush. But the beauty of the area stays with me and I know that all I need is some sleep in a well air-conditioned room and I will be back at it tomorrow. |
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| 2007-11-23 - Cambodia - Phnom Penh |
| • Cambodia: Happy Happy? • |
 Fortunately I have descended upon Phnom Penh at the right time of year; this weekend is the time of Cambodia’s famous Bonn Om Touk, the Water Festival. The festival celebrates the reversing of the current in the Tonle Sap River, which runs directly in front of the Royal Palace. Water Festival’s main activity is Dragon Boat Racing and large crowds come down to the riverfront to partake in the action.
The riverfront area is in fact crowded. Spectators sit as close to the water as is possible in order to get a good view of the colorful boats that whiz by. In the streets, vendors sell everything from colorful paper fish to grilled corn. Although I don’t know where it comes from, music fills the air and intermixes with the sound of voices, laughter and the shouts from the competing boats. Festivity hangs in the air. At the end of the afternoon, in search of a good view and feeding my need for wanting to go to places with historically hip value, we make our way to FCC. Here I need to take a moment to explain: the FCC, otherwise known as the Foreign Correspondents Club, was founded in 1992 during the time when Phnom Penh was a hub of UN workers their to watch the Cambodian elections of 1993. A hoard of foreigners descended upon the city in the form of UN officials, NGO workers, and above all journalists in search of intriguing stories as Cambodia moved away from a time of war and fear to something more hopeful. For me the FCC therefore has a certain nostalgic aura, climbing the stairs I couldn’t help but think of sun-tanned journalists, manual Nikon SLRs in their hands, wearing checkered Cambodian scarves and aviator sunglasses. For me foreign correspondents have always had a certain allure, and I wasn’t going to miss the chance to have a drink in a bar where many of them had once congregated. Turns out the FCC was a fantastic spot to be, not only because of the excellent black and white photojournalism pieces on the wall, but the superb view over the night’s firework display. And even though the FCC is a little more overrun with tourists like myself than once before, there were still a good amount of SLRs busy trying to capture the festive moment. I couldn’t help fantasizing about the international jobs that some of the bar-goers must have. As I dreamed of all the job possibilities which allow one to travel the world, see exotic places and do good things (because I like to believe that these kinds of things still exist) I was enthralled by the display of color over the river. Not only were there the neon displays of fireworks, but large boats, decorated in colorful lights, floated by. One depicted an outline of Cambodia, with something written in the artistically beautiful Khmer script, and underneath it the translation in English: “visit Cambodia.” I looked down at the street which was covered in people; it was difficult to spot a sliver of asphalt. Everyone looked joyous. Children carried colorful balloons and clapped every time a firework went off. It was easy to be enchanted by the moment. On the way home we broke down and took a rickshaw, which with all the festival traffic was an adventure. As the driver pedaled through the streets he asked one thing: “Cambodia, happy happy?” It was an easy question to answer. |
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| 2007-11-22 - Cambodia - Phnom Penh |
| • A little more than crazy streets • |
 After four days of sun, sand and lots of barbequed seafood, it was definitely time to leave Sihanoukville. Not that time in such a place is bad, in fact the relaxed state of affairs is enjoyable, but an overload of beach-bum tourist lifestyle gets to me quickly. So it is back to Phnom Penh.
Cambodia’s capital is home to some very crazy and intense streets. Motorbikes control the lanes and there seems to be no traffic rules; if you can fit into a space on the street you can call it a lane. Multicolored trash lines the streets as tuk tuk drivers congregate on corners. Phnom Penh’s larger and more official streets provide a paradox to the city’s confusing character; long and clean, stoplights at every street corner and modern banks and government buildings leading the way. Just turn off one of these grand boulevards however and you are immediately surrounded by apartment balconies boasting drying laundry, wandering dogs and families barbequing in alleyways. As I walk past people going about their everyday lives I smile, and everyone of their faces immediately light up. Even a security guard, wearing an official uniform and equally official demeanor lifts the corners of his mouth into his cheekbones, unable to resist responding to my own smile. To escape the streets for a moment, I find my way to Phsar Thmer, Phnom Penh’s Central Market. Characterized by its unique art-décor design the market offers just about anything a shopping list could hold. The aisles are narrow and tend to stock products by theme; silver jewelry, silk, shoes, backpacks and household goods. In the center, the ceiling rises high and beneath it a variety of expensive watches and gems fill glass counters, enticing shoppers. In one of the smaller aisles, between North Face knockoffs and sparkly, high-heeled sandals that only women with dainty feet could ever wear, a woman sits surrounded by a selection of fresh spring rolls and other quick to order delicacies. We order two and take a seat at the tiny plastic stools put out for customers. This brings me close to ground-level, and despite my large, western size, without looking up, I can only see the feet and legs of those passing by me. The woman behind the large silver platter full of fresh spring rolls puts two on a plate and follows with a bowl of sauce, into which she throws in a spoonful of grounded peanuts. Another woman, classily dressed with her daughter in hand, comes and orders a bag of ten spring rolls to go; certainly the family’s appetizer for the evening’s meal. The woman behind the counter carefully pours the dipping sauce into a plastic bag, mixes in the necessary ground peanuts, and tightly ties the bag off with a rubber band. From fruit juice to soy sauce, liquids are often served this way when they are going to be consumed elsewhere. To finish up the afternoon in Phnom Penh, the final stop is Wat Phnom. This temple is built on the hill that the city is named after, and therefore draws a crowd. At the base of the hill, monkey run wild and jump from tree to tree. Children buy peanuts from vendors and happily hold out a handful to the over-nourished monkeys. The monkeys gobble the nuts up and small Cambodian children laugh and laugh, their parents looking on lovingly. At the top of the hill is the spectacular temple. Here you can buy a caged bird in order to release it, a good deed for Cambodian Buddhists. Those not busy releasing birds file themselves into the temple, leaving their shoes at the door. The interior is incense infused; the strong smell is relaxing and intoxicating. Many Buddha statues crowd the back of the room while temple-goers kneel before them and light their devotional incense. I resist taking a picture; sometimes spiritual moments need to remain just that. After an afternoon in Phnom Penh, my initial feelings of stress caused by the intensity of the place have slowly melted away. Instead I am left with an admiration of the warmth of the city’s inhabitants. An overall sense of genuine humanity blankets the city, and wherever you go there are people smiling. I soon forget about the smelling trash and the quick motorbikes and begin to focus on the simplicity and warmth of the people; a reason that a love of travelers fall in love with Cambodia. |
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| 2007-11-18 - Cambodia - Sihanoukville |
| • The paradoxes of tourism • |
 A few days of chillout in the Cambodian beach town of Sihanoukville are much appreciated after some intense days of travel. (Note: go to the official Asia blog page for all the updated blogs on the Mekong Delta adventure!) Although the long stretch of sandy beach is covered in sun-soaking tourists, at least there is not the every constant sound of motor bike horns. I have to come to terms with the fact that I am secretly enjoying a little bit of time in such a tourist-laden area. This is the kind of place where all menus are rarely written in Cambodian and even little children selling bracelets and beyond speak English.
Despite my thorough enjoyment of time in the pool, my unheard of tan and plenty of iced coffees, I have to question the validity of my traveling. While I sit lounging in comfortable chairs with my feet in the sand, poor Cambodian children come up to me to see if I have an aluminum can sitting on the table that they can take and turn in for money. Mothers with their babies ask for money and still manage to smile when I shake my head no. Children sell sarongs, bracelets and fruit and I can’t help but wonder if they go to school, if their whole family works on the beach, if this type of tourism really benefits them.
Yesterday a young girl came up to me and asked me where I was from. Her English was impeccable. She asked if I spoke Swedish (maybe the blonde hair was a hint) and when she learned that I did she proceeded to rattle off a variety of perfectly pronounced sentences. I was shocked. She wanted to sell me a bracelet. I resisted but when she asked if I wanted to play tic-tac-toe in the sand, and that if I lost I would have to buy a bracelet, I got suckered in. It is difficult to say no to intelligent children with incredible language skills and beautiful smiles. I of course lost the game of tic-tact-toe and ended up buying a bracelet. As soon as I began to peruse her basket of goods, three more children came running my way; when a foreigner buys something, they must want to buy something from everyone. The small bodies herded around me, touching my arm and asking me to buy something from their own basket. This time I had to persist, repeating no several times. The only legitimate excuse that I came up with was that I already had two bracelets and didn’t need a new one. I felt bad afterwards. Not because I had paid a slightly high $2.50 for a bracelet, but for several other reasons. Above and beyond everything else: does buying bracelets from these children really benefit them or only encourage a vicious cycle of them sticking to selling their wares on the beaches and not going to school? If this wasn’t the case, I still felt at ease, because buying a bracelet from only one of them made me feel bad for the rest. Who am I to deny $2.50 to three different children who have close to nothing in comparison to the children who live in my own culture? Only a few decades ago the grandparents of these children would have been killed by the Khmer Rouge for speaking English or French; today the children are dependent on them to make money. Because of tourism, they learn English to sell their wares. They cruise the beach, smiling brightly and asking what your name is. They touch your arm and hair and seem to be happy to talk to you even when you don’t buy anything they have to sell. Their faces are bright and yet I wonder what lies behind. Maybe there they truly do benefit from their beach language and commercial skills, but I still find myself asking what the costs of those benefits are. |
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| 2007-11-16 - Vietnam - Chau Doc to Phnom Penh |
| • Mekong River Delta Adventure Part 3 • |
 Traveling with a laptop has its ups and downs. Most of the downs are on account of stress related to the treatment of the expensive item carefully placed into the backpack. When I stepped into a miniscule wooden boat this morning, rowed by a beautiful Vietnamese woman, I had one of those stress moments. Would this small boat tip over? Would a larger boat pass us and drench my computer back in waves caused by the wake? After 5 minutes of sitting still in the dead center of the boat so as not to cause any worrisome movement, I let go of said stress. Our woman rower was completely capable, no big boats were going by and much to my surprise the wooden boat I found myself in was actually quite stable. So instead of desperately clasping onto my backpack, I laid it on the floor of the boat and concentrated on taking pictures instead.
Rowing slowly through floating houses I saw women preparing morning meals over steaming cauldrons. Young half-naked children stood at their doorsteps overlooking the water and waved frantically at me. Men tinkered with their motor boats and fishermen cast their nets. Our small boat glided smoothly through the local morning activity and for a second I almost felt that I went unnoticed. After checking out a fish farm, where one fish jumped out of the water and onto the floor of the floating house in turn scaring a female tourist, and the nearby Cham minority mosque, it was time to load onto a boat which would take us to the Cambodian border. We had opted for the “slow boat,” or “low boat” as our guide had repeated numerous times his native Vietnamese tongue having a hard time with the English “s”. As compared to the “express boat” which left Chau Doc at 8:30am and had its passengers to Phnom Penh by 1pm, we boarded at 8:30am and were not expected in the Cambodian capital until 5:30pm, but as I have learned over the last month, in Southeast Asia one gets used to slow travel. The boat may have been slow but the ride seemed luxurious and rich in tranquility compared to a stressful bus ride so I quickly forgot the time dedication. We chugged along passing stilt houses hidden in the trees that bordered the river. Larger cargo boats passed us carrying large loads of rice and sand. Four and a half hours went by lackadaisically. Passengers read and snoozed off to the relaxing sounds of the boat. Others boarded the rooftop for mid-day sunbathing. Despite the warm air temperature, the boat was cooled off by shade and the constant wind passing through. Much better than bus rides. A little bit before the actual border our boat stopped and we disembarked to a welcoming group of locals that were ready to serve us lunch and whatever other rations we needed before crossing the border. Our tour guide made his way to an official looking building, and while we feasted on plenty of pho bo and iced lemon juices, he procured our Cambodian visas. We boarded another boat, this time an old and yellow contraption, looking as if it were on the verge of being run-down. A Cambodian man with a green army hat welcomed us onboard. A large white piece of paper was attached to the driver’s with many layers of yellowing clear packing tape. On it was a list of drinks available on board: water, coke and Angkor beer. This boat had windows and the interior felt stuffy compared to our previous open air ride. The driver started the old engine and the boat took off slowly. Within a few minutes we were back at the riverbank and climbing off the boat to go through Cambodian passport control, held in a colonial style looking compound complete with signs written in the beautiful Hindi looking Cambodian language. The passport control man held up my identity to make sure it really was me in the picture and when he had decided that I wasn’t lying proceeded to put numerous different stamps into that one ever important document. Everyone through, we were back on the boat and finally on our way into Cambodia. Gone were the cargo boats with rice and sand, the border between the two countries had turned the Mekong River from commercial thoroughfare to a mere background to agricultural ongoings. There were fewer houses, but every now and then I would spot a magical looking temple, jetting from the trees its intricately curved corners facing upward to the sky. Hidden in the dense jungle, it was as if the temples truly had been divinely placed and not newly reconstructed after the Khmer Rouge burned and destroyed many of them through the late 70s. The boat was slow but sure and late in the afternoon we finally came ashore. We were met by an enthusiastic Cambodian driver who led us to the small mini-van and we were off towards Phnom Penh. At first the road was gravel and incredibly bumpy, but it soon turned to smooth asphalt. “This road only half-finished. Will be all finished by next year. So now some parts smooth and some parts not,” our guide explained smiling as we once again reached one of the unfinished parts and we all flew into the air with a sudden bump. The state of the road did not faze him however and he soon fell asleep, despite the load Cambodian rap the driver was listening to. With no available seat belt I made a concerted effort to keep from hitting my head on the ceiling as we flew over potholes and beyond. Surprisingly we all survived the last leg of the voyage and soon found ourselves in the crazy mess that is afternoon Phnom Penh traffic. As we crossed a bridge our guide pointed out, “Sometimes it takes three hours to cross!” Fortunately it only took us a few minutes of waiting until we were on the main strip through town. Old buildings clashed with newer, flashier places, lit up by neon signs, most often in English. From my mini-van viewpoint everything looked just a little more hectic and chaotic than what I had seen in Hanoi or Saigon, but then again this was Phnom Penh and it has that reputation. But I decided to leave deeper investigation of that reputation for another day, as after more than 9 hours of long travel, I was exhausted, and the only thing calling my name was a plate full of Khmer food and then bed. |
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| 2007-11-15 - Vietnam - Can Tho to Chau Doc |
| • Mekong River Delta Adventure Part 2 • |
 The second day of the infamous Mekong River Delta tour began with a bright and early breakfast at 6:30 and by 7 we were all packed into the bus and on our way towards the floating market of Cai Rang, the biggest floating market in Vietnam. Yesterday’s market was tiny in comparison; here a whole village seemed to be in the river, with row boats weaving quickly in and out through the bigger ones. One of them stopped next to our long tourist boat and sold mangos to several takers. Later another boat came by and offered bottles of coke and even coffee. The conglomerate of boats was once again signified by the bamboo poles that shot up into the blue sky, indicating to market goers where to head.
Our motor boat chugged gently along and soon we were away from the market and the big part of the river and off into a small tributary heading surrounded by large trees and leaves growing out of the water. Houses continued to dot the riverbanks despite their apparent rural location. Many people waved as we passed by and shouted out “hello!” In the midst of the jungle we stopped at a tropical house where we were served pineapple and offered to rest out boat-cramped legs in the many hammocks strung up around the property. That moment was the day’s only taste of tranquility as later on we were escorted off of our boat and onto a bus for a wild and long ride along small, windy back roads. Despite the normal intensity that driving on Vietnamese roads entails, the landscape was enchanting; the cloudy brown color of the river always in the background. The small bus made its way over bumpy, gravel stretches of road, taking us past thatch roofed houses, roadside noodle stands and in between straggling cows and chickens. All around people were going about their everyday lives: farming, walking, buying and talking. One village we passed through was known for brick making. Beehive-like structures, made from earthen red bricks, spread out over the countryside, smoke curling into the air above. Along the riverbanks stacks upon stacks of bricks waited to be transported up stream to later be used for new buildings and houses. For a second we had a glimpse, even if it was only through a bus window, of traditional society; no oversized factories and no supermarkets. After the last death-defying minutes on the bus we finally arrived in the sleepy border town of Chau Doc. Close to Cambodia, it is here that travelers catch boats to make their way up the Mekong River and into the bordering country. It was dark when we arrived but the local market was still going strong, people cluttered around food stalls and discussing the events of the day. We found our way to the local well-known restaurant, frequented by Lonely Planet devotees and locals alike, and because of the success of last night’s meal, I once again ordered fish in clay pot. We sat with two travelers from England, who we had bonded with over difficulties at the hotel desk with passports. The Vietnamese government likes to have control over who visits and what people do, and every time a traveler stays at a hotel an official piece of paper needs to be filled out with name, passport and visa number and subsequently filed away. This evening however, the hotel staff refused to return the passports after such paperwork, insisting that they needed to be kept to show to the police. I am not one to part from my passport, and neither were our fellow British travelers, and a language challenged argument – our lack of Vietnamese and their lack of English – ensued, ending up in our unwilling for over of our passports for the night. Proof of national identity out of our hands we enjoyed our fish clay pot meal anyway, and afterwards set out into the rainy evening to explore the leftovers of the day’s market and to track down the evening’s last beer, a good ending to a slightly hectic day. |
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| 2007-11-14 - Vietnam - Saigon to Can Tho |
| • Mekong River Delta Adventure Part 1 • |
 Packed the bags early in the morning and said goodbye to my preferred Saigon guesthouse. All good things must come to an end however, and now it was on to new adventures, the new adventure being a three day tour through the Mekong River Delta with Phnom Penh, Cambodia as the final destination. Once again I looked to the help of a tour group to organize three day’s worth of logistics, and because of it was happy to pay the mere $34 tour fee.
I had to undergo several hours of intense bus driving as usual, but it seemed to be worth it when the bus stopped and we were carted off into a light blue rowing boat and send on our way towards a floating market. The river was a beautifully congested area of boats of all sizes, some tiny and close to the water with only room for a standing rower at the back and others large enough to house a family. People went about their everyday business, selling their goods, buying food from smaller boats that floated by and children played on boat decks. “You want to know what the boats sell? Look at the bamboo sticks,” our guide pointed out helpfully. It was true, although at first all of the boats looked the same, at closer inspection they had bamboo sticks shooting up from the side of the boat. At the top of these sticks they would tie whatever product they were selling. Objects as big as pumpkins were tied to these poles, indicating where one should go with the market grocery list. Some boats had poles with fruits and vegetables tied all the way down to where the bamboo met the boat, and others prided themselves on their single products. Pumpkins, pineapples and onions overflowed boat decks as we passed. The Mekong River Delta is home to approximately 18 million people, most of whom are either farmers or fishermen. Many live in houses near the river banks and use carefully constructed wooden boats as their main transportation. Some even stick to their boat as a living space. The Mekong River Delta is a rich indulgence for the eyes; everywhere you turn there is a picturesque tree hanging over the river banks, or a small bridge built of bamboo by locals so they can cross over to the next village. As the day went on we stopped at various points to take in the production of various authentic Vietnamese products; rice paper for fresh spring rolls, puffed rice krispies, and coconut caramels. Although the houses in which these things are made have turned into prime tourist destinations for anyone on a Mekong River Delta tour and therefore not only house the production but also a variety of souvenirs, there is still a certain magic to the experience. The woman seated in front of a large, black surface, steaming with heat that she uses to make her rice paper rounds. As she pulls off the thin layer of semi-translucent white that will later wrap itself into a fresh spring roll, she lays it on an overturned basket to dry. Tourists don’t faze her, she is concentrated on her task at hand and moves through the required motions quickly, a well-learned routine. Final stop for the day was in Can Tho, one of the larger cities in the Delta, which lies on the banks of the river. Here we were quickly booked in to an indistinct hotel and told to walk towards the riverfront for a selection of restaurants. After a long day of bus and boat rides, this was actually my first time walking around a city since Saigon and the difference was quickly noticeable. Here there was less honking, more sidewalk space and a more relaxed rhythm than I ever felt in the big city. We walked along the river promenade, which was a well-kept, clean park space, full with Vietnamese families out to enjoy the sunset and dusk hours. In the middle of the promenade, rising high above all else, was a silver statue of Ho Chi Minh. As the sun set, the pinks and blues of the sky reflected off the silver folds of his coat, adding to the evening’s ambience. After a day on the Mekong River Delta there was nothing else to do but track down a restaurant with a long menu of local specialties. We were seated on the upstairs level of one of the less expensive ones, with a view over Ho Chi Minh himself. Our server quickly came to the table and said, “You like to try Dai Viet? Local beer of the south. Very good.” Given that I had already tried most other local beers of Vietnam, I said of course and went back to studying the menu. I decided upon catfish cooked in a clay pot, which may very well have been one of my best decisions of the trip so far. The black clay pot arrived, with a caramel colored sauce sizzling around the large pieces of fish. Add to it a heavy garnish of cilantro and a swig of Dai Viet and for a moment the sounds, smells and emotions of Southeast Asia stopped spinning in my head and I was completely focused on my culinary experience. |
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