We (Sophie and Adam) have spent the last few years flitting around the world. In these here archives you'll find tastes of USA, Mexico, Cuba, UK, Holland, Italy, France, Germany, Denmark, Spain, New Zealand, Iceland, Turkey, Iran, Croatia, Slovenia, China, and Vietnam. Along the way we attempt to document what we do, what we eat and what we see, all accompanied by delightfully witty prose and anecdotes. Do stay tuned because there are more adventures to come! All photographs and text copyright Adam Nixon and Sophie Moskowitz. Please ask permission before republishing. Contact us at [email protected]. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-21115984-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();
Cao Dai Temple and Cu Chi Tunnels... and goodbye Vietnam!
That tropical island dream life had to end sometime, so we returned to Saigon for our final four days in Vietnam - and the final stint of this four-month trip!
Being so close to the end makes it hard to focus on where we are, not where we are going, but we did our best and booked ourselves on a big bus tour* to visit Cao Dai Temple and Cu Chi Tunnels.
*It seems that the only options for getting to these places are with tours; either in a big group with 35 other tourists, or paying four times as much for a private tour. Guess which we went for? You don't have to guess coz I already told you.
Caodaism is a unique religion that was established in Vietnam almost 100 years ago and followers worship the "Highest Power" but include aspects of Christianity, Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism.
Prayers are held four times daily and we had arrived just in time for the midday ceremony. It was a little odd to be crowded in a throng of tourists, all peering and clicking away with our cameras, as the people in the body of the temple solemnly kowtowed and sang a constant, trancelike prayer.
The Holy See Temple itself had a number of interesting features, from the revered the Divine Eye icon to more practical open windows that kept the building cool in the 30-degree heat.
After a short half-hour dash around the temple, we were piled back onto the bus, stopped for a quick feed, then continued on to the Cu Chi Tunnels, for one final reminder of the Vietnamese struggle during the war.
Our tour guide Yen showed us around the Cu Chi Tunnels site, where around 250km of Vietnamese-made tunnels lie beneath the ground. The Viet Cong used the tunnels as a military base, storing weapons and supplies in this strategic location just north of Saigon City and the many surrounding American military bases. Guerrilla soldiers would hide and work in the tunnels during the day and emerge under the cover of darkness to launch attacks on nearby American forces and gather supplies.
The locals relied on centuries of knowledge of the area and life in the jungle to gain a distinct advantage. The ground was littered with camouflaged entrances to tunnels, and a vast network of lethal booby traps.
As Adam is kindly demonstrating here, the tunnels were not designed for Anglo-Saxon body types, making it virtually impossible for American (or Australian or New Zealand) troops to penetrate or understand the complex network that the Vietnamese continued to build throughout decades of war. (And the section of tunnel that we entered had been widened significantly for tourists like us.)
It was incredibly awe-inspiring to spend just a minute in this cramped, hot, and stuffy underground system where so many people spent days on end, and many of whom succumbed to injury and disease and would never see daylight again.
As for us? We exited at the first possible opportunity. Some were more game - more stupid? - and continued the crouch-walk for another hundred metres, but we'd had our taste and it was enough.
Another couple of hours on the bus (this day involved more time spent on a very uncomfortable bus than any other activity) and we were back in Saigon.
A couple days of meandering and getting jobs done (Oh hi there, up-to-date blog, you beautiful thing, you!) brings us to here: our final night in Saigon, our last few hours in Vietnam, and the closing pages of this rather exciting adventure.
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From the insanity of Saigon we touched down in Phu Quoc island, which sits south of Vietnam's mainland, closer to Cambodia than Vietnam itself (a source of contention apparently). This wedge of an island is bordered on all sides with golden sandy beaches and tepid turquoise waters. So what better place to spend a week, hey?
We managed to find one of the cheaper hotels on the island, Nhat Lan Resort, which sits at the end of a string of resorts and restaurants of varying star-wattage on a strip of Long Beach. It was another case of stretching our budget, especially when our hotel room at the back of the property was swapped for a bungalow as close as possible to the beach - this was the view from our private veranda:
But we figured it was worth the stretch to be able to walk a few steps from our room to the ocean for a morning dip. Eating breakfast with our toes in the sand, watching as fishermen in their basket boats pulled in their nets for the morning confirmed that we had made the right choice.
With seven whole days to kill (plus a boyfriend who is less than content to lie on a beach with a book for the entire day, seven days in a row... what's with that?!) we were up for exploring parts of the island away from the Euro-centric resort area we had landed in. So for a £4.50 per day we hired us a motorbike and explored away!
On the first day we headed towards the north-west tip of Phu Quoc, and our decision to take the coastal road (as opposed to the central highway - the only other option) led us along red dirt roads, through corrugated-iron-stilt-house villages, over the ricketiest bridge ever to hold a motorbike...
...and of course, alongside the vast, empty coast.
It was like getting a glimpse into what island life would have been like before all the tourists started coming; people living in close-knit villages beside the water that would have provided the majority of their food and income.
Also along the way was a stark reminder that during the 20th century wars this idyllic island was the site of brutal torture and imprisonment of hundreds of high-ranking Vietnamese officials.
Now Phu Quoc is being tortured in a different way, as its long, unspoiled beaches make way for...
...monstrous Disneyland-like constructions like the two-month old Vinpearl Resort, which bills itself as a city within a city, complete with its own food and shopping complexes, water park and enormous golf course. I hope this doesn't sound like I'm endorsing the place because I am really, really not. Though apparently the Vietnamese government is keen to see the proliferation of places like this throughout the island. If you're planning to visit Phu Quoc, I'd make it sooner rather than later if I was you.
Back to the unspoiled seaside, with only a bay-full of local fishing boats and, um, a rowable polystyrene raft to spoil the view we could breathe a little more calmly.
We met some friends (hallo Fernanda & Waschtl!) at an outdoor eatery ("restaurant" sounds a little fancy for what it was) where, instead of reading the menu like normal people, we looked around the (mostly Vietnamese-occupied) tables and played a game of "we'll have what they're having". This meant that we were delivered some delicious scallop and okra kebabs, and a hotpot for cooking a whole lot of greens and some mystery fish. Seriously, the fish was so mysterious that none of us could tell what type or what part of the fish it came from. This mostly-non-pescetarian bowed out of the guessing game.
Even though it felt like the middle of summer, we were still subject to winter daylight hours, so not long after our post-lunch swim it was time to head back before darkness hit. On the drive home we stumbled across the runway from the old airport, which - since it is no longer used for aircraft - can now be driven on by any old person, and boys like Adam can live out their greatest Top Gun fantasies. The joy!
After the freedom of the runway we got stuck in a traffic jam as we tried to cross the river. Turns out when there's major construction in the way they just put one guy in charge of stopping traffic until there's a motorbike-sized space alongside that giant pole they were trying to put into place, then its every bike for itself as people try to get through.
Another motorbike day we drove south, alongside a much less developed stretch of Long Beach (though with ominous looking enormous sections being bulldozed in preparation for some more monstrosities, no doubt). Open-air houses like this will be a thing of the past*.
*Not an open-air house, silly.
We followed the road around to the east coast of the island, where we came upon the even whiter shores of Sao Beach.
It was a little windier here, but that didn't stop the frolicking in the ocean. Some beautiful mermaids asked me to take their picture and I was more than happy to oblige.
Aaand. Guess what where we went the next day? No, it wasn't to the movies. It was another beach. Are you sick of beach photos yet? I'm not!
This time we found the beautiful private beach of Mango Bay Resort, and made like guests, strolling along that beach until we found the perfect coconut-palm-leaf umbrella with a couple of sun-beds to set up camp for the day.
When we'd worked up a bit of hunger by swimming out to the pontoon (playing 'spot the tropical fish' as we looked through the slats) and reading New Yorker, we headed in to the resort's rustic-chic restaurant for a jazzed-up version of one of our favourite street-food dishes: rice noodles and greenery with roasted pork belly and some flavourful pork patties.
Dessert was a couple of the butteriest mangos eaten in the shade of our umbrella, fishermen in the background.
And just like that, the sun set on our tropical island week!
After the quiet of our lakeside homestay and lazy walks around the car-free streets of Hoi An's Old Town the mania of Saigon was a shock, to say the least.
It probably didn't help that I was almost a week into fighting some mildly annoying stomach problem, but all I wanted to do when we arrived in Vietnam's largest city (population: 8 million. Motorbike population: 4 million - at least) was hide in our air-conditioned hotel room and escape the 30 degree heat and humidity and constant rumble and beeping of traffic.
Luckily one of us was a little more motivated than that and (sick of my complaints and my aversion to Vietnamese food... there were a couple of bad burgers consumed. Sorry Adam) dragged me to the pharmacy to get fixed. It worked!
Thankfully we also discovered that there is more to Saigon than it's massive, traffic-clogged avenues. There are alleyways too! The alleyways seem to serve all purposes: motorbike parking, makeshift cafe and street food stand, living-room extension... and generally a much more pleasant place to hang out.
After realising that our first hotel was surrounded by incessant construction we moved to another (Big Mama, in case you were wondering), located down a busy alleyway, with a rooftop terrace from which we could look down on the evening action as we sipped our 30p beers in the slightly cooler night air.
When my stomach was finally co-operating and after we had arrived at the War Remnants Museum just in time for their lunchtime break, we made haste to the nearby (much fancier than expected) Hum Vegetarian Restaurant for a delicious lunch of pomelo salad and claypot tofu.
Lunch-break over, we headed to the War Museum, the outside of which was a young boy's (or a certain older boy's) aircraft heaven. Inside, things were a little more somber, as we were reminding of just how devastating the effects of these aircraft were (and continue to be) to the people of Vietnam. More than once I had to take a breather, as the impact of the war was graphically portrayed through photographs and historical objects.
Back out in the 'fresh air', there's always the Saigon traffic to take one's mind off things.
Saigon is decidedly less "pretty" than Hoi An, and even Hanoi. The streets are wide and dirty and noisy, the footpaths are virtually unnavigable, clogged as they are with parked motorbikes and street stalls, the air is heavy and humid... and yet once you get past all of that and forget about comparing it to other "more pleasant" cities, there is a definite gritty charm about Saigon*.
*Yes, I know that officially the city is called Ho Chi Minh City, but I never once heard any Vietnamese person refer to it as such. That seems to be the name for official use only. "Saigon" is so much more romantic too, don't you think?
Despite the many decades of occupation by both French and American forces, I felt less of a colonial influence on the architecture here than in other places.
Bucking that trend are buildings in the plusher areas of town, like the old Post Office, with its high vaulted ceiling and European-style shuttered windows.
Adjacent to the post office is Notre Dame cathedral - perhaps not quite as grand as its namesake, but beautiful nonetheless. And it's still such a novelty to see a European building like this flanked by tropical palm trees.
Back in the not-so-fancy part of District 1 we found ourselves some of the best street food of the entire trip: Bún thịt nướng, which we spotted from a distance thanks to the plumes of smoke billowing above the barbecue.
A quintessential street food dish, this refreshing combination of thin rice noodles, fresh lettuce and herbs, bean sprouts, and peanuts, topped with grilled marinated pork and (for a treat) fried taro spring rolls and dressed with a spicy nuoc cham (fish sauce) is the perfect foil to Saigon's relentless humidity and a surprisingly light way to refuel. Needless to say, we returned to this spot a couple more times while in Saigon.
Heading back to our hotel we wandered through yet another alleyway, this one much more residential where we tried not to be nosy as we walked past people's wide open front rooms, and were surprised to pass a small video-game parlour!
So it seems there is peace to be found in Saigon, you just have to know where to look.
Still in Hoi An (and still working on being Not Lazy since we had a whole leisurely week there) we signed ourselves up for a cooking class with Green Bamboo cooking school. The class had been recommended to us by Luxi, our Chinese cooking teacher from Dali, and is also top of Trip Advisor, and it was soon easy to see why.
The teacher, Van, is a Hoi An local and has been teaching foreigners about Vietnamese cuisine for over four years, so not only does she know her stuff, but she also has a keen sense of the aspects that are most interesting to tourists.
Once we had been picked up from our hotel (all ten of us) the tour began with a trip to the central market where we purchased all the ingredients needed for the dishes we had each chosen from her extensive menu. Along the way Van pointed out things like the different types of rice and legumes that are staples of traditional home cooking, but rarely seen in any restaurant.
We watched in awe as a pair skilled women peeled fresh prawns, alongside bowls of their wriggling comrades.
Also in the market, a moment of contemplation?
This 96-year-old beauty was more than happy to pose for our intrusive cameras as Van purchased a bag-full of her banana leaf-wrapped sticky rice sweets, to be enjoyed with a Vietnamese iced coffee (filter coffee plus sweetened-condensed milk, aka. coffee ice cream in drink form, in case you didn't know) at the cafe down the road.
Shopping done, caffeined up, we piled back into the minivan and headed to Van's house to begin our day of cooking in her very own kitchen. Technically we were each responsible for cooking the one dish that we had chosen, but there was a lot of job-sharing, especially when it came to peeling and de-veining prawns, and rolling (and then cooking) spring rolls.
I tried to master my chopsticks-as-a-cooking-utensil skills, and was thrilled when we were each given a pair to take home! My Asian dishes will taste that much more authentic now, right?!
Adam's chosen dish was (predictably) a firm favourite. I mean, who could resist a caramelised pork belly?! Don't worry, friends at home, this one is sure to be replicated many times.
With our bellies full-to-bursting (there was so much more food than we could possibly eat), and clutching our goodie bags with recipe books, Vietnamese cutting tools, and the aforementioned chopsticks we rolled on out of there.
For a bit of cultural history we visited the Tran Family Home and Chapel, a grand old house set around a lush planted courtyard. We were pleasantly surprised when a woman approached us and offered to show us around and give us a brief history of the place.
She explained that the architecture was a unique combination of Chinese, Japanese, and Vietnamese styles, but I was especially struck by the light and colours that are used so beautifully in Vietnam.
Back on the streets the colours continued.
Did I mentioned that it rained on and off for the entire week we were in Hoi An? It felt like we spent half our time there dodging the downpours. Luckily there are more than enough cafes to shelter in. Don't worry about us.
The offers of a boat ride came hard and fast every time we walked along the riverside. Once the sun went down these changed to older women and young girls offering candle-lit lanterns to float down the river... which looked lovely, of course, but I couldn't help wondering what happened to all those plastic lanterns once they went out of sight. I know, my bleeding heart. We were hoping that there was a guy waiting downstream with a big net, ready to recycle the lanterns for the following evening.
Back out by our homestay we rode bicycles along narrow roads surrounded on either side by water-coconut palms and the lakes they grew in. Those basket boats really are used by fisherman too, with the most skilful rowing technique we'd ever witnessed.
Have I told you how much I love the colours? The turquoise and ochres everywhere!
Even the sunset played the colour game.
And that's it for Hoi An. Next on the itinerary: Saigon.
By the time we arrived in Hoi An (two weeks ago as I write this. The catch-up is ON!) we had been constantly moving for over three months, so we decided it was time to start taking things a little slower. Rather than rushing around and trying to see as many towns and attractions as possible in the few weeks we had left we were going to spend a whole week in Hoi An and try to enjoy it at a leisurely pace.
We had heard only good things about the city, in particular the food. I'm kicking myself now for not snapping up a bunch of these fake-food magnets as souvenirs. As much as I hate 'souvenirs' I really love fake food. Especially in miniature.
Apart from the food, Hoi An is also renowned for its charming Old Town, where the streets are free of traffic and lined with colourful colonial architecture, the streets all leading down to the wide river in the centre of town.
One of our first stops in town (after a preliminary visit to our tailor Sunny - yes, our tailor. Because what could be a better souvenir than a pile of clothes made just for us to our exact specifications, right?!) was to the central market, where we made a beeline for the recommended banh xeo stall. We made like the locals and rolled our crispy, eggy pancakes (each cooked with a smattering of pork, shrimp and bean sprouts) with a bunch of fresh herbs into a rice paper burrito, dipped it in the peanut-chilli sauce provided and ate until we could no more. A couple of nights later our lovely homestay host Hung helped us make them ourselves... though I'm a little dubious that we'd be able to reproduce our efforts at home without her.
Elsewhere in the market, siesta time was upon us.
Another great spot (though this one is definitely geared towards tourists) is Reaching Out, a fair-trade gift-shop selling gorgeous handicrafts made by disabled craftspeople. We were able to walk through their onsite workshop and see the (mostly) young people at work, then pass through to the store and admire their creations. There were so many beautiful things that I wanted, but we settled on a set of rice bowls to motivate us to cook Chinese and Vietnamese food when we get home.
Back in the streets of the old town, it felt to me so much like Cuba - that certain combination of colonial, tropical and... communist?
For those of us who just can't wait to get home, there was a tropical pavlova treat at The Cargo Club.
Just because we had a whole week in the place didn't mean we were totally lazy. Only a little bit lazy. And when we weren't being lazy we took bikes from our homestay into town (to visit our tailor for fittings, of course. And no, you don't get to see any pictures of the clothes just yet. Saving for special occasion. Or just until we can take decent photos of them). From the centre of town it was an easy cruise to Tra Que vegetable village, a small island where most of the town's herbs and vegetables are grown.
We found ourselves a small restaurant (Kumquat) all to ourselves and, upon ordering, watched as the ingredients for our meal were picked from the gardens beyond and brought back to the kitchen for cooking. Fresh!
After lunch we took the long way back to our place, down by the riverside, you know...
The Chinese were here:
We got slightly distracted by a beautiful cow and her very new, very shy baby.
And successfully dodged mud puddles to reach the holy palm tree trail. Proper tropics right here.
As I mentioned, our accommodation in Hoi An was Lakeside Homestay - this time, definitely a proper homestay, unlike the one in the previous post. We were in one of the three bedrooms in the house of Phung, his wife Hung and their two sons.
The house is about 4km from the centre of town (and maybe 1km from the beach, though the ocean was too rough for swimming while we were there) and looked out onto this little 'lake', where local fisherman could often be seen setting and pulling in their nets. It was nice to be away from the tourist-y parts of town, and nestled in a village as we were.
For a bit more culture we joined a lovely Australian couple (hi Pat and Louis!) we'd met at the homestay on a big bus tour to visit My Son, a group of partially-ruined Hindu temples about two-hour's drive from Hoi An.
Nestled in the jungle at the foothills of a small mountain range, the area around the temples was used as a Viet Cong hideout, which meant that the area was extensively bombed by American aircraft during the Vietnam War (though, appropriately, in this country it's called the American War). It was pretty tragic to see how much was destroyed during the war, especially when many of the remaining sections were incredibly intricate with their statues and carvings made directly into the brick.
Some of the temples date as far back as the 4th century and, incredibly, those that were not destroyed by bombs are still standing strong. Researchers have not been able to determine how the ancient Champa people fired their bricks, stuck them together, or carved into them once constructed.
Attempts at restoration have been less than successful because of their inability to replicate the ancient building techniques, so we were shown sections of wall that had been built 35 years ago that looked more decayed than those that date back a millennium.
After leaving My Son we were spared the two-hour bus ride back to Hoi An, and instead taken to a boat for a cruise back along the river.
We stopped just before Hoi An for a quick visit to Kim Bong carpentry village, where we could see examples of local boat-building craft, wood carving, and inlay.
There's more of Hoi An to come, but we'll let you (i.e. me) have a rest. Be back soon!
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As I mentioned in the previous post, the package that we booked with Indochina Junk included one night staying in Yen Duc village, a small farming village halfway between Halong Bay and Hanoi.
All of Indochina Junk's minivans stop for a short break in Yen Duc village so that tourists can enjoy a water puppet performance before returning to Hanoi. Water puppetry is a thousand-year-old Vietnamese folk art, invented by villagers as entertainment when rice fields were flooded. The lacquered wooden puppets appear to float on the water as they move in formations and act out endearing scenes.
After the performance the whole group was given a short demonstration of rice preparation before all but six of us were piled back into the vans to Hanoi. Those of us remaining were given a more in-depth explanation of the rice preparation, shown the tools used to remove the husks from the grains, to pound and separate them, and given a masterful demonstration of how the rice and husks are tossed until the feather-light husks have blown away and only the edible grains remain.
From here we were whisked away from the puppet theatre and down the road - past a couple of local children playing outside their house...
...alongside rice fields, with the cement factory in the background...
...and to our "homestay" accommodation - not quite the small room in a villager's house that we had been expecting!
That beautiful bathtub would have to wait - there was another schedule to follow! We followed our lovely guide Na (a local girl whose husband grew up in this village) for an afternoon walk through the village, past farmers fixing their motorised plows...
Villagers' houses ranged from modest dwellings like the one below, to grand multi-story edifices, which Na explained were likely financed by family members who had left to work in the city.
We watched as a woman pulled a sack of rice sprouts from one of the many man-made ponds around the village, and proceeded to tease the tiny sprouts apart with her fingers, preparing them for planting.
This guy was fishing in a roadside creek with electrified prongs, which presumably shock the fish for long enough for him to scoop them into his basket and take them home for tea.
We were the only tourists in the village (though I believe they get groups like ours coming through multiple times in a week) and most people we encountered were incredibly open and friendly. It may have helped that we had the lovely Na with us, who seemed to greet every second person we passed, but we were made to feel very welcome. Even the small children would excitedly call out "hello" and wave enthusiastically as we passed.
Our first official port of call on our walk was at the house of this lovely gentleman (whose name now escapes me! How rude! Where did I leave my manners?? I can at least remember that he is the uncle of Na's husband, so there's that), who offered us all tea (an important prelude to any good conversation, apparently) then took us inside the small ancestral temple building that sits adjacent to the family home. He proceeded to talk us through his extensive family tree that documents six generations of his family, dating back to his ancestor who first built his house.
Another room held photographs of each of his nine siblings, photos of massive family gatherings, and even one of Ho Chi Minh with his brother, who had worked as his Head of Security!
Finally we were shown to the family shrine, where he and Na explained the many rituals that are made to correspond with certain phases of the lunar calendar and meaningful ancestral dates. We felt so privileged to be welcomed into his home and given such an insight into ancient traditions that, even in Vietnam, are becoming a rare thing outside of rural villages.
After waving goodbye it was back to the small village streets to our next destination...
...a fishing pond! We were each given a gorgeous pair of waders, a bamboo basket, and a rubber glove, whose use would soon become evident.
Then it was into the knee-deep mud to see if we could catch some dinner! The technique involved stomping around in the water and mud, placing the basket into a new spot with each step and waiting for the telltale tug that meant a fish was trapped inside.
If we were lucky enough to have trapped a poor sucker (and all but one of us did!) then the glove came into play: we were to put our arm through the hole in the top of the basket, and chase the fish around in circles with our hand until it became tired, at which point it could be picked up without too much wriggling and dropped in the bucket for dinner.
Dinner sorted, some friendly ladies were there to help us out of the waders and get cleaned up.
On the way out of the fish pond we bumped into this 92-year-old beauty who seemed fascinated by our presence, and was worried she didn't look good enough to photograph. She needn't have worried.
Then it was sunset. Enjoy:
The next morning we were way more efficient. We had bicycles, you guys. Just like the locals. Look at us zooming across those rice paddies:
(This was after an entertaining pre-breakfast exercise session that mostly involved rolling our joints around, followed by a massage train - exercise anyone can get behind. Ha. Get it? Then breakfast. I can't even remember what we ate for breakfast but all the food there was delicious and homely so I'm sure breakfast was too, in case you're concerned.)
The newly acquired bicycles helped us get to the local market, which was apparently emptier than usual because most people were at the roof-putting-on ceremony for the local temple. But this kid was still there, getting his fix of fresh sugar-cane juice. Does it count as a vegetable when it comes straight from the plant like that? Juice detox anyone?
This lovely lady misread our looks of horror at her foot-bound ducks and posed proudly with them. I'm not saying she shouldn't be proud of them - they are beautiful ducks - it's just that it's still hard to get used to seeing live animals (especially tied-at-the-feet ones) being sold for food. Probably to be eaten that day. I should get over it, especially with Adam's line of work. Or I should be vegetarian... right now I'm just a hypocrite really. But I digress...
We were keen to see what a temple-roof-putting-on-ceremony looked like so that was the next destination, with a quick snack-stop for some sweet new sticky rice (it's picked less than ripe, hence the green colour, according to Na).
The temple-roof-putting-on-ceremony was decidedly less exciting than we had expected - basically a bunch of guys making speeches on stage while hundreds of people looked on, no doubt eagerly anticipating the feast that was being laid out for them on the surrounding tables. (We were invited to join on multiple occasions but, you know, the schedule.)
I could tell these guys really wanted us to stay though.
Back on our bikes, past the beautiful water lilies...
...and into the home of yet another welcoming villager. This time I'm pretty certain we were never told her name, but we were taught how to help her strip the leaves from the spine of coconut palm fronds, which would then be bound together to make brooms and sold at the market (for the equivalent of 50p each we discovered). A mutually beneficial arrangement.
Back at our luxury digs for lunch we had a short time to admire the foliage...
...and the dragonflies...
...until it was time to return to where it all began: the water puppet theatre. Only this time we were given an exclusive behind-the-scenes view of the mechanics of the operation. And guess who volunteered to put those waders on and get in the pond with the puppeteers...? Ok, I'll tell you. It was me. Yup, can't resist those plastic gumboot-trousers. Maybe I should consider a new career in fly-fishing?
The puppets though - it gave me a whole new respect for the show and the puppeteers being back there. I don't want to give away all their secrets, but I can tell you that some of the larger puppets weigh up to 40kg and take six people to operate. There's a real skill to moving them around in a lifelike manner, and their routine has obviously been rehearsed to a fine art. It took all my concentration to make a line of ducks 'swim' in a semi-realistic formation without crashing into themselves or other puppets.
The show over, it was time to leave, and we were very sad to say goodbye. Yen Duc village was a definite highlight of our time in Vietnam (I can say that now, since I'm writing this with only a few days left of our time here!) and we would love to return someday.
Welcome to the 'luxury' portion of the tour. Somehow we convinced ourselves that it was worth totally blowing our budget when it came to visiting Halong Bay. This may have had something to do with the less-than-glowing feedback we heard from other tourists regarding dirty waters, dodgy boats, and cattle-herding tour guides that come as part of most Halong Bay packages. Less than appealing, no? So when we heard about a company that has exclusive cruising rights in the adjacent (but still part of the UNESCO World Heritage site) Bai Tu Long Bay, and offered a cruise package that included a night in a rural village, we figured it was worth it. Well done Indochina Junk.*
*Full disclosure: one other small factor that helped influenced our decision was that we were offered a special 'media rate' discount because of this very blog here! So consider this an ever-so-slightly-sponsored post, that we would've written anyway, discount or not!
So I better fulfil my end of the bargain and actually write something!
Our cruise package included one night's stay on the brand new Dragon Legend Cruise, the largest boat in Indochina's fleet, with 24 double cabins - though for our stay it can't have been more than half full, so was pleasantly quiet.
We boarded the boat just after midday and were served a welcome drink quickly followed by (many courses of) lunch as we cruised out of Halong harbour, through the limestone seascape towards Bai Tu Long Bay.
We then had approximately half an hour to roam the decks and revel in the luxury of our suite (complete with a giant bathtub exactly level with the ocean)...
... before we were whisked away on the tender for an hour or two of kayaking in and around those stunning rocky islands, past floating 'villages' of fisherman and amongst silvery leaping schools of fish.
Back to the boat in time for a sunset cruise to our mooring spot for the night:
Oh yeah, did I mention there was a warm mineral pool on board?
Perfect way to catch the last rays of the day!
The sun set, we put on our glad rags (that's what you do on a cruise, right?) and joined our fellow guests in the dining room for another multi-course feast, complete with carved vegetable art for our viewing pleasure.
One final drink on the deck, with the background hum of the squid fisherman's onboard generator, and it was back to our fine digs to get some rest before our early morning wake-up call.
Really, the phone in our room rang just after 7am to inform us that breakfast was being served. We had slept through the even earlier tai chi session that was on offer. Oops.
The schedule was there to be followed though. Shortly after breakfast we were herded back onto the tender for a quick ride to one of the many islands of Bai Tu Long bay, once again passing local fisherman slogging away.
This particular island hid an enormous cave within, through which we were given a quick tour. Other cruises offered by Indochina include a romantic candlelit dinner inside this very cave. Ooh la la!
Below the cave, this perfect stretch of white sandy beach, where we were given the option of taking kayaks out again, but since it was only about 9am by this time, everyone opted to relax on the beach and swim in the clear water, with the Dragon Legend looming over the fishing boats in the background.
Then - you guessed it - back to the big boat. Our time was nearly up. I couldn't help wondering what this family of fisherman thought of us tourists, swanning in for a single night on that giant boat, loaded with food and drink and an onboard swimming pool, while they sheltered from the sun under a plastic tarpaulin, their two small boats tethered together, probably living this way for months on end.
Time for one final cruise in the lap of luxury back to the mainland, where we boarded 'luxury vans' (they really were: minivans with wifi and reclining lazyboy-style chairs and an onboard fridge) and headed to Yen Duc village for another 24 hours of adventure... more on that to come.
Oh Hanoi. What a welcome balm it was to touch down in this warm (in so many ways), bustling-yet-compact, friendly city. With cafes and on every corner, where it is completely normal to sit and sip and watch the world go by, it was such a contrast to the previous two months in China.
Women in conical hats sell flowers and tropical fruits from baskets on bikes and shoulder-poles and the humid air necessitates that life be lived on the streets, to the constant background buzzing and tooting of motorbikes. It was love at first sight.
And first taste. We decided that the best way to get to know Vietnam's capital was by starting our visit with a street food tour, so our first day in the country was spent following the enchanting "Miss Moon" around the streets of Hanoi's Old Town, tasting some of the finest snacks and dishes on offer, and obeying her constant reminders to "sticky rice together" as we crossed the constant flow of motorbikes in the narrow roads.
I won't bore you with an exhaustive list of every morsel that passed our lips, but let's just say that it was above and beyond anything we've tried in Vietnamese restaurants in London. And all cooked over makeshift stoves in tiny doorways, alleyway corners, or shopfront windows.
As well as introducing us to numerous cooked dishes, Miss Moon also gave us a decent schooling on local produce, most of which is sold by very small scale vendors who set up daily on the footpaths of the Old Town.
There were also sweets to sample, like this gentleman's water-chestnut jelly cakes, much less sweet than what we are used to, and a little chewy for some people's tastes, but I was a fan of their subtle nutty flavour and gooey glutinous texture.
A unanimous favourite of the day were these balls of aromatic beef wrapped with a thin fillet of salty fish, which are then battered, crumbed and deep-fried. We were all a little dubious of the surf'n'turf combination, but the bold flavours won out.
The stall below is that of the fish ball seller, tucked in the corner of an alleyway, with every stool occupied on each of the - ahem - three times we visited.
The final stop of the food tour was at Giang Cafe. One of the oldest cafes in the city, it was opened in 1946 and is famous for its Cà Phê Trung - egg coffee. Some were a little hesitant at first, but drinking this coffee (which is served in it's own little water bath to keep it warm) mixed with egg yolk, sweetened condensed milk, butter, and cheese (!) is like tasting a creamy mouthful of melted espresso ice cream. Our group was converted.
Left to our own devices, Adam and I spent our remaining couple of days in Hanoi doing much of the same: wandering, eating and drinking (surprise!).
We had been lucky enough to nab a room in a lovely little hostel (more like a hotel at hostel prices) tucked in an alleyway alongside Hoan Kiem lake, at the edge of the old town. So it was only a short walk around the lake to this rooftop drinking spot with some of the best views in town.
Back on street level, it's just a matter of dodging the motorbikes loaded with people, goods, and eggs if you want to get anywhere.
Hanoi is notorious for its crazy traffic. The narrow roads of the old town are filled almost exclusively with motorbikes (cars are imported and heavily taxed so are priced well over the average Vietnamese budget), often driving in the wrong direction or on the footpaths. Crossing the road requires you to take a leap of faith, since the most effective way to get across is just to walk out into the traffic, keep your eyes on your destination and pray that the traffic will swerve around you. One moment of hesitation and you will be stranded in the middle of the flow.
Up at the market, the traffic was more on foot, so a little more manageable.
All manner of produce, fresh and dried, is available here.
And in case the shopping whets your appetite, there's always a snack nearby, whether in an official market stall, or cobbled together from the baskets hanging from poles or perched on the back of a bicycle.
Or you could sit on a tiny plastic stool on the pavement and enjoy some crab-stuffed spring rolls wrapped with lettuce and fresh herbs and plunged in a savoury Nước chấm dipping sauce:
Once your belly is full and you've successfully crossed the road, look up! I love the Vietnamese architecture, with its hybrid French-Colonial/Asian-practical style. Combine this with a property market that places a high value on street-frontage and a comparatively lax regulatory system and you get a tetris-like streetscape, where buildings are narrow, tall, and incorporate all kinds of clever balconies and roof terraces to maximise living space.
Of course, during all this exploring, regular refuelling stops are a requirement, and the standard Vietnamese iced coffee - with sweetened condensed milk giving it a tiramisu-like flavour - fits the bill perfectly.
And then, you know, it's only a couple more hours of wandering until dinner time!
Oh hello "duck sausage", you delicious, herby thing, you!
But seriously, it was like a zesty fresh, duck terrine. Going to try to replicate that one.
This is it: one final night in Mainland China (well, that was it approximately two weeks ago... things on the blog are a little behind, as per). That one final night was spent in the glittering metropolis of Guangzhou.
Skyscrapers are not usually at the top of my list of must-see attractions, but it was a convenient rest-stop on the way from Guanxi province to Hong Kong, and had the added bonus of an old work mate of Adam's being a local there so we were able to catch up with him over lunch and learn a thing or two about the city formerly known as Canton.
Even a skyscraper-cynic like me had to admit that the sleek skyline of Guangzhou's new downtown area was rather impressive.
After a Cantonese feast with Jorvik (which, to our surprise, included sweet and sour pork, instantly recognisable with the very same radioactive glaze that can be found in any Chinese takeaway in NZ!), he dropped us off near Zaha Hadid's spectacular (but slightly fraying at the edges) Guangzhou Opera House:
That evening we feasted on dim sum, which we ordered by the tried and true method of walking the waitress around the room and pointing at dishes on other people's tables. One must swallow one's pride in order to gain the precious prize of soup dumplings like these beauties.
The next morning it was time to head off for our very last stop of our two months in China: Hong Kong. After a bit of a scheduling hiccup we ended up having to catch a train to Shenzhen, walk across the border (a strange amble through a massive part-airport, part-shopping mall structure), then catch the metro into Central Hong Kong.
Again we were lucky enough to have John (an old friend of Adam's) to show us the ropes - and even give us a place to sleep for our three nights in the city! John's apartment is in the heart of Central, which is a particularly Western area of Hong Kong. Riding the escalators up the hill to his place (yup, escalators) it was hard to believe that we were still anywhere near China, as all we could see were swanky bars, double-decker buses, 7-11's... and Westerners! More Westerners in that short 800m stretch of escalators than we'd seen in the past seven weeks in China. It was like experiencing the culture shock that never quite happened when we were in Mainland China itself.
While it may have been strange, that is not to say that it was unpleasant. In fact, it was quite magical to be in a city where familiar Western products are available, but (a very different from the Mainland) authentic Chinese culture and food are also at every corner, particularly away from expat-centric Hong Kong island. It is very easy to see how so many people make their homes there.
John was a most excellent tour guide during our stay, rousing us nice and early on Saturday morning for a hike up Victoria Peak, from where we could see these spectacular views of the vertical cityscape.
John's apartment was an oasis of its own. At a diminutive (by Hong Kong standards) five stories, plus a private rooftop terrace where we could make our way through a can of Tsingtao or twelve, it provided us with a unique outlook (and the added bonus of a pet hedgehog for nocturnal entertainment!):
Wanting to make sure we saw all the city had to offer, we were taken for a short drive to Deepwater Bay, one of the many beaches on Hong Kong island, where yellow sand meets emerald ocean, making a person wonder why she would have ever moved to London over this place?
For our last full day in the city (and China!) we headed out for one final dim sum in Central, and a little more exploring of the city. It was nice to see that despite the pervasive Western influence, some traditional Chinese building techniques are still going strong.
We needed to see more of the city than just Hong Kong island, so caught the ferry across the harbour to Kowloon.
We fought our way through the crowds in the busy streets around the mega designer flagship stores and sought refuge in the highly-recommended Australia Dairy Co. where we gorged on cool milk pudding and egg custard and lamented the fact that we had only given ourselves a few short days to explore this fascinating city.
We placated ourselves by promising to return - and by reminding ourselves that the end of this leg meant the beginning of another: it was time to go to Vietnam!
For our final day in Yangshuo we ventured a little further afield and caught a bus to the town of Xingping, which sits on a curve of the Li River, overlooking the vast karst landscape.
After a quick stroll through the village itself, past drying laundry and construction sites filled with smoke from ceremonial firecrackers, bumping into our on-off travel companion Adi along the way, we ferried across the river and set off for a hike through the countryside.
With only a vague set of instructions from a hostel and no map to show the way we didn't have any luck finding the nunnery that had been our original destination, but with the Li River ever-visible in the distance we weren't too worried about getting seriously lost.
There were local farmers to helpfully point us in the right direction too.
After winding our way deeper into the countryside we managed to redirect ourselves back over the crest of a hill to where we could see a small village and the river beyond.
Past the extensive washroom facilities, with a local woman following us the whole way down to the river, trying to negotiate an exorbitant price for a ride on a bamboo raft back to our start point.
We opted instead to walk along the riverbanks (thankfully this was the dry season, so there was plenty of riverbank for walking on).
After half an hour or so the riverbank came to an abrupt end and - wouldn't you know it! - another woman appeared to negotiate a ride for us. By this point we'd run out of options, and the offer of a ride back did seem pretty appealing.
One could get very used to this, though comfier seats might come in handy if the journey was longer than ten minutes.
Right as we were coming into dock in Xingping we passed this old cormorant fisherman, making our choice to take the boat even more worthwhile!
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So even though we did a pretty decent job of countryside-by-bike exploration on our own, we thought it might be worth getting a little local knowledge on our side, so went back to Bike Asia to take one of their day tours.
We ended up being the only people on the tour that day so we got a tailor-made tour with our wonderful guide, Farmer Tang, all on top-of-the-line (for that part of the world, at least) mountain bikes that made the 50+ km ride a breeze (or as breezy as it could have been, with our bruised bums from the previous day's ride).
As the name would suggest, when he's not cycling tourists around the Yangshuo countryside Farmer Tang works on his own rice farm, so was able to impart some of his vast knowledge about local agriculture and farming techniques, which we eagerly soaked up.
Much of the land we rode through was lined with rows of kumquat trees, blanketed in plastic at this time of year to protect them from damp and cold and enable them to ripen for the bumper New Year season.
We ducked underneath one of the plastic tunnels and it was indeed much warmer than the air outside. And even though some of the fruit looked plenty inviting they definitely were not quite ripe enough for optimal enjoyment factor.
(In fact, when we arrived in Vietnam a week later, we found them being served in place of limes as a garnish, such was their sourness!)
Another major advantage of having Farmer Tang with us was that he seemed to know the area like the back of his hand. We found ourselves routinely ducking off the small country roads and onto a tiny dirt path (where he would cheerfully point out the spots where previous tourists had fallen off the path or into a river!) running alongside or through the middle of a field, magically emerging in a village on the other side.
Rice harvest had just ended, which meant that every spare piece of concrete had become a place for the grains to be spread to dry, unfortunately for the local basketballers.
This pup belonged to the single dog breed that we saw everywhere in the area. We had to keep telling ourselves that these cuties had nothing to do with the dog meat that Farmer Tang confirmed to us is still eaten in these parts. We were able to keep ourselves in blissful ignorance until the moment we saw a cage-ful of puppies being carried into the Yangshuo market... and I'm pretty sure they weren't to be sold at the pet stall.
At our request, we were taken to the nearby town of Baisha, where one of many local markets was being held. On the way there he took us by one of the oldest houses in the village, pointing out the old lock system on the door and the good luck mantras and talismans that have kept out unwanted spirits for centuries.
At the market itself, talismans of a different sort could be seen dangling from scooters.
As with almost every market in the world, it was a wonderful place for people-watching.
And the prize for largest back-of-moto tower goes to:
Back on the road, and back through another village, past the village ponds (for keeping and catching fish, washing laundry and selves, and keeping ducks and geese happy).
Of course we were also taken past the iconic Yulong Bridge, arching majestically over the (wouldn't you know it!) Yulong river.
We stopped for a spot of lunch a little further upriver. A few steps below us a woman crouched washing her family's laundry in the river itself, centimetres away from the ubiquitous bamboo rafts that carry tourists (and locals) up and down the river, like a Chinese Venice. Tourism; changes life for some, makes no difference to others, apart from taking up their valuable laundry space.
A few moments later, we could see one of the rafts being used for its original purpose: transporting goods into the village from a field upriver.
Back on our bikes, with a totally natural, not at all forced photoshoot along the way.
And six hours after we began, enlightened and exhausted, our tour with Farmer Tang drew to an end.
Feeling refreshed and revived after our lazy stay in Fenghuang, and itching to get out in the fresh air and stretch our legs after spending an entire day on the train, we arrived to the breathtaking karst landscape of Yangshuo raring to go.
The town of Yangshuo itself is its own particular brand of trashy Chinese souvenir stores, fake-kitsch buildings, and decent noodle joints away from the tourist crowds. But we weren't there for the town - the real drawcard of this part of the country is the incredible countryside landscape, best seen from the seat of a bicycle.
So bicycles were hired! Bicycles are available to rent everywhere in Yangshuo, but most are very basic city bikes without gears or suspension. After doing a little research we decided to rent from Bike Asia, a very professional company who offer tours (more on that in the next post) as well as very decent mountain bikes, with proper suspension and plenty of gears to lighten the load - thankfully, as we were a little out of practise after almost three months of no cycling!
Bike Asia also provided us with the most detailed map of the area available, and the helpful shop guy traced out a nice easy (ha) 44km route for us to take, that led us first alongside the lazy Li River, and then into the surrounding countryside.
There was plenty to stop and photograph as we rode. Rural life here felt like little had changed for centuries, with almost all farming jobs performed by hand, or perhaps with the help of a water buffalo if lucky.
Every few fields or so we would see one of these man-made ponds - because what better way to eat fresh fish than by keeping them alive in your backyard so you can catch one whenever the need arises!
Alternatively, there's always some dried pork, just hanging out. Probably needs a wee while longer though.
As with everywhere in China, we were impressed with the meticulous agriculture. It makes sense in a country with so many mouths to feed, but it does feel like no piece of land is wasted, and plots are planned out with great precision to maximise crop yields. This was always most evident when riding the trains, where it was not uncommon to see women out tending their vegetable gardens along narrow berms at the edge of the train tracks. So enterprising!
As with most of the rest of the country, two or three wheels is best.
Traffic wasn't nearly as bad around here though.
Only one instance of a near head-on collision:
No sign of rain, by the way, just a creative toy for children with not much else to play with:
And in case you get lost, there's always street signs, helpfully pointing out the distance in "kg"... if only it was that easy to lose our dumpling bellies!
Past lumber yards and great stacks of tree bark we rode. And rode. And wished we'd paid that little bit extra for the slightly newer bikes with more padded seats. Ouch.
Along the single road that led through another village, and we glimpsed into courtyards and basketball courts where carefully raked grains of rice lay drying in the sun (or the fog, as it may be).
The other parts of the rice plants - the stalks, for all you plant biologists - are tied into small conical bunches to dry in the fields, then stacked on top of each other, a vertical bamboo pole holding them together, and kept for animal feed in the leaner months ahead.
Those hard-working water buffaloes still gotta eat!
Have I mentioned already that this traveling lark can get a little tiring? I know, it makes me seem like a spoilt, ungrateful brat to say it, but after three months in 30 different towns and cities, the exhaustion of navigating foreign places and transportation systems, constant repacking of bags (which we can now do in less than 10 minutes) has begun to set in. Just a little bit.
So when we discovered that a slight scheduling glitch meant that we were to spend three whole nights in the small riverside town of Fenghuang, in Hunan province, there were no complaints.
Ok, so when I say small town, we're not exactly talking an out-of-the-way rural oasis. No, this place is very much on the Chinese tourist trail (not so much for foreigners, for reasons unclear to us), but, unlike other popular towns, has managed to retain some of its charm.
Fenghuang's old town is a pedestrian-only (motorbikes count as pedestrians in China though, right?) warren of narrow alleyways that all wind away from the river that runs through the centre of town.
Many of the riverside houses still stand on their original stilts, allowing them to butt out over the water, expanding precious floorspace (which is now mostly used for exceedingly noisy karaoke bars. Yay!), and local women can still be seen washing laundry on the river shore.
Further along the shore, retired boats are put to good use. We've quickly realised that no plot of soil is put to waste in this country with one billion mouths to feed.
Of course, to add to the authenticity, we have the now-ubiquitous 'dress in minority costume' photo shoot opportunities:
This teeny tiny lady was doing her darndest to sell me one of her sweet flower crowns (also ubiquitous). Looking back it's hard to remember why I resisted so firmly.
The further back from the river we wandered, the less touristy it became. And all the more photogenic for it.
Ok, maybe the alley of parasols wasn't so accidental.
Another one to add to my 'creative baby carrying' collection... and I haven't even shown you half of them!
And that's it! Three days in Fenghuang, and only a handful of photos to show for it. That's got to be some kind of record for us. Really, we mostly stayed in our riverside room catching up on emails, and blog-writing (these suckers don't write themselves!) and episodes of The Sopranos. All the important things. We'll get back to being proper tourists in the next instalment, I guarantee it.
It took us almost three days to get there from Yunnan, but the unforgettable, mystical landscape of Zhangjiajie was well worth the journey.
According to local tourism sources, the rocky, forest-topped spires of this national park were the inspiration for the outlandish landscapes of Avatar. I've never actually seen the film, so can't attest to their similarity, but I can say that they are like nothing I've ever seen before; great steeples of rock that look like they've been shot out of the ground at high velocity.
Upon entering the enormous national park the easiest way to get to the prime vantage points is by taking the free buses. It would take weeks to walk around the entire park, and we only had two days. And as always, there was plenty of, um, informative signage along the way.
And even some wildlife!
After a bit of a play down on ground level - including a skip across the river on the stepping stones...
...we took the glass Bailong Elevator up 330m to the top of one of the cliffs for some spectacular views.
Try not to look down!
From the top of the elevator we were able to walk around, compete with other tourists for prime positions on the viewing platforms, then make our way to mountain-top bus stops to get us to another section of the park.
Some pork smoking over an open fire - we suspect just a show for the tourists.
On this first day in the park we found ourselves on paths and walkways densely populated with other (mostly Chinese and Korean) tourists, which became a little frustrating after a while... until we got to another breathtaking look-out point.
One of the most spectacular (and consequently, most jam-packed) areas was around this natural bridge between two of the spires - the highest naturally-formed bridge in the world at hundreds of metres above the ground.
Paris's 'love lock' bridge ain't got nothing on this one! The bridge and all surrounding stairways were smothered in layers of custom-engraved locks commemorating people's visits to the place.
From here we managed to escape the hordes (seems to be a common theme of our time in China) and headed to a less popular, but equally beautiful area of the park, where we followed a walkway through narrow gaps...
...along cliff edges, and up ladders to a mountain top that was almost completely enveloped by the pervasive mist.
We stood entranced as the clouds blanketed and revealed the surrounding peaks.
Back on firmer ground was a snack stall - some goods more appealing than others.
And still with those views!
We spotted a Chinese guy ducking into the bushes to pick bunches of these berries. We tried to copy him and find our own, he spotted us then gave us some of his! This kind of thing happens all the time - people have been so generous with us here.
Rather than catch the lift back down to ground level we decided to walk the 330m descent - a decision we came to question after walking down our ten-thousandth flight of stairs.
On the way down we accidentally walked through an amateur photoshoot...
...and they insisted that we get in on the action - I hope you can tell that this shot was very carefully orchestrated.
It was a relief to be back on level ground, and a pleasant walk along the valley floor took us back to the bus stop, and back to our hostel to put our feet up.
The following day we headed in the other direction, to Tianzi mountain, where we ascended the few-hundred metres by cable-car, flying upwards through the jagged peaks.
This time we were actually high enough to be above the clouds, so could see many of the spires more clearly, with white puffy blankets at their feet.
What goes up must come down, and we were more pressed for time this day. Also, we had clearly learned nothing from the previous day, opting once again to descend on foot.
Thousands of these guys, and four very sore knees later, we were back at the bottom.
And thus our time in this heavenly park was over... but it wasn't the end of beautiful landscapes. More to come...
Dali is another town on the "tourist trail", but feels decidedly less like a Disneyland caricature of an old Chinese city, and more like a living, breathing place that is inhabited by real people - and their ready-to-slaughter fowl.
After one day spent meandering the streets we were keen for something a little different, and had heard good things about the Rice and Friends cooking class, so signed ourselves up!
After some mixed food tour experiences so far in China we were unsure what to expect, and didn't have the highest of expectations - so we were pleasantly surprised to meet our guide, the bubbly and informative Luxi Yuan (who also happens to be the founder of the school).
Our day began with a guided tour of the local wet-market, where we picked up ingredients for the meals we were going to cook, and Luxi told us everything we wanted to know about the goods on offer, including many vegetables that are local to the Dali area.
Once we had picked up everything we needed for the day's cooking (and asked a million questions - now that we had a decent, knowledgeable guide, unlike our previous food tour in Chengdu) it was a short walk back to our kitchen classroom on an outdoor terrace under the shade of a brilliant flower vine.
After a quick run-down of basic Chinese seasonings and condiments in the adjacent dining room we were shown to our individual workstations where Luxi's assistant had laid out a beautifully clear mise en place for each of us. First up was a deliciously simple salad of dried tofu and peppers, with a dark vinegar-garlic dressing.
Next up, one of our favourites: fish-fragrant aubergine. We had always thought that this name was some quirk of translation when we'd seen it on restaurant menus, both at home and in China. However we soon learned that the name comes from the combination of seasonings (garlic, ginger, pickled chilli, and a very specific combination of soy, vinegar, sugar, and salt) which had originally been used to cook fish, hence "fish-fragrant".
After a quick demonstration by Luxi (and a sample, of course, so we'd have something to compare our own to) we hit the woks and did our best to emulate!
It's a lot harder than it looks, especially since we quickly realised that the seasonings had to be perfectly balanced, the oil and wok temperatures had to be carefully controlled, and the timing perfect. Here was my effort:
Our final effort was the world-famous Gong Bo Jiding (more commonly known to us Cantonese-influenced Westerners as "Kung Pao chicken"). Once again, our mise en place was ready and waiting for us, so all we had to do was get happy with our cleavers mincing garlic and ginger, and prepare another perfectly balanced sauce.
Five minutes in the wok, and Adam - who, until now, had done virtually no Asian cooking before - produced this perfect example of the dish... check out that glossy finish!
We had spent almost the entire day with Luxi, and it was a day well spent - a highlight of the trip, and so nice to do something a little more hands-on than simple sightseeing.
The following day we were back on the road again, with a so-long-that-we-missed-our-train bus to Kunming, then a luckily-not-booked-out-because-we'd-missed-our-original-train-and-they-were-nice-enough-to-swap-our-tickets overnight train (in the luxury that was a soft-sleeper!) to the little riverside town of Zhenyuan, and the beginning of China's famous karst landscape.
We only had half a day in Zhenyuan, since we'd only intended for it to break up our long journey from Yunnan to Hunan, but it was a cute place for an afternoon wander, with little alleyways, and an oddly jade-coloured river.
In case you were worried about all those scooter-riders getting wet:
The highlight of Zhenyuan: these delicious savoury donuts that a woman was selling out of a little doorway across from our hotel. At the whopping price of two for ¥1 (about 10p) we may have revisited her more than once.
A couple of train rides the following day and we found ourselves in the mystical, magical landscape of Zhangjiajie, but that's its own story...
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We had been warned about Lijiang, by guide books, and by other tourists, that it was a tourist trap. 'Fine', we thought, we've been to tourist traps before. We were only planning to spend one full day there so we didn't see the problem.
Silly know-it-alls. It turns out that in China, "tourist trap" means a living Disneyland of a town, with streets lined with nothing but repetitive souvenir stores selling mass-produced scarves, trinkets, and bongo drums. Seriously, so many stores selling bongo drums!
Also, for your tourism pleasure, there are a multitude of "photography studios" that will dress you up in ethnic minority costumes, give you a professional hair and makeup makeover, and treat you to your own photo-shoot in the streets. We could barely resist.
After about ten minutes of this we had had enough, but luckily managed to find our way to the large market area at the edge of the old town. Here there were real people, going about their daily business, oblivious to us lou wei and our intrusive camera lens.
You probably already know this, but there's not a whole lot of sugar in the Chinese diet, which we should be grateful for, since it's given us a bit of an unintentional detox, but we still have the odd craving and the bright packaging at this stall appealed to my inner child's sugar lust. Unfortunately after the first bite or two my enthusiasm faded - the flavours are just not quite right! We donated them to our fellow hostel-mates.
Fortunately there were other things to do than eat sweets.
(i.e. people to photograph.)
We also discovered we had landed in the middle of cured ham country - they looked so much like prosciutto!
Pickles and chillis and fermented bean paste galore:
Yunnan is home to around 30 of China's 50 ethnic minority groups, and this diversity is especially evident in the marketplace, where many different groups can be seen in their traditional dress:
Back in the streets, the tiniest old lady, hard at work selling sliced mung bean cake (I think):
And a beautiful old husky. Here and in the previous Tibetan areas we saw many gorgeous huskies and Tibetan mastiffs, right at home in that cold climate with their thick coats and shaggy manes.
This lady (from the Naxi ethnic minority) happily posed for my photograph, then cheekily asked for 1 yuan. Fair enough, but I only had a 10 yuan note, and when I showed her this she snatched it from my fingers and went hobbling away down the alleyway! We could only laugh. Definitely the most humorous (and least costly) scam I've been victim to.
From Lijiang we were ready for a bit of quiet relaxation time so took a bus (for ten hours! Even though we'd sworn off long bus rides!) to Lugu Lake, which straddles the border of Yunnan and Sichuan provinces.
There, we spent three blissful days doing very little.
On one of those days I celebrated surviving 27 years on this planet, so we splashed out (a whopping £8!) on a little electric scooter and spent the day cruising around the circumference of the lake, stopping to take photos and to eat a delicious Sichuan lunch of deep-fried pork ribs, smacked cucumber salad, and sauteed greens.
The ride back to Lijiang was slightly faster, since we were in a minivan so could take the "shortcut" along treacherous winding, clifftop roads that led one of us to require an anti-nausea pill that knocked her out for the majority of the journey.
The name "Shangri-La" conjures up all kinds of mystical, lyrical images - so much so that the name alone seems to be enough to draw large tourist crowds, and has been hotly contested throughout regions of Tibet and Pakistan. In this case, the county of Zhongdian won out.
While our arrival was heralded by brilliant blue skies, it was also marked by the whirring and grinding of heavy machinery, as almost half of the city's old town was being rebuilt after a devastating fire destroyed hundreds of its ancient, wooden buildings earlier this year. According to a local we spoke to, the damage caused by the fire was so extensive because it was ignited on a blustery winter night when the water in the pipes was frozen, so there was little locals could do to quell the flames.
The temperatures were still frosty and we were running out of clean, warm clothes, but our last day in Tibetan country (Shangri-La is still part of the greater Tibetan Kham region) did not disappoint.
The world's largest prayer wheel (all 21m of it) sits proudly above the old town, alongside Guishan temple, requiring at least six people (but there were over twice that when we visited) to rotate.
Like us, some seem content to watch from the sidelines.
Outside the temple a group of elders seemed to be doing as elders do all around the world.
Never tiring of photographing beautiful older people, we caught a bus a couple of hours south to Tiger Leaping Gorge, then got a ride into the middle, to the charming Tibet Guesthouse, where we were greeted by this guy (and the rest of the family):
Not only was the guesthouse itself rather lovely, but the outlook wasn't too shabby either.
Our first evening there, revelling in the TEN DEGREE (Celsius) temperature increase (!!!), we went for a stroll through the little terraced farming village, aptly named Walnut Garden.
We felt like we'd stumbled out of a time machine and into some 1950s rural dream (though I somehow doubt that China in the 1950s was quite so dreamy).
Everywhere were signs of an abundant harvest.
Squash was not the only crop that was doing well in this area...
The following morning (after an incredibly delicious vegetable omelet and banana pancake breakfast) we set off on a wee hike into the gorge, heading for the section where the river (the Yangtze, didn't ya know) gets squeezed and churned through the tightest of banks.
There were some pretty tight paths on the way down - we could only hold on to the rusty railings and pray that we wouldn't be the straw that broke its back.
Those whorling waters were not the most inviting.
We made it down, and opted not to pay the additional fee to cross the rickety rope bridge...
...rather, made our own way to the rock that juts out over the roughest, most exciting part of the river.
You know how mesmerising a flickering fireplace can be? It turns out that a constant churning explosion of water can have a similar effect, and we sat on that rock watching that section of river for a good fifteen minutes. Unfortunately a photograph isn't nearly as exciting.
We'd made it down, and it turned out the only other way out was upwards... so up we went! Again, not so keen to think about the number of people who had climbed it before us, just keen to get up and off that thing as fast as possible, preferably without looking down.
As with every national park or tourist attraction in China, the path is littered with refreshment snacks, some selling more original offerings than others.
After a pretty vertical climb we were back at the level of the road, with a stunning view of the gorge as our reward.
If only we'd waited a little longer, we could've saved our legs and made use of one of these guys to get us back up!
Along the road back: roadkill, Tiger Leaping Gorge style.
Other wildlife was more alive.
If you squint here you can make out the undulating terraces of Walnut Garden:
We were back to the guesthouse in time for a bit of relaxation in the warm sun - still a luxury after ten days of Tibetan temperatures - and another incredible home-cooked meal courtesy of our hosts.
We think Grandma here was the brains behind the cooking operation - maybe even the cook herself, though it was hard to picture her 4-foot, shuffling self doing much in the kitchen these days.
Then we were picked up at the door and bussed to Lijiang, next stop on the tourist trail.
