Sixty One Degrees
An occassional journal of an Asia-overland adventure
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Hanoi, Vietnam
Getting a little tired of the noise and traffic and hassle of Vietnam. Think I'm ready for the noise and traffic and hassle of China!
Halong Bay, Vietnam
My name is David. I have sung karaoke.
It all started innocently enough. A boat trip out to Halong Bay, a remarkable area of huge rock formations thrusting out of the water. We were staying overnight on Cat Ba island and a few of my shipmates suggested we drop in on the Flightless Bird bar. Run by a Kiwi chap no less.
A couple of drinks later and our Vietnamese guide catches up with us and suggests we check out the karaoke bar down the road. With mixed enthusiasm we agree and wander down to find the place deserted except for us. The owner was quite happy to fire up the karaoke machine and our Vietnamese friend, with his very limited english, starts proceedings by giving his all on Lionel Ritchie's "Hello".
Before long we've taken over the microphone and I find myself belting out "Fame" and a duet of Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer". Those high notes can really kill. Unfortunately there must have been something wrong with the microphone because I sounded terrible. I know I sound excellent when I sing in the shower.
After a remarkable two hours we finally decide to call it quits, but somehow I'm induced into giving a final rendition of "When a Man Loves a Woman". Growling and all. Percy Sledge would have been proud.
Hanoi, Vietnam
My friend Hilit has the most incredible backpack you have ever seen. From the outside it looks just like a regular backpack, a little larger than some perhaps, but inside it contains a CD stereo, complete with external speakers, coffee-making kit, and a medical kit that would make a city hospital jealous. (drugs, syringes, scalpels and a stethoscope! When laid out it covers an entire bed!)
The most treasured possession though is a silk scarf that was presented to her by the Dalai Lama. It always occupies a prominent place in the room and provides much inspiration.
At the other end of the spectrum is an older Dutch chap I met in Hanoi. He was travelling in Vietnam and Laos for a few months with a backpack that weighed six kilos. He hoped to get it down to five.
Best of all, although I didn't see this, was the girlfriend of a traveller I met, who had travelled for two weeks to Europe with nothing more than one of those photographers jackets with all the pockets. One pocket for toothbrush, one for a change of underwear. What more do you need?
Hanoi, Vietnam
When crossing the street you have to look in all directions, all the time. I know that's impossible, but do it anyway.
Motos will travel by any route possible to get to their destination. Usually this means travelling with the main flow of traffic but sometimes it's quicker to travel against the traffic, on the wrong side of the road or down a one way street, weaving around the on-coming vehicles. Traffic lights are regarded not as an instruction, but advice. A red light means "be a little more careful, there will be extra traffic coming in from the side as you cross the intersection".
And the footpath, when not just broken concrete half covering a deep drain, is no refuge. It's reserved strictly for shop merchandise and parking motos.
Best of all is the horn. It's sort of a get-out-of-jail-free card. As long as you've beeped your horn you can do what you like. It's up to those in front to get out of your way. Really!
Phang Nga, Vietnam
I have seen the future of family planning in South-East Asia. Two children. Not because of government or social programs. Four people is the most you can comfortably fit on a 75cc motorbike.
Thac Trinh Nu, Vietnam
I went for a swim in a river today with Hilit, my travelling companion of the last few days. Hilit is a doctor by training and so well aware of just about everything that can go wrong in the tropics. The danger of the moment was Bilharzia, a tiny worm that burrows into your skin then, after a few years of no symptoms, wrecks your internal organs. Charming. We checked the waters edge for snails which are required for the worm's life-cycle. No sign so in we go.
After splashing around for a while I crawl out and sit on a rock beside a couple of young lads who have been fishing. Hilit is still happily swimming in the slow current. Making casual conversation I ask what they have in their plastic bag. They show me.
Snails.
Buon Ma Thuot, Vietnam
Coffee here is excellent. Thick, rich, and strong enough to raise the dead. Everything else is lousy. The National Park is dry and barren. The restaurants specialise in dog and snake. It takes a day to get here and away on a crowded minibus for which you are brutally overcharged. (Actually there are a couple of pretty impressive waterfalls and some good swimming).
But the coffee is great. Just come.
Dalat, Vietnam
Where do you go for adventure sports? Rocky Mountains? New Zealand? No, Vietnam of course. Dalat, to be precise.
Actually, Dalat's big claim to fame is as a honeymoon destination for Vietnamese couples. You can tell by the big fibreglass swans floating on the lake. But it has a dark side offering mountain-biking, trekking and abseiling to the backpacker fraternity. I decided on the canyoning trip. Heck, at a bargain 248000 dong, why not!
The day started out with a few practice abseils down a short cliff. I was joined by Mike and Erika with Diep and Thun acting as guides. Diep was very experienced and gave us all a great sense of confidence. Thun was still learning the ropes a little, so to speak.
We practiced going straight down the cliff, then getting back up if we slipped or flipped upside down, then stopping half-way and going hands-free. Shouldn't really need all those safety techniques I'm thinking. Oh boy, was I to learn.
First real abseil was a comfortable 18m. Long enough for a couple of good bounces off the rock. Lots of fun. We then started to get deeper in the canyon and the next drop was 16m right beside a waterfall. Nice.
We stopped for a very tasty lunch, after which Diep and Thun began handing out plastic bags and rubber bands. This was to waterproof our gear for the next stage of the trip. "Oh, a bit of water splashing", I thought as I wrapped three or four plastic bags around my camera gear.
Goods secured we walk across to the next bit of the stream, and Diep jumps straight in! Beckoning us to follow. A bit concerned about my backpack I dive in face first and keep it mostly above water. This is to prove a fruitless endeavor as Diep emphasised when he gathered us all in a small circle and had us repeat after him, "Now... we... get... WET!". Oh boy, he wasn't kidding.
I soon abandoned my anxiety about the backpack, the triple-plastic bag technique was remarkably effective, and was diving headlong into every body of water I could find. A fantastic natural rock-slide kept our attention for quite a while. I think I swallowed way too much water though.
With the light-hearted pursuits out of the way it was back to the serious stuff, in a big way. The next abseil was a 25m drop in a waterfall. We started to recognise what we were in for as we watched Diep and Thun rig a complicated set of ropes that would allow the abseil rope to descend right in the middle of the waterfall. Looking at the slippery rocks we could see now why we practiced all the safety techniques before.
Soon enough all was ready, Thun went to the bottom to steady the ropes and Diep stayed up top to man the safety rope and give us last minute instructions. Mike was first over, to give Erika some more confidence, and handled the drop with ease. Erika was next and, after a bit of initial apprehension, also got down safely. Then it was my turn. I'd spent most of the previous few minutes unwrapping and rewrapping my camera from all it's plastic bags so I could get some shots of Mike and Erika. As such, I hadn't thought too much about the actual abseil.
I carefully made my way across the rocks at the top of the falls and allowed Diep to rig me up. Then, all things prepared, I started to inch my way over the lip of the falls. The water flow wasn't too strong here but it was enough to push your feet and made the descent quite tricky. Before long the rock face was vertical and I was pushing right out horizontally, the water now pounding down on top of me. I bounced out a couple of times as I let myself down. The feeling was amazing. The noise and the crush of the water was all around but the ropes and the harness were secure and I could steadily bounce down to the pool below. I reached the bottom and swam across to Thun and the security of a rock emerging from the water, exhilarated for the experience.
Just so we didn't get complacent after our success on the waterfall, for the next abseil Diep left the rope a little short, "Just a couple of feet", he said, so we could drop off at the end. I was first cab off the rank this time and, as I edged over the lip of the waterfall and start the 10m descent, I noticed that it was a bit more than a couple of feet. Nothing for it now though, down I went and dropped off the bottom, yelling like a Texan at a rodeo.
The last drop, whilst only 16m, was perhaps the most exciting. Again the view from the top was limited, I tried to form a picture in my head from Diep's description of what we'd have to do. My imagination wasn't up to the reality.
The drop was beside a waterfall running in to a narrow chasm. As I descended the dry rockface I bounced out a few times in the flow of the fall. "One hand", called Diep, and remembering my practice I took my upper hand off the rope. "No hands!", calls Diep. I wrap the lower rope around my leg to put tension on the figure 8 descender and take both hands off the rope, bouncing off the rock with my legs and into the waterfall. This is fun!
Finally, I lowered a little more then did a freefall drop in to the water. But this time I was hitting the rush of water as it shot out of the small chasm into the pool beyond. Dropping from the rope I shot out along with it, totally exhilarated.
As we all rested on a rock on the edge of the pool. Packing up and preparing for the climb out of the canyon, I was convinced I should stop my travels, abandon my career, and stay right here in Dalat canyoning everyday with Diep and his team. It was fantastic.
Kampot, Cambodia
Since the demise of the Khmer Rouge in 1979 the Cambodian Peoples Party have held the reins of power in Cambodia. You see signs for them outside the house of local party organisers in every village. But you also see signs for the two main opposition parties. The royalist FUNCINPEC party, and the Sam Rainsy party, under the leadership of the very outspoken Sam Rainsy. Panna, my moto-driver in Siem Reap, is a local organiser for Sam Rainsy. He's hopeful of a change in government soon, and maybe better times.
Our guide to the Bokor Hill Station near Kampot was less optimistic. "I vote for the CPP", he said. "I know they are corrupt but they've had 24 years to line their pockets. I think they should be satisfied by now. If another party gets in all their cronies will start from scratch lining their pockets."
But for all the forthright discussion and freedom of expression Cambodia is now stuck in a political quagmire. At the last election, seven months ago, the CPP lost their absolute majority, but none of the parties are willing to form a coalition. As I understand it, the functioning of government has completely ground to a halt and no-one seems to know how or when it will get started again.
Sihanoukville, Cambodia
I went to the train station to see about catching a train on the Phnom Penh line to Kampot. The train only runs at about 20km/hr but I thought it might be an experience. Not as much an experience as a few years ago. The Khmer Rouge would mine the tracks so frequently that the trains had two extra carriages on front to take the brunt of the explosion. Remarkably, they sold tickets for these carriages. The first was free and the second was half-price. Apparently they were the most popular.
Well, that was then and this was now. With the upgrade in the road to Sihanoukville, probably the best in the country, the passenger train had lost it's appeal. I discovered this as I strolled around the empty train station looking for someone to ask about tickets.
Eventually I came across a room with half-a-dozen station staff having lunch and a couple of drinks. They enthusiastically invited me in and before I knew it I was seated down, given a big plate of chicken and rice and had my glass filled with local whisky and soda. I'd bought some of this whisky before, at 2300 riel (about 25 cents) a 375ml bottle, so I knew what to expect. It actually wasn't too bad. Certainly a couple of the train drivers thought so. They were getting pretty cheerful.
The young lady preparing the food, the girlfriend of one of the drivers, spoke no english except "I love you". She sang me a nice Khmer song instead. I spoke a little with another of the drivers. He'd been to college in Russia years before and so spoke some Russian. He was now learning English from a textbook, one lesson a day. He'd only been going for a couple of months and already could hold a halting conversation. I was very impressed.
Every time I was about to leave my glass would be refilled but eventually I made my excuses about being sober for my visit to the Vietnamese Consulate and tottered out, with much hand-shaking and well-wishing.