Last goodbye (Mekong River, Wat Hanchey, Kampong Cham, Cambodia)

The routine returned today and we are scheduled to visit two villages, after the usual 8:30am departure. The first was Wat Hanchey, another not-so-poor village, judging by the stupas and the size of the houses. Disembarking from the ship was a bit agricultural. The permanent moorings appear to be functional only during the monsoon season. The challenge this morning, dear reader, was to ascend the 302 steps to the top of the hill to see the temple.

It was as steep as it looked.

Challenge accepted. I was standing admiring the view in less than 9 minutes. Perhaps I was a tad breathless. The breeze at the top was most welcome. The view was worth the climb. It provided a panoramic vista over the river valley and the extent of the temple precinct. The steps had been divided into three sections and at each landing the depth of the tread of the step increased in height. While that had little impact on the descent, it didn’t make the ascent any easier.

The temple at the top of the steps.

There was also an easier method of climbing the mountain. A bus ride. Jayne informs me that the bus was oversubscribed and some people were ejected to face the 302 steps. Very average organisation. The bus had many vacant seats on the return journey as more opted to walk. Our guides had no idea who was where. Risky.

The view from the top.

The temple area was quite extensive and dated back thousands of years. Much of the original structures had been damaged by bombing during the American war. Areas of Cambodia were collateral damage as they say. The main temple has been rebuilt and some of the more significant historic structures are being restored, although Jayne thought the restoration attempt looked like a pile of Jenga blocks.

Still standing.

The surprise as you reached the temple precinct was the swarm of children that assailed you in search of gifts. We came unprepared. Fear not, the locals have this aspect covered. For the measly cost of $10USD you can buy a packet of colouring books or writing pads or a packet of 24 textas to give to the children. An open wallet is like waving a chip at a Circular Quay seagull. The kids swarm grabbing for a book.

Another temple.

This is a perfect example of a circular economy. You pay for the books and distribute them to the children, who, potentially return them to their parents to be re-packaged and sold to another group of unsuspecting tourists. We were assured that this never happens. I’m not so certain, but it is a good stimulus for their economy. Either way, it is a win-win for the children who apparently get the money and the book/textas.

The monks' house.

Back on board the ship, we spent some time on our verandah, re-hydrating with a local beer. Purely for health reasons you understand. It was the first time we’d spent any substantial amount of time out there. To date it has been used to dry washing and to acclimatise my camera to the humidity of the day. It was quite pleasant and there was a small breeze created by the movement of the ship as we made our way back down the river.

Heading down.

Of course, we were fed before our next excursion. I’ve taken to minimising breakfast and lunch, if for no other reason than to leave space for dinner.

Kampong Cham was our next port of call. Once again, there was no permanent mooring for the ship. In fact, there was a path made from bamboo that tracked across the muddy bank. The gangway was lowered and the crew made themselves busy re-sculpturing the bank to ensure ease of disembarkation. This is also the place where we will leave the ship and the next group will embark. Not the most salubrious of places to do it, compared to the marina at the other end.

The bamboo path near the gangway.

Our mode of transport switched back to the more traditional tuk tuk. The convoy headed off for the island, taking a circuitous, scenic route, which apparently did not please our guide. Words were exchanged and we were taken directly to our destination.

Our chariot.

Kampong Cham is an island that has only recently been connected to the mainland by a proper bridge. The previous structure was made of bamboo. I’m not sure my travel insurance would have covered me, had there been an accident. The new bridge was another “gift” from China, like the stadium in Phnom Penh. How lovely of China. All these multi-million dollar presents. No strings attached. Unless of course you consider staying mum about China building dams on the upper Mekong River and stealing the water from Vietnam and Cambodia to be ‘strings’. Jayne was highly amused that China provided money for a bridge that may soon be superfluous because they are damming the river and there will be no water to cross.

Community farming.

As we have progressed on our journey, we are visiting more and more affluent villages. Kampong Cham was the pinnacle. The home we visited was an example of subsistence living. Supposedly. It was a two-story house with limited under-croft because some of it had been enclosed. There was also solar power and air-conditioning and a reasonably new Toyota Landcruiser parked in the driveway.

They had some lovely orchids growing out the front of the house. The backyard contained numerous fruit trees and other cropping plants. There were pomelos, coconuts, lemon grass, ginger, limes, turmeric, mangoes, bananas and no doubt more, but I can’t remember. The backyard that contained the plants went through to the river where a well provided groundwater for irrigation. Apparently, they also had a bull that was used for insemination purposes, but he must have been out on a job, so to speak.

Some of the orchids.

The fruit and crops would bring an average of $15USD per day. In a leap year that is $5,490USD. I’m sure APT pays them handsomely to open their home and talk to us. But. But. I can’t see how that lifestyle can support the purchase of solar panels and a Landcruiser.

Coconuts.

The tuk tuk ride back to the ship was by a more direct route. We passed many palatial two-story residences that had massive chandeliers hanging in the upstairs front porches. Subsistence farming must pay better than my maths indicates.

Ginger, not Maryanne.

That afternoon we packed our bags ready for disembarkation tomorrow morning. That evening, at the farewell cocktail party, the whole crew was presented to us once again. Long gave his final briefing, predictably not so brief, on board and provided us with a lot of unnecessary information about the next three days. He had to be prompted to inform us of the important details, like what time do the bags need to be ready and what time is breakfast?

Turmeric and solar panels.

And then it was the final dinner where I learnt a new term. One of the meals on offer was barramundi and slipper lobster. I’d never heard the latter term. Fortunately, one of the chefs explains the menu selection as you walk into the dining room. To aid in this endeavour is a table that holds each of the dishes. A slipper lobster is our Balmain bug or Moreton bug if you’re a Queenslander.

We said our farewells to our favourite staff and retired to our stateroom, not cabin, to complete packing. The bags have to be outside our door by no later than 6:15 tomorrow morning. Breakfast will be served from that time. Holiday indeed.

The farewells inspired the title. A Jeff Buckley classic from his first album Grace, Last Goodbye. Like his father, gone too soon from this world.

Until next time.

 

I should be so lucky (Mekong River, Angkor Ban, Cambodia)

Good morning, dear reader, and what a delightful start to the day! We had a sleep-in because we had many kilometres to travel up the Mekong River. The reason behind it was irrelevant in my world, I was just glad of the time to relax and linger over breakfast.

The morning would be spent on the ship, so Jayne booked a facial. I know, her first ever. The experience was described as being pleasant enough, but I’m not sure that is enough to see her as a return customer. While Jayne was being pampered, I caught up with my homework: sorting the photos and catching up on the blog.

Thee mooring was a bit ordinary.

There was also some administrivia to be dealt with. First, passports had to be collected. There were those amongst us who were uncomfortable being away from their passports. I found this fretting both pointless and curious. Pointless because there was nothing we could do about it and curious because we had actually surrendered our passports on day 1. The only difference in the interim was the Cambodian authorities were the current custodians, and not the ship’s purser.

This works better when the river is high.

Passports secured, resplendent with a Cambodian visa and a document for leaving the country, the next stop was Long, the cruise director. He was checking departure details to ensure we had transport to the airport organised for the correct time and date.

Stupas. Big, expensive stupas.

The information session today, dear reader, was, unsurprisingly on Cambodia. Theany, pronounced Tinny, our guide, had drawn the short straw and was the presenter. We were provided with a potted history of Cambodia, early history through French colonisation, the Pol Pot period, Vietnamese occupation to independence. Following Theany’s talk, one the other guides demonstrated the many uses of a traditional Cambodian scarf. A most timely demonstration because we were about to visit a village where they made and sold these scarves. What a coincidence!

Green bananas. They don't go yellow.

Lunch preceded the village visit to Angkor Ban. When too much food is barely enough. There was a concrete bank below the village to facilitate easy access for the cruise passengers. It was only partially effective because the water level has been dropping quickly after the wet season ended.

One of the temples.

Theany escorted us around the village, talking us through the Cambodian subsistence lifestyle. Gardens are full of vegetables and herbs that can be used as required on a daily basis. We also saw green bananas and various edible leaves used to make soups. Jayne was very excited by this. Not. This village appeared to be more wealthy than those previously visited. There was a number of large stupas, a sign of wealth, just beyond the bank of the river. Another sign of wealth is the number of cattle a household owns. One house we passed had 5 cattle. Very wealthy.

Just watering the garden. Nothing suss here.

The houses are all on stilts. This serves the dual purpose of assisting with cooling as well as providing a work space or shelter area for the cattle and chickens. Cock fighting is still a thing here. I was going to write sport, but it is definitely not a sport. The fighting cocks are kept in cages to allow prospective buyers to view the opposition. The activity is actually illegal but the roosters still command a high price - $200 USD. I know it’s a cultural thing, but I don’t get it.

Looking for a fight.

The temples were, as you would expect, ornate and lavish. There were statues scattered throughout the temple area where the ground was concrete. The roads through the village were also concrete and the ubiquitous scooters buzzed around us as we walked.

They appear to be doing OK.

Heading back to the ship, we stopped to overlook an area of community land. It is not owned by any individual because it is flood prone and so the community decides on its use. Generally, it provides more cropping areas in the dry season. We could see a large group of teenagers across the way and Theany was not sure what they were doing, until they moved en masse to the river and boarded a dragon boat. It was practice time for the upcoming races.  The colourful dragon boats are very long and narrow and the teams stand in a line along the boat’s length. Some boats can hold 80 paddlers and they build long sheds to house these prized possessions.

Training.

Dinner that night was followed by “Serenity’s Got Talent”, a talent show put on by the staff. Having sat through it for an hour, I might challenge the veracity of the title. It was, however, amusing and the chef staff’s version of YMCA, with some risqué dance moves, was the winner on the night. The “international” judging panel comprised of a Kiwi, an Aussie and a Pom. Judging (oh, I’m too funny) by their commentary, there was a commonality of preparation, shared by the judges and the performers.

Reclining Buddha.

Two final observations before I bring this post to a conclusion.

(1) There are people on board who drink their already chilled white wine with ice cubes. Totally unacceptable behaviour, dear reader. And it occurs in an air-conditioned room. Philistines. Brits actually.

(2) The Cambodian people constantly refer to luck, meaning good fortune, for which they should feel grateful. It may have something to do with the fact that they survived the Pol Pot regime or it may have a connection to their Buddhist background I guess, but they appear genuinely thankful for any small thing. They are always happy, so maybe there is something in it as a life option; choosing to be happy and grateful.

And that of course brings us to the title of today’s post. I should be so lucky, the 1987 hit for the first lady of Australian music, Kylie Minogue. I know, I’m surprised too, dear reader, but the title just presented itself and could not be ignored.

Until next time.

 

Evergreen (The Mekong River, Tan Chau, Vietnam)

The routine is established. Breakfast at 7am. Leave the ship by 8:30am. You must be wondering by now, dear reader, why I haven’t mentioned coffee. My excitement over the Nespresso machine at the Park Hyatt in Saigon was not carried forward. Coffee at breakfast is served in one of those pots that belongs to a drip filter machine … from the 1980s. APT gets so much right and then the coffee faux pas. I suppose you’re right, my astute reader, not everyone is a coffee snob like me. Perhaps they should be and then I would not be suffering through breakfast, drinking tea.

Breakfast has all the usual offerings: local food, typical continental buffet, cereals, pastries, toast, fruit and a plethora of egg dishes. Given the over-feeding, I keep my breakfast simple, muesli, pastries, fresh fruit and tea.

Everything happens on the river.

Today’s activity takes us to an island that was once the sight of a Vietnamese killing field. They have since re-named it Evergreen Island to assist in removing the sad memories. Unlike other parts of the world we have visited, the Asian culture is about moving on and not dwelling on the past.

Working together.

It was a 15 minute boat ride down some tributaries to get to Evergreen Island. And Evergreen is a fairly obvious choice for today's title by the brilliant Barbra Streisand

My choice of seat was unfortunate and I spent my time trying to shield myself and the camera from water splashing over the bow. Our guide, Thinh, pointed out the specialist fishing boats that trawl, with their triangular nets, close to the shore. They catch the fingerlings that are used to make fish sauce, a staple of Vietnamese life.

Catching the lifeblood of the nation.

Further down the river and into a tributary, we passed floating villages, barges, too many fish traps to count, and numerous farms before we reached our destination. There was a fisherman, using electricity to electrocute the fish. It's an easy, if not illegal and dangerous way to catch them. It was hot and extremely humid again as we wandered down the tree lined lane, observing how the local farmers live their lives. On the way we met a 92 year old lady, working by the side of the lane.

Electrocuting the fish.

As if by magic, one of the local farmers had returned from the fields early and we were invited in to hear his story. He was in his 70s and one of 13 children. Originally, he fought with the South Vietnamese army until he was wounded. He then moved down to Evergreen to get away from the fighting. Good in theory. The VC arrived after a while and he was ‘encouraged’ to join them. In essence he fought for both sides – a guaranteed winner.

Fish traps.

We were then invited to walk through his house. I passed on this because it felt a little voyeuristic. The undercroft of the house had a clearance of over 2 metres. The last time it was rebuilt, after a fire, they raised it another 30 cm above the highest flood line. The backyard contained a couple of cows, chickens and some vegies.

The meander through the village continued as we wound our way back to the tributary where our sampan was moored. The main game was to avoid being in the direct sun. The heat and humidity were problematic. We motored down the creek, back to the main river and moored there. There was a little walk in front of us, through another area of Tan Chau which proved more challenging than it should have been because of the heat. There was also no air movement to speak of. The main industry here was weaving mats.

Drying the dyed reeds.

The factory was also stifling. There were two looms in operation and the female workers were threading individual fibres into the machine. The mats were patterned, rather than being all the one colour. Only skilled operators scored this role because they needed to remember the exact colour to slide into the loom. And it happened quickly.

You need to think quickly.

On the other side of the factory was a lone woman. sitting in front of a fire. A fire! In 35° heat with 70% humidity. She was constantly feeding the fire to keep the trough of water boiling as the fibres were being steamed. Clearly, she drew the short straw. The final station was where the edging was sewn onto the matting. This was away from the noise and the heat of the main factory.

I start sweating just looking at this picture.

It was then gift shop time. Again, they sold the ‘slaps’ of my teen years. You remember, dear reader, those thongs made using rattan with velvet straps. Much kinder to your feet than thongs. I didn’t purchase any because they didn’t have my colour – green was the colour back in the day.

Fortunately, we didn’t have to walk far to the next destination. It was down the lane way to the main road where many, many cyclos were waiting. Think rickshaw, but with a bicycle at the front to expedite movement. They are more solid than they appear and can be challenging to alight from or to get into for that matter.

The silk factory.

We were transported to a silk factory. I was extremely doubtful about this. It was a factory with 90 looms. Not a mulberry tree or silk worm in sight. Typical though, isn’t it? The capitalists always forget the worker worms and yet, without them, they would be nothing.

Loading rice.

There were two looms in a demonstration area where we were shown reels of silk and it was explained how the patterns are created in the material. They actually have the weave pattern imprinted on a paper scroll that looks like the roll on a pianola. It runs through the loom, directing the pattern to be woven into the silk material.

We were led through the house of the owner. Weird. There was an alternate way to the factory so I’m not sure what that was about or even why it was necessary. The noise of half a dozen of the looms in the factory was deafening and I can’t image the cacophony if they were all in operation. Industrial deafness is a thing. They actually said they do not wear any ear protection because they have to be able to hear the looms in operation, in case a thread breaks or something else happens that requires them to stop the loom, mid-weave.

A curry plant.

After a visit to the ubiquitous gift shop it was back into a cyclo and on to the ship.

After lunch, Long, our Cruise Director, gave a talk on Vietnam and covered some of the topics that you won’t find in the history books. It was often a very personal perspective from someone who had been a ‘boat person’ and was forcibly returned to Vietnam. Amazingly resilient people whose country has been constantly invaded/colonised and yet they keep smiling.

Brush for fencing.

That afternoon, we set sail for the border between Cambodia and Vietnam. The visa process was completed for us on board the Serenity. They already had our passports. It was a smooth transition that did not involve us directly.

Prior to dinner, I went for a complimentary massage. It was deep tissue, allegedly. It was good and she knew what she was doing but it wasn’t deep tissue like I have at home. Not that that is a bad thing.

You don’t really need to read about dinner. It was superb, as you might expect. We eschewed the entertainment as it was a movie about Pol Pot and we headed for bed as the Serenity continued down the Mekong toward Phnom Penh.

Until next time.

Sail Away (Ho Chi Minh City to the Mekong River, Vietnam)

If I was at home, dear reader, the only reason to be out of bed at 5:30am would be to go riding. While I’m travelling, that time is becoming the norm for getting ready for breakfast and the excursion that follows. Can’t say I’m embracing it.

These devices are to stop scooter riders taking a shortcut on the footpath.

Breakfast was another spectacular experience. Jayne indulged in French toast which she reported was delightfully light. Amongst the array of pastries this morning, there lurked a plate of pink donuts. I regularly joke about purchasing one from the Woollies Metro at home, so Jayne goaded me into having one. I could only manage half a donut. The nuclear-irradiated pink icing was too sickly-sweet and the donut itself was more of a bread consistency. I wonder to which national group this was catering?

That's a helipad on the side of that building.

After breakfast the choice of activities was a shopping expedition. Nope. A motor scooter ride. Ah, no, not for Jayne. A trip to the food market and a cooking class. Definitely not. Or a wander through the local area. That was more our style. Or so I thought.

Weddings everywhere. It must have been Sunday.

As it eventuated, the pace was torturously slow and the ground covered took in much of what we did yesterday afternoon. The bonus was it came with an explanation of what I was seeing. This was a walk past tour, the only building we entered, aside from a café was the Post Office. We saw the former CIA building where the locals queued on the rooftop in the hope of being airlifted by an American helicopter and other sites of significance from the days of the American war.

Notre Dame in Saigon. Attractive.

We dawdled towards the markets down ‘shoe’ street where our guide Minh confided that the designer shoes were all knock-offs. The markets remained out of reach and we stopped for coffee at the Amazon Café. Then it was time to snail our way back to the hotel.

The famous rooftop.

You think I’m exaggerating about the lack of pace, dear reader. Let me provide an illustration. My Apple watch records my activity. If I neglect to register a walk, it prompts me. In the 2 hours we were walking my watch prompted me not once. By the time we had reached the hotel and completed the 3km, my active time was 2 minutes.

A very cool post office.

Upon our return to the hotel, we had about an hour to vacate the room, check out and join the rest of the tour group in the ballroom. Cruise registration occurred here and we were briefed on the transportation to the Mekong River cruise ship. We were in the green group. This was mostly the people from Hà Nôi and some people that were commencing their trip in HCMC. There were three bus groups heading out of Saigon towards the marina where the newly commissioned APT Serenity awaited us.

The former American Embassy and those famous gates.

The bus trip was typical of other recent journeys, with commentary provided this time by our local guide, Thinh, who comes from the Mekong Delta. An hour and a half later, we arrived for a quick cabin check-in and met our butler, Benly. He showed us around our beautifully appointed suite which would be home for the duration of the Mekong cruise. Finally, a chance to stop living out of our suitcases!

Our first sunset on the Mekong.

In the week before we left Australia, APT contacted us and offered a cabin upgrade for 50% off the usual rate. The extra room would be welcome so we said yes. There were some other perks that came with the upgrade, that we could live without. The cost of the upgrade to the Bayon suite was definitely worth it.

A very deep spa bath and dual basins.

We quickly oriented ourselves and went to our first onboard lunch, a typical APT culinary experience with multiple options for each course, served by lovely staff such as Sally and Maria who magically learnt our names before the appetiser plates were cleared.

Looking from the picture window.

After a short period to luxuriate in our suite, the peace was interrupted at 4pm by the anticipated alert to grab our cumbersome life jackets and head to the top deck to attend the compulsory safety drill. 

Back down to our level, it was time to dress for the welcome cocktail party with the captain and various heads of service. Thankfully this was much more casual than we have experienced on other cruises. Once the obligatory toasts were out of the way, we were left with Long, our cruise director, who provided (as his name suggests) a briefing that wasn’t very brief, about the next day’s programme.

Then it was back to the Lemongrass Lounge for another multi-course meal. Following dinner, we were invited to enjoy the musical entertainment provided by local farmers, including as it happened, our green group leader, Trinh. They played traditional Vietnamese instruments and acted out varying scenes depicting local life.

Water hyacinth. An introduced scourge.

Now part of a broader group of fellow travellers, we discovered that there were three groups that had converged to sail on the Serenity on the Mekong from HCMC to Siam Reap in Cambodia. There is our original tour group that started off in Hà Nôi and then flew to HCMC via a short sojourn on Ha Long Bay. There is a group who commenced the trip in Hà Nôi and then eventually came south via Sapa and Hoy An. Then there is a third group that simply arrived in HCMC to go on the Mekong cruise. Some of our fellow travellers should have been here earlier in the year but had their original tours cancelled. This was due either to delays in the construction of the new flagship, Serenity or because the Vietnamese authorities refused to grant a licence to the ship, despite the head of APT coming to Vietnam to try to sort whatever the issue was.

He looks friendly.

The next morning was the usual early start. However, we were now on the water and travel to the shore was by sampan. We motored across the river toward the town. A number of us encountered issues with our cameras. The lenses had fogged up due to the temperature differential from air-conditioned comfort to the heat and humidity. Wiping the outside lens clean was ineffective because the second lens and even the mirror inside the camera were also fogged. The only solution was to wait for the camera to warm up to the ambient temperature.

Making rice paper.

Caramel sweets.

Puffed rice.

The first stop was a shop where we saw a demonstration of how to make by hand caramel sweets and popped rice breakfast food. They also had a python in a cage for reasons I do not understand, except perhaps to amuse tourists. Sticky rice wine was also distilled on a premises a few doors down. It is a cousin of Chinese white liquor and just as deadly as 37% alcohol – 48% if you were intending to use it for medicinal purposes.

Only 5% cobra venom. I prefer something stronger.

Next to the bottles of banana wine and guava wine were bottles that contained a cobra with a large scorpion in its mouth. This liquid is supposedly medicinal. It’s good for lower back pain and assorted aches. The magic ingredient is cobra venom. At 5% per volume of liquid I decided not to try it. Jayne rejected my offer of buying a bottle for her to assist with her problem ankle. It wouldn’t get through Australian customs anyway.

The still.

Back onto the sampan we crossed the river to visit the Catholic church and hear about the history of Catholicism in the area. The roof didn’t cave in as I entered the church, nor was I struck by lightning, so that was a good start. The altar was covered in a plastic Christmas tablecloth. Stylish in a kitsch sort of way. The statue of Jesus behind the altar was surrounded by a red neon tube. I haven’t seen anything like that in Vogue for Churches.

Tacky without being gaudy.

Back on board the Serenity it was time for lunch and then a nanna nap. The weather closed in on us rapidly and a thunderstorm arrived before the next excursion. It was clearing as departure time neared, but we, like many others, opted not to do the afternoon tour. While tours like this allow you to get to places that you might not visit, the lack of down time to process your experiences or to just rest is rare. When an opportunity presents itself, it should not be passed up.

Dinner was the usual APT offering of four courses and wine. Our server, Sally offered the usual wines and we discussed the fact that the red was being served too cold. No problem said he and disappeared to return with a bottle that was close to room temperature. Excellent service. He put the bottle aside for us for the evening.

Our second sunset.

Yes dear reader today's title is somewhat of a cop out, but I didn't want to revisit war songs. Sail Away by Enya, it's one of those songs you can loop and just chill.

Until next time.