Arizona (Ha Long Bay, Vietnam)

Welcome back dear reader, the lack of connectivity has thrown me somewhat. By the time you are reading this, I will be floating on another body of water. However, that is the future. Let's pretend we're Tony Abbott and live in the past. On second thought, no, let's just read on together.

Despite imbibing the rice wine last night, our sleep was not the pleasant slumber we had anticipated. Unlike the hotel, the arctic strength doona was safely locked in the cupboard. A sheet was the only protection we had from the air conditioning and it was not enough. I attempted to adjust the air con around 1:30am, dear reader. Unsuccessfully. Sometime later I switched it off. Or so I thought. By pushing what I believed was the ‘off’ button, I actually adjusted the air flow to the setting I had attempted some hours earlier. Sleep at last.

Sunrise on the bay.

Breakfast was the expected clash of cultures. I went straight for phò. It’s light, tasty and nutritious. The coffee was pre-made in a large metal jug and looking at it is as close as I’ll get. The tea jug still had the Lipton tags dangling from the top. Maybe juice, there was no water. My choice: watermelon, passionfruit or guava. Passionfruit it is. One sip evoked a trip down memory lane to my teenage Passiona drinking years, although without the fizz.

More sunrise.

With that, let's dispense with today's song title. Arizona by Mark Lindsay, a one hit wonder from 1969, was a classic summer song from my pre-teen beach days at Elouera (near Cronulla).

A quick change of footwear into my boots for the cave experience and it was down to Level 1 to get on the tender. Our group numbers 13, but there were just two of us willing to take on the largest cave in Ha Long Bay. Plus Tea, and some of the other passengers. And no, dear reader, the person accompanying me was not Jayne.

The cave.

The Sung Sot cave is a naturally formed cavern in the limestone and has been used for hundreds of years as a home to local fishermen, or as a place to shelter from bad weather. The walk was described as being very difficult, 700 very steep steps. It was nothing like it of course. The climb to the cave entrance was steep, but it was a well-maintained stairway. The relaxed pace and the break for a kodak moment ensured an easy passage to the mouth of the cave.

Apparently that is a koala on the column on the left.

The cave is massive with a naturally regulated temperature. There are the usual limestone formations, stalactites, stalagmites, columns, shawls and so on, but it is not a living cave. There is not a consistent water flow to ensure the continued growth of the features. The path is well trodden, reasonably even, level, and well-marked out with lights and railings. There are limestone structures that the more imaginative have identified as buddha or a horse’s head or a koala. I saw Gollum, not a koala, but hey, the place had a Lord of the Rings feel.

Lord of the Rings or Journey to the centre of the earth.

Soon enough we were back out into the heat and humidity and the gift shop. Perhaps gift stall is a better description. It sold a wide variety of goods from pearls to local red wine to shells and handbags. Then we made the not-so arduous trek down the stairs, back to the tender and on to ship, where Jayne was waiting.

The gift shop.

The next stop was the Ha Long Bay pearl farm. I could feel my credit card warming up in my pocket.

The Àu Co II, our floating home.

The pearl farm is quite a significant operation. Every one of the floats (pictured) is attached to a rope that holds cages of potential pearl bearing oysters. The success rate is about 30% which makes the process expensive and labour intensive. Of that 30%, only about 10%-20% are deemed worthy of jewellery. The rest are ground up to make pearl-based cosmetics, a very lucrative industry in Vietnam, where the ladies are so skin conscious. 

Pearls, pearls, pearls.

We were able to watch the pearl doctor seeding oysters. He selected an oyster that had something inserted between the two halves of the shell to keep it open and placed it onto a stand. The plug was removed and he used callipers to keep the shell open. With something that resembled a dental tool he picked up a piece of the red substance on a nearby board and rubbed it into parts of the oyster flesh. Then he placed a small core into the oyster and removed it from the stand ready to be placed back into the water for a pearl to hopefully develop. The process was fascinating. The oysters, depending on their stage of development are then returned to still or moving water. The more mature, stronger oysters are placed in the moving water where they can feed more freely.

The pearl doctor.

Surprisingly there was a pearl shop. I know, are you as shocked as I am, dear reader? Once again we were subjected to Vietnamese high pressure sales tactics. One assistant makes a bee-line for you and follows you around, pulling out any piece of jewellery you might linger over. I actually went into the shop with the intention of buying another pearl bracelet, but the offerings were no different to what I already own. Jayne looked at the black pearls for a pendant to match her earrings, but wasn’t sure the colour match was right. The assistant apologised for the poor range because a man was in yesterday and bought 9 black pearls for his daughters. One each. That really doesn’t bear thinking about.

Back on board, we found that a large contingent of our fellow passengers had disembarked as they were only on the 2 day-1 night programme. It was time for a four-course lunch of Vietnamese dishes and then a nap before our APT group plus six others set off in the tender to visit Cat Ba Island and the Viet Hai village. There were two ways to arrive at the village, once we had disembarked from the tender; oversized electric golf cart or bicycle. I was keen to cycle but the information sheet identified three steep hills and when I inquired, I was told they were so steep I would have to push the bike up the hill. I opted for the electric cart ride with Jayne, only to find the hills were neither steep nor long.

A wasps' nest at Ha Vie village.

The island is quite mountainous and 60% of it is national park. The endangered Langur is resident there, although we did not see one. The village is like so many in Vietnam, subsistence living, although tourism plays a role in this area. We walked around one of the local farms and were dropped at a place to rest where we could purchase drinks to help the local economy and then stopped at a fish massage establishment. Don’t let your imagination run away with you, dear reader. It was the fish that eat the dead skin from your feet. A few of our group bravely removed their shoes and socks and put their feet in the water, only to remove them just as quickly, once the fish arrived. It was quite amusing and many laughs were shared before we headed back to the ship.

The afternoon activity was a swim around the ship. The water temperature is in the zone at 28° but the thought of having to pack wet clothes for tomorrow’s departure ensured I stayed in my cabin until happy hour.

Rowing with his feet while squid fishing.

Tonight’s feast was a bbq. The pick of the plates was the squid. The steak not so much – very thin slices, way over-cooked before your very eyes. There were prawns on skewers, chicken and pork along with papaya salad, spring rolls, noodles and rice dishes. This was followed by a nightcap with other guests before we retreated to our cabin to sort out our bags, in preparation for our departure tomorrow.

Our table napkin for the last meal.

Until tomorrow (or when I have a reliable internet connection).

My Mistake (Coromandel, Hobbiton, New Zealand)

Did you miss me dear reader? We have ventured into Zombieland. Well, not really, but we did drive past it leaving Rotorua this morning. It exists. Here is the link. Coromandel may not be zombie land but it almost the end of the earth and internet access is very patchy, to the extent that this post was written in Word before being dropped into Blogspot. I am not even sure when it will be uploaded – possibly not until we are ensconced in Auckland.

I have resisted the urge to make jokes about rotten egg gas and the sulphur smell that has contributed to the legend that is Rotorua. The reason? It hasn’t been that noticeable. It was quite pervasive on the way into town, but we were driving past a geothermal pool and geyser. It was also very strong at the park where we found the boiling lake and bubbling mud. Beyond that, it’s like trying to remember something, and it just keeps to back of your mind, just out of reach. It’s a shadow that is always with you.

That was until this morning. My scratchy, raspy throat that I have attributed to the bushfires and terrible atmosphere in Sydney before we left, was worse today than it’s been. I woke early and the first thing I noticed was the sulphur smell. It was extremely pungent. The shadow had morphed into a ring wraith and it had its hands around my throat. Whether the sulphurous air made my throat worse, who knows? It is not something you can avoid but today I had no tolerance for it and couldn’t get out of Rotorua quickly enough. Yes quickly dear reader, an adverb, I know, an Australian who knows how to use an adverb!

To avoid the demonic GPS leading me astray, I actually researched the route to Hobbiton. Obviously, she was aware of this and so there was no attempt to steer us from the most direct route.

On the drive to Coromandel (Coro to the locals) I saw a sign for a “working gold mine”. I quipped that we had just left a working gold mine at Hobbiton. I am getting ahead of myself.

 The intention was to just rock up at 501 Buckland Road, Hinuera, aka Hobbiton, but one brochure suggested bookings were essential. Online I checked out what was available. Tours were leaving roughly every 10 minutes. There were 20 adults in our group, plus the kids, one of whom had the most ridiculous haircut ever seen. A sort of landing strip, long at the sides and crew cut down the centre. On a 10 year old girl. Her sister had the entire left side of her head shaved. Fashion would have been a great title today except I’m staying with Kiwi musicians to provide inspiration.

No-one home. The Bagginses are out on adventure

 I digress. So, yeah, 20 adults x $84 for a 2 hour tour = $1680 plus the kids' entry fee (at least Gilligan’s crowd got a three hour tour). And there were larger groups than ours. Each group moved with clockwork precision around Hobbiton finishing at the Green Dragon for, in my case, a breakfast beer.  I don't think I've done that since I was 18. I was glad I wasn’t on the 8am tour. We were scheduled to commence at 10:10am but arrived early so we were bumped up to the 9:40am tour – so clearly, they do keep places for walk-ins.

Bilbo's pipe and book

 While I’ve read the books and seen the movies, except for the Hobbit movie, I’m not a die hard fan. It was interesting seeing Hobbiton and it will be even more so when I sit down to watch The Lord of the Rings again. The money they spend to keep Hobbiton looking like the movie set must be astronomical. The flower beds, vegie gardens, hedges and grasses that need to be tended to be forever in summer take a lot of intensive work.

I neglected to state that all tours are guided tours. There is a car park and then you join a tour and are transported by bus to the start of the tour. You are also returned to the same spot, where, if you have unlimited spending power, you can waste your money in the gift shop. No really. These guys have price gouging down to an art form. Despite having a Tolkien addicted child, we could not justify paying what they were asking for things we could probably buy cheaper elsewhere. Not that we looked, sorry Dave.

The video that was played on the bus ride into Hobbiton features Sir Peter Jackson, movie director, talking about finding the perfect set location while reconnoitring the area in a helicopter. He espied the farm owned by the Alexander family and, after some negotiation, the earth movers rolled in to create Hobbiton in the middle of the property. The place remains a working farm and Hobbiton was deconstructed following Lord of the Rings. After the Hobbit Trilogy was made, the permanent sets that had been constructed were preserved rather than being abandoned again and Farmer Alexander and Sir Peter formed a business partnership that is now the “working goldmine”. Farmer Alexander could quite comfortably live off this small portion of his agricultural land holding and treat the real farm like a hobby.

And then it was back on the road to Coromandel. It is a very long and very winding road that leads to our door. It was etched out of the rock that is the peninsula and wound around the coast like a string. In a typically NZ way there were sections of unrestricted speed limit, with no speed sign corner posts – some of which needed to be taken at around 30 km p/h or less.

That was not the challenge. No. Other drivers, who should never have been issued with a driver’s license, were the challenge. It was 54km of snaking road that needed to be negotiated before we reached our destination. In all seriousness I could write a separate post about the guy in the blue Corolla that we followed for the first 20kms. OMG.

We arrived in Coro a tad early and went to spec out the town. That took all of five minutes. It is a testament to urban geography and ribbon development. The shops stretch the length of two blocks on the main road. It has everything required, 3 pubs, numerous cafés, a supermarket, a local craft market, 2 bottle shops and a number of ‘gift’ shops where the tourists can support the local economy and buy stuff they don't need and will later wonder why they bought it.

The only sustenance I'd had so far was my glass of stout at the conclusion of the Hobbiton tour, so we set about finding something to eat. Coro pies (sorry, no website). Slightly off the main street, selling from a semi-industrial unit, Coro Pies is worth discovering. There are a few picnic tables out front where you can sit to enjoy their wares. The range of pies is a bigger number than the local population. And very tasty they were. It was the best pie I’ve had in a very long time.

Our accommodation in Coro is a miner’s cottage in the garden of Quail Cottage, not far from town. It is walkable if the weather is agreeable. It’s a quaint, rustic little place with a comfortable verandah from which to watch the local bird population come and go. A very pleasant place to while away the afternoon. The bathroom is separate from the cottage, only about 5 metres, but not for the feint-hearted in winter I should imagine.

There is no reason for this photo to be here, but here it is anyway.

 Shane, our host, showed us around and explained the idiosyncrasies of the place. The yard is quite large with a number of different fruit trees. Whisky, the indolent black cat, is the only other permanent resident. Care should be taken when driving in or out of the residence. Whisky likes to lie in the middle of the drive and is not easily encouraged to move.

Rather than fussing about dinner, we opted for cheese, salami, peanuts, crisps and a bottle of chardonnay on the verandah and watched the sun move slowly across the sky. Very pleasant and very relaxing.

We were woken around 4am by a most unfamiliar sound. In fact, I wasn’t sure what was happening. Is that rain? No, the wind is picking up. No. It was rain. Reasonably heavy too and it continued through till around 7am. It was still misty when we headed into town for breakfast, the planned walk postponed in favour of the car. The Weta Café is recommended (again, no web site). Great coffee and a really interesting menu that goes beyond the usual fixation with eggs.

See previous caption. Afraid of heights? Me?

 The weather has kept us close to home and although we had intended Coro to be downtime, the rain has ensured that will definitely happen. The cloud never left the mountain top and occasionally, without warning, came down the mountain just to surprise. We ventured as far as Coro for fish and chips for lunch – the bottom shop is the better option. And just managed to stay dry. While in town we saw the dreaded blue Corolla that haunted and taunted me on the drive on yesterday.

Yes, my inquisitive reader, of course we staked it out to see who was driving. All I remember from yesterday is grey hair (not that there is anything wrong with that). We were enjoying our lunch and fending off the sparrows. Don’t laugh, they were seriously aggressive and arrived in number. I made several air swipes to send them away to no avail. They did finally decide there were easier targets when I connected with one. All the while we were watching the Corolla.

Then it happened. They arrived. I had been speculating about which grey haired man would get behind the wheel. I was wrong. She had grey hair and he a bad dye job. They got into the car and wasted 5 minutes playing with the GPS. Glasses on, glasses off, Karate Kid style, check notes. Adjust. Discuss. Repeat. I am amazed they made it to Coro. Then, blinker on she carefully moved the car onto the road and then stopped to do a U-turn. OMFG. I will have nightmares forever.

The weather continued to be capricious, so we made the most of the afternoon and alternated our time from inside the bach to the verandah and enjoyed some of New Zealand’s finest grape products.

You've made it to the end of a marathon post my persistent reader. Well done. The title? Well, a classic number form Split Enz to reflect the fact that Coromandel may well be for locals, but the time and effort required when you are touring was not, in my opinion, commensurate with the reward. My choice, my mistake.

Tomorrow is Auckland. City life. A strong internet connection and a change of scenery.

Until then.