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.

 

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.

How far have we really come? (Hà Nôi, Vietnam)

A restful night's sleep proved elusive due to the required adjustment to a different time zone and the arctic rated doona that covered the bed. Despite the air con, I defy anyone in the tropics to sleep under a bed cover that belongs in a winter climate. Otherwise, happy days, or nights, as the case may be.

As we are in total control (said in a deep, powerful, thundering voice) until the official tour commences, we felt no need to rush anywhere. A leisurely morning to dress for breakfast, into the lift and down to the foyer/lobby where we were met with chaos. Many, many people and much noise. It was almost as if we has descended in Dante's inferno, level 1.

A quick side step manoeuvered us towards one of the breakfast venues. There are two. We were rejected from the first option. "Sorry, we're full". I thought I was at a white Australia rally in Cronulla. Onward we went to the pool area where we were finally accepted. 

Breakfast is interesting because, as with most major hotels, they attempt to cater to the sensitivities of multiple nationalities. For the Australians, there were mini ham and cheese croissants. Unheated. The French influence ensured croissants (no ham and cheese), pain au chocolat, other pastries and baguettes. There were the usual egg fetishes and bacon, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms et al. And the Vietnamese section, banh mi, dumplings, spring rolls, fresh fruit and many things I was not able to identify. Perhaps many is an exaggeration.

Coffee. Always a sticking point for us. There was choice. They had plunger coffee! WTF! Americans, I reckon. We ordered double shot long blacks. An automated machine gave it life. It was passable.

Over breakfast, we reconnoîtered a map of the old district and located the dress shop where we hoped Jayne would be able to get some dresses made. Quickly. She had brought two dresses that she wanted copied. It looked about 20 minutes walk from the hotel, should we survive Hà Nôi's traffic. Before we departed on our mission, we approached the concierge again to tell her that the sheet we had requested had not arrived, she had passed the message on to housekeeping but clearly something had been lost in the translation. "Room number, madame?" "574." We requested she try again and then left to locate the old city and its lake.

The Opera House and traffic.

It is Sunday and I am uncertain if that is a good thing or bad thing, as far as the traffic is concerned. As it turned out, it was a no thing. It made little difference. It was still anarchy on the roads. And footpaths too. Having grown up in Sydney where the car is king and pedestrians are an annoyance, I was ready for the battle. At least I thought I was. Thankfully the Ao Dai festival was in full swing and many roads had been closed to allow pedestrians to take over the roads.

Food delivery of a different kind.

Ao Dai is the traditional dress for women and there were many examples of women in their Ao Dai. There were, however, more brides. Sunday must be the day to get married. There were, literally, brides on every corner getting photographed with their bridal party. Photographers were wired for sound and there was rarely less than two or three for each party. They waited patiently for traffic to pass to get the right shot. It was a spectacle. 

Ladies in traditional dress.

Most of this occurred around the Hoan Kiem lake area, an expanse of water that contains the Ngoc Son Temple and the turtle tower. Stalls surrounded the lake, selling everything from Ao Dai to fruit to other produce, children's toys and food. There were also presentation/performance and games areas. It was like a school fête spread over a vast area.

War games for kids. 

Despite the allure of the guessing game, 'What is that they're selling?', we continued to navigate to Royal Silk, the dressmaker's shop. Unsuccessfully. Getting lost in the old city has similarities to wandering the streets of Venice. If you haven't been lost there, you are lying or you didn't leave your accommodation. Anyway, we saw lots of interesting things that we may never find again and eventually zig-zagged our way to the dress maker.

The shop is tiny and it was already crowded with three people and Daisy, the dressmaker. Jayne decided to be polite and stand outside on the footpath. We wait. We wait. The women inside are not looking like they are emerging any time soon. "Go in," I suggest. "It's too crowded," is the response. We wait some more and then two other women walk down the street and straight into the shop. We exchange glances, I roll my eyes and we decide to circumnavigate the lake and return later.

Loved on TripAdvisor and by Jayne.

Back into the festival we go, taking the opportunity to walk on streets that are not filled with cars and motorbikes attempting to take your life. We hadn't been walking long before we were approached by a young woman who said she was an English teacher and asked could we spare a few minutes to speak in English with some of her students? "Of course," we replied. How could we not? Particularly given my last line of work in international education.

Lost in translation, or just a rip-off?

The three Year 6 students had an excellent grasp of English. We chatted for a while as the teacher filmed us and the proud parents looked on. We congratulated the students for the excellent English and the teacher for the great work she had done with her students and continued our journey around the lake.

I was confident I could find our way back to Royal Silk. Too confident perhaps and another wrong turn had us exploring streets we had not intended to visit. And then, we were back on track and we were standing outside the shop. The women who had walked in as we waited previously, were still there but left shortly after Jayne went inside the shop.

Space is at a premium.

Daisy looked at the dresses, spoke with Jayne about options and suggested they travel together to fabric market to select what was required. When Jayne inquired where the market was, Daisy informed her that it was about 1.5 kms away and that she would transport Jayne on the back of her scooter. "Thank you but no thank you." "I am a good driver," said Daisy. "Nothing personal but that is not in my comfort zone and besides my husband is with me," said Jayne. "No problem," said Daisy. "We will go by taxi and your husband can come too." Disappointed with this outcome I climbed into the taxi. I would have paid to see Jayne as a pillion passenger on one of the scooters that buzz around the streets.

Taxi summoned, dresses in hand along with another customer's order, we jumped into the taxi, paid for by Daisy, and left the old city precinct to go to the markets, "a dressmaker's heaven" as Daisy described it. Or a moth's nightmare, so much choice, too much choice.

We wove through the manic traffic and stopped on a non-descript street corner. The only concession the locals seem to make in regard to preserving life and limb on streets is that you must get in and out of the vehicle on the curbside - presumably to avoid unexpected doors opening onto pedestrians, scooters, cars, trucks, buses and whatever else is vying for a piece of the road.

Turtle Tower.

We followed Daisy up two flights of stairs to a landing that suddenly opened out into a mezzanine, around which, as far as you could see, were literally thousands and thousands of bolts and layers of fabrics stacked from floor to ceiling. Each bolt hole (sorry, couldn't resist) on the mezzanine was the province of a different proprietor who happily pulled out as many samples as you wanted to see. Equipped with wooden rulers, they deftly measured off the required amounts of the chosen fabric, depositing them into a bag. Each selection was paid for by Daisy using her phone to scan a QR code. I was so overawed by the never ending stacks of material I neglected to take a photo - even though the camera was in my hand the entire time.

Once one fabric was secured, it was onto another proprietor, edging past ladies who were having their lunch break, sitting on little stools in the middle of their allotted section of the mezzanine. 

Once our business was complete, Daisy said she would have the dresses ready the day after tomorrow - they could be picked up at her shop or she could deliver them to the hotel, whichever was easier. We said we would come to her on Tuesday afternoon and we left her to continue shopping for fabric for her other customer. No money changed hands - this will be sorted when the dresses are ready in a day and a half's time.

Looking toward Son Ngoc Temple.

Still reeling from the experience, we made our way back down the stairs and out into the daylight to walk back to the hotel - a shorter distance than the taxi ride from the old city. Just near the hotel, we met Thi again who had collected us from the airport. After a quick chat about our first day, we headed into the hotel for a well-earned drink at the poolside bar.

I was warned, dear reader, that I would have trouble finding decent wine in Vietnam. This has not proven to be the case. The hotel has a delightful wine cellar and many French wines on offer to slake my thirst.

Despite a jam-packed day, we were not done yet as we had booked in to participate in a guests-only tour of the hotel which included hearing about its history since 1901 and a tour of a wartime bunker that was built during the American War only discovered under the hotel in the 2011 when they excavated to build a new bar and the pool.

The history tour was quite brief but we are welcome to go by ourselves to read some of the information on the walls of the "History Path". After the walk along the path, we were led to a flight of stairs near the pool area that is kept locked but leads underground to a series of cement rooms that were used to keep guests safe when the city was under bombardment during the war. The air was quite stifling and the feeling was oppressive and claustrophobic, despite there only being about a dozen guests and the guide. We spent only about 10 minutes in these confines in which guests had had to spend hours, waiting for the all clear. The lack of oxygen was palpable and I wondered how they ventilated these spaces particularly as there were up to 50 people sheltering from the American bombs, sometimes for whole days.

Cosy. And without a lot of oxygen.

After we were mercifully above ground, we finished the tour in the bar with a cold drink. No, it was non-alcoholic, dear reader, but delightfully refreshing. At this point the half of the group that was American, all checked out which part of the States they were from and one lady quizzed the guide on her thoughts around the relative merits of capitalism, communism and socialism, declaring that the States were becoming socialist. She said it like it was a bad thing. This vastly amused the guide who vividly remembered the war as a ten year old child. She declared the time for an "us and them" approach was over and that globalism was the credo now. I disagree, I think the current form of globalism is nearing its end and will need to be reborn in a different style.

Water constantly ran down these stairs.

The American woman who had made the socialist comment intrigued me. I desperately wanted to ask why she thought America becoming more socialist would be a bad thing (after all American capitalism has been such a stunning excess, sorry I mean success). In an out of character moment I stayed silent. Then she declared why she is in Vietnam ... she's involved in a group that raises funds to construct a Ronald McDonald House in areas where they are needed. Now that is socialism at work I thought and again I wanted to point this out, but I could feel Jayne's eyes burning into the side of my head. No comment. 

The Americans moved on leaving the Aussies behind. We are all part of the APT tour and chatted for a while about the forthcoming journey and other places we've been, before it was time to be elsewhere.

We re-appeared at Le Club some hours later for dinner, opting for French fare, a croque monsieur and a bottle of French Chardonnay. A most civilised way to conclude a long day that included over over 10 km of walking. What's more, the elusive sheet had been installed while we were at dinner so sleep without suffocation was a distinct possibility!

Ok then, you've made it to the end dear reader. Well done. I will have more to say about the American War as it is referred to here. I was going to title this post Where are you now my son? a song written by Joan Baez after she witnessed the aftermath of a bombing in Hà Nôi. She was staying at the Metropole, but at 21 minutes it tested my endurance more than completing this post. It is relevant and poignant but also depressing given the current climate. So, I opted for Powderfinger's How far have we really come? Their 2003 classic is still as relevant today, twenty years after it was written, as it would have been in 1973. Sad really.

Until tomorrow.

Lover, you should've come over (Hà Nôi, Vietnam)

Another adventure begins dear reader, and this time we're off to the previously unvisited countries of Vietnam and Cambodia. To be fair, I have been to the former for work but I'm not sure that counts. Flying visits for trade presentations or 'meet and greets' for prospective students (and their parents), demonstration classes and the like. I really didn't see much of the country and have been keen to return, so when APT offered us a discount trip on the back of some minor problems with our European River cruise last year, the answer was swift and in the affirmative.

This cruise. It was hard to take.

Of course Qantas wouldn't come to the party and wanted some ridiculous amount of money for the airfares so we jumped ship, so to speak, and booked with Singapore Airlines. More on that later.

As with our previous blog posts the title will be a song. Generally the reason for the selection is obvious. Sometimes not. Where possible I'll hyperlink the music somewhere in the post as I explain my choice. Not only does it allow me to share my excellent taste in music, it also provides a window into my thought processes. Probably best not to dwell too heavily on the latter.

Another trip commences with the perennial problem of how to get to the airport. No chauffeur this time. APT thought they had been generous enough. The train to the airport costs around $30 each and we have to travel into Central or out to Wolli Creek and change because, ridiculously, the airport line skirts around Redfern. An inconvenient first world problem and not the last we shall encounter I'm certain. An Uber was projected to cost around $52ish, cheaper than the train and a limo was $80. Then Jayne scored an email from Uber offering a 25% discount for pre-booked fares. Bargain. Uber it is. Booked for a 6:30am pick-up, door-to-door and cheaper than the train and less hassle with the bags.

Despite having booked the ride a week earlier, Richard our driver was only made aware of it that morning. He was on time in his new car that was purchased through SPLEND. Google it dear reader. It's a lease-to-own scheme that ties in with car-share companies like Uber. Richard was spot on time and we were at the airport and heading through customs before 7am. 

On the drive we discussed how Uber actually works. It's quite interesting and certainly not for me. As it is a US based company the pre-booked rides all come through the central program at the same time. Regardless of country. Super keen Uber drivers need to be up and ready to go before 4am when the day's fares come through. It wouldn't take much to tweak the software to ensure a more effective and timely delivery of information.

Sadly there would be no Qantas First Lounge today, but the Singapore Lounge was fine and we settled in for breakfast and the obligatory glass of champagne before we boarded the plane.

It was going to be a long day. Sydney to Singapore, change plane and terminal, then Singapore to Hà Nôi. The layover time in Singapore you ask? Less than an hour. I wouldn't have trusted Qantas to make that narrow window, let alone transit our luggage as well. Spoiler alert. Singapore Airlines nailed it.

The second flight was as uneventful and nowhere near capacity. We discovered "Book the Cook" a little perk of flying Business Class where you can pre-order meals from a much more extensive menu than is usually supplied. Good one Singapore Air. Perhaps Qantas ... nah, not in the current climate, it might shave 1 cent off the dividend.

We breezed through customs. Almost. The official I had seemed intent on reading every stamp in my passport. It's new, I replaced my old one last year, so if all my China visits came up on the screen there was no evidence on the pages before him. After what seemed an eternity the open page was stamped and I was allowed to join Jayne in Vietnam.

Bag collection was also fast and efficient. Unlike Qantas, who promise the world and rarely deliver. The Business Class bags were tagged and actually arrived first. Through the doors and out into the humidity and cigarette smoke, towards the man waving the APT paddle. Thi guided us to our car, outlined the program that would begin in a few days, pointed out some sights and made some recommendations of places we might like to visit.

At the hotel, we were handed over to Long, a former academic who looks only about half of his 50 years. He will be our Tour Director as we cruise down the Mekong.

The room.

The hotel is the Sofitel Legend Metropole, recently refurbished and definitely holding onto its French heritage. We scored a room upgrade because of my years with Accor. Bonus. Waiting in the room were a fruit platter, macarons, chocolates and a drink voucher. More importantly, after being in transit for around 16 hours it was time for a hot shower and then to test out the King sized bed.

The bathroom.

And to the title of this post. OK, I struggled finding a song (a) that was suitable for this post, (b) hadn't been used before and (c) wasn't about the war. In the end I just went random. Surprised? If you've been looking for the link to Jeff Buckley's Lover, you should've come over and found one, I'd love to hear it, because the only reasoning behind it is I like it. A lot. Anyway, have a listen. A great talent gone too soon from this world.

Until tomorrow.

Closing Time (Ubirr,Bark Hut,Humpty Doo, Darwin)

Hello, dear reader, and congratulations on making it to the end of the journey. This will be the last post for a while and will feature more photographas than paragraphs. Blessed relief, I know.

A pandanus nut.

A 7am breakfast. Not quite a sleep in but that is just around the corner. Breakfast done, bags on board, we headed to the bus for the drive to Ubirr, an area that boasts some of the world's best rock art. This is part of the reason that Kakadu has attained dual World Heritage status - according to the Parks Australia website.

I just liked the look of it in the morning light.

The paintings document the indigenous peoples' interaction with the environment largely through the depiction of x-ray art. Most of these paintings are comparatively recent, dated to around 1,500 years BCE, although that is even before there were kings in England. About the same time as the demise of the Roman Empire. There is also a depiction of a Thylacine (Tasmanian Tiger) that is older because the Thylacine is believed to have become extinct on mainland Australia around 2,000 - 3,000 years ago, possibly as a result of the arrival of the dingo from SE Asia. 

I know I've enthused and clichéd my way around the rock art sites, but they are truly breathtaking in their exquisite detail, considering their age. The red ochre leaches into the rock surface and lasts longer than yellow or white, to the extent where you start to recognise the red ochre bleed on rock walls and start to look for art even if it isn't signposted.

A white man.

There were times when standing on the ground, looking up underneath an outcrop, we wondered how they painted all the way up there. The belief, of course, is that the depictions were placed there by the spirit ancestors. Or they popped down to Kennards and hired a cherry-picker.

This was at 10 metres off the ground. On the ceiling, not the wall.

Within the Ubirr site is a lookout that required minor scrambling to reach the top of the sandstone plateau. The 360° views were well worth the scramble.

A Black-necked Stork (Jabiru) on a neighbouring outcrop.

We stopped for lunch on the edge of Kakadu before our next stop, Bark Hut. According to their promotional material, it is a "must-see historic icon of the Northern Territory". It was built in the "wild era of buffalo and crocodile hunting and is now the central hub of discovery for the Mary River Wetlands and Kakadu National Park". So they say.

Lunch companion #1

Companion #2

Ok, it's a pub. An old pub with accommodation and a general store. It also has a resident crocodile, a buffalo and allegedly, a snake. The croc and buffalo were easily spotted in their enclosures, the snake not so much - if it existed. Doubts were expressed.

Exquisite detail.

Back on the road, we drove through Humpty Doo, interesting only because of its name and the fact that people, avoiding city life in Darwin, have moved out here. There is much speculation as to where the name originates. Speculation but no agreement.

The Rainbow Serpent.

It was then on to Darwin, the Hilton, shopping, coffee, dinner to farewell our new friends and guides and finally a sleep in. Our flight home was at 1:30pm and our transfer wasn't until 11:30am - most civilised.

The drive to the airport was interesting. It was in a Tesla X. Very cool and most unexpected.

The flight was late leaving but unremarkable and we were chauffeured home courtesy of APT.

A Redfern sunset. Home again.

Our next major trip dear reader is in October/November. We're off to Vietnam and Cambodia. Before then we are having a few days away to celebrate Jayne's birthday. There may be a post or two about that - we'll see.

Thank you for sharing our journey. One last farewell, it's closing time, last drinks people. Enjoy Closing Time by Semisonic from 1998.

Bobo.