On the Theraputic Effects of Diving

The gale struck at 3:00 pm on our fifth and last day of diving in Thailand. Our small wooden boat was somewhere between two islands, and hours from shore. Not that we could see dry land, with visibility about 200 meters through the driving rain. The eastern monsoon had struck in force, surprising us all on a day that had begun sunny and calm. But there we were, tossed about in 10 foot waves, with 50 knot gusts threatening to turn our day of diving into our last.  As we sat on the top deck getting soaked and cold (better than the cabin, though, should we capsize), we remained oddly zen, perhaps taking comfort knowing that we were in it together.

The storm let up, but only after we made it back to port. A few cocktails later and the worst was forgotten. And what the storm couldn't alter was the hours we had spent together underwater, looking at fish and coral and other wonders and trusting each other in silence. 

Diving, we have decided, is great for relationships. Not only is it a fun shared experience, but while underwater you depend on your diving buddy to watch your back and to be there if something goes wrong. From the pre-dive equipment checks to hand signals during the dive, the level of trust is high. And you spend a lot of time together in silence, underwater, learning to communicate with simple gestures and to read your partner's body language.

Diving is also a good metaphor for successful marriage: diving rewards a slow-and-steady pace. Divers who rush about in all directions simply use up their air and scare the fish. Those who can relax, take their time, and sort out problems calmly fare much better.  And in addition to all that, dodgy boat trips make you realize how much you care for one another.

We recently spent a week in the fishing town of Chaloklum, on the Thai island of Koh Phangan. In addition to good diving (10 dives over five days, including an advanced diving course for Erin and an awesome sunset dive), we enjoyed the rhythm of small town island life. The locals seemed happy, the seafood curry was great (and cheap), and the ex-pat diving community was simultaneously amusing and fun. Here's a link to our photo gallery: https://plus.google.com/photos/103829313469224560701/albums/6053723493003017633

After 11 days of enjoying island life, we've spent the past three days exploring the urban chaos of Bangkok. More to come on that, but here's a glimpse:

Tonight we fly to Mongolia, where we'll find out if five days of horseback riding is as good for relationships as scuba diving.

Contrasting Vietnam: Hanoi to Sapa

Hanoi, by all appearances, is a sprawling hive of humanity that has changed only in appearance over the centuries. The narrow streets still host busy commerce by day and dirty street-vendor food stalls by night.  The old quarter from our hotel:

Old Hanoi is still segregated by the type of trade; one street may contain nothing but eyeglasses shops (where Brook picked up new lenses for $25) while the next street's shops sell nothing but adhesives. "It's so easy to shop in Hanoi," quipped our guide one afternoon, "you just need to go to the right street." Picture Home Depot spread over 10 square miles and you get the idea. But now, instead of quaint shophouses and bicycles, Hanoi is consumed by ugly Chinese-inspired concrete buildings and overrun by motorbikes. We spent a week there. 

The first few days were hell: dodging traffic and street vendors and trash in 108 degree heat. And at night, what little is left of the sidewalks (after being used as moto parking lots) is turned into a string of food stands, usually manned by a nose-picking old lady who likes to reach in and sample the food, dishes washed in the gutter, grease everywhere. Then we got the hang of it. We learned to just launch into traffic and let the motos flow around us; learned to get up early to stroll around the lake at 6 and watch the old folks at their tai chi; learned where to find good espresso and decent food (although we each got sick at least once), and most importantly learned to find a little peace among the madness. Here's a link to the photos we took around town (they don't do a great job at capturing the grittiness since we didn't carry the camera at night or to crowded areas): https://plus.google.com/photos/103829313469224560701/albums/6048475767089707217

We also spent five days in Sapa, a tiny town at 5,000 feet hard by the Chinese border in the hills of north-central Vietnam. Mt. Fansipan looms over the town at 10,000 feet and the valleys are populated by minority groups that include the Black H'mong, Flower H'mong, and Red Dzao. These names relate to their manner of dress, which hasn't changed in centuries. Women still spin hemp and hand dye it; men still work rice paddies and corn fields with water buffalo; families still live in squalid portable wooden huts with dirt floors and livestock running about. No one is quite sure, but it's believed these groups were migrants from China and before that possibly Mongolia. Historically nomadic farmers, the French forced them to stay put. That has led to other problems, but also made the area a rich cultural center.  Typical village houses:

Sapa itself has grown into a tourist town full of people looking for a good hike or "authentic experience." While there, we had both. We got in three good hikes, visited a few villages, and had lunch with the locals. Here we are after our second hike with our local guide:

On our third hike we hired a private guide, So, and had lunch in her house with her husband (who's an impressive cook) three kids, pigs, dogs (they only eat the "naughty" ones), and chickens. Lunch took a few hours and, while not exactly hygenic by our standards is was remarkably well and carefully prepared. And delicious. We had visited the market with So earlier in the day to buy ingredients, and it was interesting to watch as each one was cooked over an open fire pit in the hut. Tofu with tomatoes, morning glory (a green, not the flower), another green, bamboo, and of course rice. Finished off by a few rounds of "happy water" - homemade rice wine. She then led us back to town, where we re-entered civization. 

A view from town:

It's a funny place, Sapa. Our hotel and the local resturaunts were all very nice, but the whole place depends on these poor (in a very literal way) locals for tourism. We used a guide company that pays fair wages (and we paid for

lunch for So's family) but other locals aren't as lucky. As a result, there are hordes of local women in Sapa who try to sell handicrafts to tourists. They are aggressive and at times annoying, but much depends on them: families literally starve at times and infant/child mortality is about 30% due to malnutrition and no medical care. Education is basic. These are poor people, and buying a bracelet or blanket can make a big difference. Here's a typical group of ladies about to ambush a busloads of unsuspecting tourists:

We learned from our guide how to spot genuine handicrafts from imported Chinese junk, and ended up picking up a few items made from their local textile: hemp fabric dyed naturally with indigo. Here are the vats they use:

To get a sense of how hard these women work to make a sale (to say nothing of the hours required to grow hemp, spin the hemp, make cloth by hand, dye it 40 times in indigo, sew it into a garment, then embroider it), consider this: one evening we mentioned to a local lady (who followed us to dinner, trying to sell us bracelets and skirts) that the baby carriers we'd seen were quite nice. The next morning, uninvited, she showed up at our hotel (keep in mind that these villages are a 2-3 hour walk from town) daughter in tow, waited outside while we ate our fancy breakfast, then proceeded to show us not one but several baby carriers. Here she is modeling one with her very bemused 7-year-old:

And here's another lady (we bought this blanket from her):

We grew to love these ladies, and Sapa, and left all too soon. After a bumpy (but pleasant) night train back to Hanoi we wondered at the contrast and wished we hadn't left. Here's our Sapa photo gallery: https://plus.google.com/photos/103829313469224560701/albums/6048483075624521905

While we enjoyed aspects of Vietnam, like Hoi An, Sapa, and a few friendly locals we met, we were largely discouraged by the state of things. To put it bluntly, the Vietnamese government is a bloody mess. It is a communist machine that exists soley for itself and does little

for its people. Even Cambodia seems better off, despite having fewer resources and a recent murderous history. And ironically, despite it's communist bent, Vietnamese culture seems much more concerned with "cheap-cheap" and a quick buck than with any forward-thinking or communal ideas/ideals. Apart from a few special places, it seemed a mean, selfish place, rife with cheating and corruption. Needless to say, it was not our favorite stop on this grand tour of ours.  

But that's not to disparage some of the individuals we met along the way, like the folks in Hoi An and Sapa, the lovely lady we shared a train compartment with for 18 hours, the honest taxi driver who showed up at 4:30 AM yet charged us half the prior rate, or the university students in Hanoi who showed us around town all day - for free. As with any place, the collective is often worse than the individual (because at bottom we're all just individuals who want to thrive), creating a strange dichotomy and providing proof that you should not judge a people by their loudmouths or their government.  We probably won't be back to Vietnam, but hope the people living there are able to overcome the odds and thrive. And maybe learn a little hygiene along the way...

Cruising along the tourist trail

When you're traveling for a year it's easy to get fixated on staying off the tourist trail. This is partly from a desire for "authentic" experiences, but there's also some ego involved; a need to prove to yourself that you're a traveler, not a tourist. Sometimes, though, the tourist trail exists for a very good reason. We experienced this on some of the Great Walks in New Zealand, while on the Great Barrier Reef, at Angkor Wat, and most recently Halong Bay. All of these places are spectacles well worth a visit despite the crowds, and so you go, knowing full well that yes, it will be busy, less-than-authentic, and probably overpriced. But awesome at the same time.

Halong Bay was formed by the uplift of the sea floor, which subsequently eroded to form thousands of dramatic limestone sea mounts rising vertically from the water. It's a stunning sight, but increasingly marred by the over 500 licensed cruise boats. Unfortunately, those boats, along with the locals living on the bay, are polluting the water with sewage and trash. There are safety rules, and aesthetic rules (all boats must be painted white), but there's not much in the way of environmental regulation. Hopefully, the tourism industry will realize that it's the natural beauty people come to see, and that they need to protect this special place.

We took a one-night trip to Halong Bay about a week ago, and it was full of kitschy tourism. Cave hike with colored lights? Check. Morning Tai Chi? Check. But it was also a very peaceful, beautiful experience and one we're not likely to forget. Here's the photo gallery: https://plus.google.com/photos/103829313469224560701/albums/6046222136765281329

Five days in Hoi An

Hoi An is idyllic. It's an old trading port, and one of the few well-preserved towns in Vietnam. Historic buildings from Chinese settlers, Japanese traders, and local Vietnamese combine for a very atmospheric city center. Adding to the magic, it's closed to traffic most of the day. Anyone who has ever travelled in Southeast Asia will understand what a relief it is to be spared the hordes of motorbikes for a few hours. Hoi An is definitely a tourist destination, but that's not all bad since it has resulted in good food, wine, and cocktails on offer. And if that weren't enough, there's a great beach close by (10 minutes by bike).

We spent five nights in Hoi An last week, and could have stayed longer. Mornings on the beach, atmospheric wandering through town in the evening, cooking classes, delicious banh mi - all of it was a great, relaxing break from the bustle of Asia. 

Here's a link to our photo album: https://plus.google.com/photos/103829313469224560701/albums/6044738201205865729

We're in Hanoi now, just back from Halong bay and headed to Sapa tomorrow (on yet another night train). Halong  bay was beautiful, and Sapa should also be very scenic, if a whole lot cooler (think 60 instead of 108).  More on those adventures to come...

Vietnam's Little Russia

There's not much to say about the Vietnamese town of Nha Trang. It's a mediocre beach town with average food, a beach that's nice until the tide brings the trash in, and an above average crime rate. We stopped there for a few days because it's considered the best dive spot in Vietnam (and it was quite good - no big fish, but lots of colorful little fish, interesting nudibranchs, and different coral). For Russians, though, Nha Trang is a beach holiday hot spot.

This became obvious after walking just a block from our hotel. The shops, restaurants and tour operators all advertise in Russian. There are restaurants serving Russian food and we later learned that there's a direct flight from Moscow. 

Why? For almost thirty years the Russians operated a navy base out of the town, leading some Russians to settle in the area and creating a strong link between Moscow and this little beach town on the Vietnamese coast.

And so Nha Trang is Vietnam's "little Russia". Full of pale, somber Russian tourists, smiling Vietnamese who are trying to sell you things, and the remaining perplexed tourists. 

Overland in Asia

Right now we're in Hoi An, about halfway up Vietnam along the coast. We got here by train. The same slow, rumbling, dirty train the locals use in Vietnam to transport themselves, their goods, and their smelly durian. But more on that later. Let's back up...

Two weeks ago, we were in central Cambodia. We took an entertaining and scenic bus from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap, then a somewhat harrowing 9-hour night bus back (with nearly flat beds). 

We also spent several hours in a bus to and from the Camodian coast. One thing you learn quickly on a bus in Cambodia is that the promised air-con will break, the promised wi-fi is nonexistent, and the promised toilet is blocked. But the driver may stop, seemingly at random, at his friend's restaurant (or gas station, food stand, or shop) for a break of indeterminate length.

But all of that was nothing compared to our journey into Vietnam. We got on the bus at 8:30 am, after arriving at the "station" (a grubby parking lot in a dodgy corner of Phnom Penh) an anal-retentive hour early, partly because we had no idea where we were supposed to find the bus. Adding to the fun, excessive wine or some seriously bad food the night before had us feeling pretty rough. We boarded the bus with the usual cast of tourists, chain-smoking Indian guys, and locals who will proceed to get off at unscheduled stops in the middle of nowhere. After a few hours, we crossed the Mekong by ferry. Well, more like a barge. The bus attendants (inexplicably, there are usually 2-4 people "working" on the bus in addition to the driver) took this opportunity to buy a big sack of boiled snails, slurping them out one at a time. Given our sensitive state, and front-row seats, this was, let's just say, less than ideal. 

A few more hours and we rolled into the usual "rest stop," from which one of the "attendants" sped off on the back of a motorbike towards the border in the driving rain with everyone's passports clutched in one hand, a cup of sugarcane juice in the other. It was unclear what was going on, but he eventually returned, we loaded up, and then got to experience bureaucrats at their finest. Here's the Vietanam border station:

Three lines to leave Cambodia, three to enter Vietnam, and an hour later we were on our way. When we made it to Saigon, it was a relief to find our (very nice) hotel only a ten minute walk from the bus. We retreated for the night, and congratulated ourselves on booking train tickets through Vietnam - five trains, in fact, from Saigon to Nha Trang to Hoi An to Hanoi to Sapa, then back to Hanoi. Surely, the train would be much better than the bus...  

At lunch the next day we casually mentioned our train plans to a Canadian ex-pat and received a "what-the-hell-are-you-thinking" expression and "I always fly; the train are pretty dirty and the flights are cheap." Well, we figured, it couldn't be worse than the bus.  But it was. We got on our first Vietnamese train a day later, and were immediately greeted by the smell of durian. For those of you who haven't had the privilege of sampling this particular Asian delicacy, it's a huge fruit that stinks like trash. A lot of trash. Then we discovered that a too-small luggage rack meant that Brook's backpack was in the foot space of one of our two seats for the next 9 hours. The other seat was in permanent full recline. 

Oh, and there was also high-volume Vietnamese TV piped in throughout. Earplugs kept us sane, and we did chat with some friendly locals along the way.  We eventually made it to Nha Trang safe, mostly on-time, and glad to be off the train. 

But we dreaded the next one. Three days ago we arose at 4:00 AM to catch our 5:36 train to Hoi An. Like pros, we got to the train station a mere 25 minutes

early this time. Here's the train rolling in at dawn (can you see the fear behind Erin's smile?):

We were grateful that this train had full-sized luggage racks, less grime, and only a mild trash-durian stench. The TV was even louder (which seemed impossible), but this train had a dining car and carts rolled up and down the aisles offering up all manner of food. We rolled the dice and got some lunch, which turned out to be fairly good pork belly, rice, soup, and sautéed greens. For about $1.50, definitely beating Amtrak in the food department...

We have three more trains to go, but we're learning to roll with it and even enjoy the craziness (sometimes). The next one is a 17-hour overnight to Hanoi. Wish us luck...