Among the Karst Peaks of Yangshuo, Guanxi Province

Posted on September 29, 2012 by anna

The moment we arrived at the Yangshuo Mountain Retreat, we knew we were somewhere special. We were dropped off by taxi on a deserted, wet mountain road which wound its way through immense karst peaks (irregular limestone formations) that dominated the plains of the valley on either side of us. The rain – which had been falling regularly since we arrived – was flowing down the road in snaking streams, heading in the direction of the Yulong river which flowed just below us, at the foot of the retreat’s garden. We were later told that it’s not unusual for the garden to become flooded after heavy rainfall and there were a number of kayaks lined up against the wall to help staff and guests get about if it did. Although the river was raging, it hadn’t yet swallowed up the garden and so we followed the signs and made our way along the garden path to a very warm welcome – a roaring fire, home made biscuits and a pot of hot ginger tea. All thoughts of the damp, darkening mountainscape forgotten, we settled in for the night with a hot shower and a comfy bed, looking forward to tomorrow’s explorations.

After a very restful night, we awoke to the sound of rain splattering on corrugated iron rooftops. This combined with cool mists is apparently what makes Yangshuo so good for growing pomelos, persimmons (best eaten sundried), chestnuts and oranges (Ponkans) which are the feature ingredients of many local dishes. That morning the rain only lasted for an hour before easing off, leaving us free to go for a misty walk across the flood plain. Yangshuo is best explored by bike but we decided to follow the narrow path, which led from the Mountain retreat to the Yulong Bridge, on foot. The journey would take us along the Yulong river and through the local villages of Yima, Xiatang, Xinglong and Jiuxian. The map we were given marked all the villages, bridges and settlements of the area – some with fantastic names such as: “Two Lions Playing a Ball”; “Frog Crossing River”; “Elephant Out and Horse in a Cave”; “Lion Watching Nice Horses”; “Lion Riding on a Carp” and “Grandpa Guarding the Apple”. With our first marker (Tortoise Probe Head) in mind, and map in hand, we set off for the day. The air was cold and damp, and the a grey mist obscured the tops of the huge karst peaks which towered all around us. The Chinese believe that spirits inhabit these mountains and groups of family graves can be found clustered around their bases – the silence soon became almost eerie, broken only by the occassional passing of a truck, carrying bamboo rafts from the town back to their base further up the river. After about half an hour we passed a farmer leading two buffalo along the road; he didn’t seem in a hurry and was happy to let them eat and pause as they saw fit. We came to associate patience with the Chinese here, especially when we later attempted a calligraphy class and a two-hour tea ceremony where we learned the importance of getting the minute details right!

The scenery was beautiful with an aura of the sublime and the timeless. Orange trees grew along either side of the path, surrounded by small settlements of Qing dynasty houses and sheds where chickens roamed and children played. Some of the children ran alongside us and waved, others were disinterested but everybody seemed quietly but intensely focused on whatever they were doing, even if it was sitting on a hay bale staring at the mountain peaks. After about an hour of walking past quiet and almost deserted buildings, we saw signs for the “Outside Inn”, which someone at the retreat had told us was the first countryside accommodation for foreigners that opened in the area. Luckily for us, it was just opening for the season and was serving lunch, aided by some very necessary heaters. To find it, we left the path onwards and took a small winding track through a rural village until we reached the inn. The food was good and just what we needed before heading back into the cold and onto the path leadaing to the historic Chaoyang village, which has so far foregone the touches of modernisation which are quickly sweeping other parts of China. Standing amidst the chickens, crumbling stone, drying beans and red painted walls of this wonderful place remains a stand out memory of the trip, perhaps best illustrated in photographs:

After spending an hour or so exploring the nooks and crannies of the village, the overcast skies had already begun to darken. Evening was setting in and the temperature was dropping fast. Not relishing the thought of walking all the way back, we took out the map and identified a rafting station marked not too far away, near the Xi’angui Bridge. It wasn’t yet warm enough for tourist season and so most of the rafts were tied together next to piles of faded umbrellas unceremoniously lying in the mud. A couple of touts came up to us saying ‘ride?’ and after a bit of thought we negotiated with one family who agreed to take us down the river and back to the retreat (or so we thought) if we paid upfront…

The river was almost as still as a mill pond – everything seemed frozen in the icy mist which was fast descending, infiltrated only now and again by a diving water bird.

It wasn’t long before we reached the first of the rocky dams which punctuate this stretch of the Yulong river. Unfortunately, our raft became stuck and our oarsman, the man who was supposed to be guiding it, began to sway and shout. As he did, we were greeted by strong alcohol fumes and we soon realised that he had probably spent the afternoon drinking in the local café along with the other rafters lying in wait in vain for people stupid enough to want a raft ride in this weather. Not wanting to fall into the freezing river, we lifted our feet up in the air as he jumped onto a rock and began to push the raft roughly down the small drop. At the last moment he jumped back on, submerging all of the raft, bar the slightly elevated seat we were huddling on. Twenty minutes and two more stone dams later, the oarsman had run out of energy (perhaps the hangover was starting to kick in) and made a quick phone call, which resulted in further shouting. Before we knew what was happening, we were heading for the banks of a field where we were essentially pushed off the raft and left in the hands of a confused looking farmer. He started speaking to us in Chinese before running off through the winter-hardened field. We reluctantly followed where he was waiting for us with a hay cart, pulled by a buffalo, that was just about to leave. Whether it was the cold, or the thought of shivering all the way home on the back of a shonky looking hay cart, I got pretty angry. The poor guy suddenly looked quite frightened and ran off again, this time returning with a motorbike which he patted the seat of. We both managed to squeeze on the back and were soon whizzing through the darkening karst peaks and scarily icy roads back towards the hotel. I was too cold to be frightened and just concentrated on clinging on to his coat with my numb fingers. A few swerves and curves later and we were back outside the retreat, where we thanked the farmer (who was really blameless in it all) before quickly running inside to thaw out by the fire with a big pot of hot ginger tea.

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From the City to the Mountains by Train and Bus

Posted on August 29, 2012 by anna

When it came to navigating our way through China, we knew that we wanted to spend some time in the more rural countryside outside of the power and manicness of its cities. We were due to meet Alex’s parents in Hong Kong early the next month and so we couldn’t wander too far away from the coast if we were to make it back overland in time to see them. In Hanoi, we had got talking to an American who had been teaching in China and he suggested that we make our way to Guilin and then take a bus from there to Yangshuo – “you’ll see why when you get there” he said with an almost whistful look that we took to be a good sign. He also recommended that we look up the Yangshuo Mountain Retreat – an eco residence on the banks of the Li River set against some ‘incredible’ scenery. Upon investigating further we could see why he pointed us in its direction; not only is it set in a spectacular part of the country but it also invests in sustainability initiatives, educational programmes and the community (importantly for us, it is also 100% managed by locals who help their visitors to understand and learn about the area). Luckily for us, we just caught the end of low season and managed to book in for few nights; now all we had to do was get there.

The train to Guilin left Nanning early the next morning. We soon discovered that there were no taxis around at that time due to commuter traffic on the roads, and it would therefore be easier for us to walk/run to the station. It was pouring with rain and my small wheelie case – which had made it over Cambodian dirt tracks without a problem – chose this moment to break. Luckily, the handle was still (just about) intact and so we made it to the station with five minutes to spare. What we hadn’t bargained for (this being the first domestic train we’d take in China) was the security processes you have to adhere to here before boarding any inland train. First through the ticket officers, then through the scanners and finally through a turn style controlled by some fierce looking guards. We got through the first two okay but I was taken aside at the turnstyle where the guard grabbed the red notebook I was carrying and started frowning into its pages (we’d be playing cards and so perhaps he thought the lists of numbers were some sort of code). He demanded to see my passport which he just glanced at the cover of before saying “British?, Okay”. For the first time on our trip, I felt relieved to be holding a British passport (we later heard stories from others about how certain countries discriminate against certain nationalities). This time, our passports had worked in our favour and we just had enough time to run through the barrier and hop on the train before it left.

We had booked the ‘third class’ wooden bench seats but the cabin guard took pity on us (we must have looked wet, flushed and tired) and ushered us into another cabin with softer seats which we were glad of as the journey would take 5h 30. The train wasn’t full and it was relaxing to watch the scenery go past. A smartly dressed businessman sat opposite us and I was amused to hear that he had Yann Tiersen’s La Valse D’Amelie as his mobile phone ring tone (we later found out that the Amelie soundtrack is very popular in China). It somehow set the scene for the journey and the time passed quickly as we watched urban sprawl fade into rice fields, rivers and small stone peaks. These started to grow in size as we neared Guilin and looked incredible through the steamed up window panes. On board a sales man was standing in the middle of the carriage doing a pitch and demonstration involving a bowl of water and a quick drying towel which fit into small plastic tubes and came in three bright colours. He handed one out to each passenger and placed its casing prodly on the table in front so we could delight in its magic; unfortunately we were more enchanted by the scenery outside the window and so didn’t make the most attentive of audiences. Catching on, he quickly released his tubes from the clutches of our hands and sauntered off to the next carriage in search of more appreciative listeners.

The peaks rolled on and it wasn’t long before we pulled into Guilin’s station. It felt good to be off the train and stepping into fresher air. We found our way out into a carpark where there was a small cabin with pictures of buses on the side. We showed the lady behind the desk where we wanted to go on a map and she nodded, picked up my bag and ran across the car park with it. There was a local bus just leaving which she ushered us onto after taking our money. This turned out to be a very local bus which not only seemed to stop nearly every 10 meters to pick up and drop off shoppers but also appeared to collect and dispatch post. We hadn’t seen the sun since arriving in China and although it was only 4pm, the light was already fading – we willed the bus on, not relishing the thought of finding our way to the mountain lodge in the dark. About forty minutes later we arrived in Yangshuo town centre – a strange mix of sports shops, cafes and Austrian mountain style buildings – perhaps the result of the influx of tourists the Lonely Planet coverage of the town brought in the 80′s and 90′s. West street is the main shopping street here and was buzzing with tourists (mostly Chinese, escaping from the cities on the increasingly popular bus tours on offer in every major urban area). We felt glad that the Mountain Retreat was a 15 minute ride out of this tourist ville, into the mountains. We managed to find a willing taxi, negotiate a fair price (which we were always getting in the habit of asking about from whatever guesthouse we were headed for prior to arrival) and were soon heading into the mountains…

 

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Into the mists of China we go…

Posted on July 10, 2012 by alex

The last train we caught in Vietnam left late in the evening. We hopped into the taxi arranged by our guesthouse and were soon rushed through the laneways of the Old Quarter, flanked by a stream of motorcycles and scooters which flowed onto the freeway. The international train station at Gia Lâm is located a few kilometres North East of town and we arrived a little early only to discover that the train was delayed – we were in for a couple of hours spent examining the other visitors to the waiting room and watching the sunset fade to a deep shimmering red through the window.

In the waiting room we had a short conversation with one of the staff from our hotel, who happened to also be waiting for an arrival from the train. We couldn’t exchange much in the way of conversation, still being reliant on our phrasebook and wild gesticulation, but managed to swap greetings, some basic stories and, in true English style, complain about the last few days’ weather. At long last the train pulled up – this was a Chinese train, markedly different from the Vietnamese versions we’d travelled on before in interior (the Chinese go in for emblemed carpets, polished wood and sleeker sound-systems/screens). It was our first step into what would become a constant flow of elaborate and ornate displays of affluence.

In 1902, the line from Hanoi to Đồng Đăng (the Vietnamese station on the border with China) was built. At the time Vietnam was still colonised by the French and the line was heavily bombed by the Americans during the Vietnam war. Since then it has been patched up and is again a major route for the transporting of goods and passengers between China and Vietnam. It is also a great way to experience the marked contrast in landscapes and philosophies between the two countries.

This line would carry us over 396 kilometres of terrain to the relatively small (by Chinese standards) border town of Nanning – but first we had to experience the delights of our first Chinese border crossing.

Not long after we’d settled into our cabin on board, a train guard knocked on our door to check our passports, visas and tickets before swapping them for a couple of colourfully decorated plastic cards, leaving us free to wash and get ready for bed despite the knowledge that in a few hours we would be rudely awakened for our first border check by train. We had been on the train for around three hours, enjoying the luxury of a train carriage all to ourselves, before we were alerted by the guard to get ready for the border crossing (it was about 1.30 am and the cabin felt freezing so we quickly pulled scarves and warm jumpers out of our backpacks). We couldn’t see much outside apart from the occasional collections of lights in the distance and the noise and flash of sparks coming off the axles. It felt like this went on for some time but the train had started to slow and ten minutes later it came to a complete stop at the dimly lit border check point.

The night air was the coldest we’d felt in a long while – and we felt glad of the warm clothes we’d purchased in Hoi An. By the time we assembled ourselves, we were one of the last off the train and the platform was eerily empty but for a couple of border officials who were inspecting the train carriages and carriage underbellies with torches for stowaways and contraband. We were motioned into a brutalist style building where a group of around 30 shivering passengers were gathered around the glass screens of the passport office, protected by three officials in thick military coats. Behind the screens, the office staff had begun to stamp, hand-wave and pore over the minute detail of each passenger’s passport, taking especially long over our European ones. Once a stamp had been granted a stern-faced official would bark the passport holder’s name and wait for them to come to the front and collect it, rather like a school prize giving. The stern expressions of the officials only changed once – amusingly when they reached Anna’s passport – at which point the guard’s frown melted into a smile and he raised his shoulders in an actual laugh. We don’t know whether it was the photo, the strange butterfly hologram on the passport’s photo page or the surname ‘Rice’ which did it but whatever it was, it brought a more human side to the otherwise military-style experience.

The Chinese border post

After twenty minutes of huddling in the cold, we were back on the tracks for a five-minute train ride to the Chinese side of the border, where we had the pleasure of repeating the entire process again, thankfully in a heated room this time. The difference between the sides couldn’t have been more stark: the Chinese border post was kitted out with top-of-the-line scanners probing our bags with all kinds of rays and sniffer dogs mainly on the lookout for dangerous fruit-bearing tourists. Presumably other ‘dangerous’ goods are occasionally tried but I wouldn’t bet on a smuggler’s chances here…

We were now officially in China and it wasn’t long before the train was pulling away and edging towards Nanning. The train carriage was pretty freezing by this point, so we decided to keep our jumpers on underneath the duvet before attempting to get some sleep (tip: Chinese provincial trains are rarely heated except in extreme conditions so always bring something warm for nights). As day broke, we were woken to a dawn chorus of hauntingly beautiful piano music, played out through the sound-system to wake up sleeping passengers.  We drew back the curtains to see our first glimpse of China – the paddy fields of Vietnam had transformed into beautiful Karst peaks, huge towers of rock that stand alone in the mist as millenia of rivers have whittled their edges down to steep cliffs that oscillate across the landscape. This didn’t last for long as we soon hit the urban sprawl of Nanning’s outskirts. This “small” border town is in fact huge – with a population of six million, it is almost the same size as London and has a shopping district to rival that of any British city. This wasn’t the easing into Chinese culture we’d hoped for but it was at least a ‘real’ introduction. With no airport terminals to soften the blow, we were soon released into a station heaving with Chinese workers and commuters (and not another ‘tourist’ in sight). Hanoi felt like a village in comparison.

Nanning Train Station Square in the rain, by Ian Stacey on Flickr

The area outside the station station is a large concrete mass with an underground shopping centre to shield pedestrians from the cold in winter and a topside market full of motorcycles, each laden with a different speciality of fresh fruit or hot dumplings simmering over portable gas heaters. Vast video displays arch over entire sections of the streets, while four lanes of traffic speed past pavements full of pedestrians all moving as fast as they can to get out of the smog.

Our hostel was located a 10 minute drive away, so we pulled the Chinese phrasebook out of our backpack and attempted to find a taxi. Luckily, we’d thought ahead and had the address written down in Chinese which saved us (I don’t think our terrible attempt at conversation was getting us anywhere). The hostel was located in a side street in a sort of park next to the river – if it hadn’t been signposted, I would have taken it for a toilet block. The inside was thankfully quite welcoming and there were a couple of Australian and British travellers who were about to continue their routes into Vietnam. They told us that Nanning is really a business town and most travellers just stop by en-route or to investigate business opportunities (one of the Aussies was there to try and sell New Zealand and Australian wines into business hotels and restaurants – an alcoholic beverage which is apparently becoming more popular with Chinese businessmen and women since travel has become more commonplace). Although it was still early morning, we were incredibly hungry and so decided to go out to find something to eat. The back streets which wound their way to the centre were abuzz with activity – metal sheets were being sawed, old men were playing Mahjong in the park, pans and pots were bubbling over and textiles were being hung out to dry. It felt similar, yet different to Vietnam – more industrial with a slightly aggressive sense of purpose hanging in the air.

We followed the streets until we hit a line of cafés (where no-one spoke a word of English) on the main street. We opened our dictionary but realised stupidly that we didn’t know whether to use Mandarin or Cantonese. We went into one of the cafés and attempted to order something vegetarian, trying the word in both languages before the lady behind the counter nodded and ordered something for us, directing us towards a hatch at the end to collect it. The café was full of smartly clothed office workers and mothers with warmly-wrapped babies. After collecting our food, which arrived in a sturdy iron vessel from the hatch, we took a place at one of the bright red plastic tables. We’d ordered some kind of soup, which was definitely not vegetarian judging by the tentacles and grey bits of meat which were floating in it. There were however piles of vegetables and tofu thrown on the top so it was halfway there and tasted really delicious. After travelling for this long, we were used to eating what we were given and in all honesty it was exactly what we needed. While we were busy sucking up the noodles, a toddler at the next table decided to take an interest in us and tried to feed us noodles from her bowl. The mother was soon encouraging her to wave and say ‘ni hao‘, so our first breakfast in China became something of a family affair, a welcome change among all the offices and business suits.

Feeling refreshed, we made our way back to the hostel, where a French family were watching Alvin and the Chipmunks on the television in Chinese with badly-dubbed subtitles (“get suitcase down Alvin chipmunk”, “no, I am furry-tale Simon chipmunk” etc.) Our train to Guilin was due to leave early the next morning and so we decided to catch up on some sleep before heading out for dinner. After conducting much research on travel forums, we came across a well-rated Chinese-run restaurant called Babel, serving British/American cuisine which was apparently very popular with dating couples and the young crowd of Nanning. We decided to give it a go, feeling like a change from noodles, and were surprised to find ourselves in a slick style palm house where the after-work crowd were quietly sipping on Bellinis and Cosmopolitans. We ordered a vegetable burrito with cheese (we hadn’t seen dairy products in quite a while!) and a ‘roast chicken’ with gravy and a dish of mashed potato. The next table were busy tucking into a massive wedge of chocolate cake and cream while sipping on an American beer. We didn’t think the food came close to the deliciousness of the noodle broth we’d had for breakfast, in either quality or taste, but this was one of the pricier restaurants in Nanning and there was a large queue forming at the door by the time we’d finished. Was this the ‘changing face of China’ which we’d heard so many people speak of? We’d have to wait and see…

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Hanoi

Posted on July 9, 2012 by anna

We stepped off the train in Hanoi at 5am in the morning and were greeted by the chill of a misty platform which was quickly filling up with taxi and tuk-tuk drivers. We had been advised to always go with one of the green and white Mai Linh taxis because they were the least corrupt but as all of those had been snapped up we had no choice but to trust another metered cab. We soon realised that this was most definitely a mistake when we noticed that the meter was bounding up by handfuls of Vietnamese Dong a second. The taxi driver had apparently gone deaf by this stage and could not hear us pointing this out; a few notches up the volume scale later and he screeched the car to a halt to argue. Hanoi was still deserted at this hour and not having a clue where we were, we were reluctant to leave the cab altogether so after much negotiation we managed to settle upon an inflated fixed fare. Fifteen minutes later we pulled up outside the Hanoi Guesthouse on Ma May street in the old quarter of Hanoi. All the lights were off and after a couple of minutes spent knocking at the door, a boy in pajamas undid that latch and welcomed us in. He explained that everyone was still asleep but we could take a seat in the breakfast room and help ourselves to some tea and coffee. The team at the guesthouse were lovely and showed us to a beautiful room on the top floor which came complete with a huge bathtub, the first I’d seen in a while. It was the perfect place to get some rest before we tackled the attempt to get a Chinese visa part II. We weren’t holding out much hope as all the travel/visa advice forums we’d read online had reported much higher rates of success in Ho Chi Minh, so we started to mentally prepare ourselves for a trip into Laos if our Hanoi attempt failed. We had received one tip off though and that was to try Vietnam Impressive who apparently have contacts inside the embassy and can book train tickets too, so that might be our best shot at getting around the ‘no visa, no train ticket; no train ticket, no visa’ quandary. As soon as we were bathed and refreshed, we set off for the Vietnam Impressive offices which were in an old four story house on the outskirts of town. We’d spoken to a ‘Mike’ on the phone but he was out and about so we were dealt with by two lovely girls. They assured us that there should be no problems procuring a double entry visa and told us to leave it with them. It could take around four days they said and so we went straight back to Hanoi Guesthouse to book ourselves in for the rest of the week.

With the visa situation out of our hands, we were free to explore the wonderful streets of Hanoi at our leisure. We’d heard many people tell us what a special place it is but you really have to see it to understand fully what they mean. The first real surprise was the dip in the temperature, especially given that this was the first cold weather we’d experienced for nearly eight months. Everyone was wrapped up in winter coats, scarves, hats and mufflers and many glove and ear-muff loaded bicycles were being carted around the tourist streets hoping to make money off those tourists who had been caught out in the trip up from Thailand, Laos or Cambodia. At a nearby school, smartly dressed women driving scooters in coats and heels were busy bundling warmly-wrapped children onto their bikes. Scooters and motorbikes are the transport option of choice in Vietnam and Hanoi was no exception. Everywhere we went, the streets were filled to the brim with parked scooters and at the beginning and end of each day every street would buzz with the vibrations of hundreds of scooters making their journey home. The pollution levels were admittedly difficult to take and the cold air meant the clouds of fumes would hang uncomfortably over the city. Even the legendary Hoan Kiem lake and park, which mark the centre of Hanoi and are always full of joggers and Thai Chi groups, could offer no respite and the only option left was to make like a local and invest in a carbon filter mask/fashion statement (whether this had any effect beyond the ridiculousness of its lurid blue flower design was questionable). Strolling along the lake, masks in place, we were lucky enough to get a glimpse of the ancient turtle that inhabits its waters (as homage to the legend that Lê Lợi, one of Vietnam’s greatest heroes, returned his magic sword to the Golden Turtle at this very lake). The present soft-shell turtle, which is affectionately known as Cụ Rùa or ‘Great Grandfather’ is thought to be one of the most endangered freshwater turtles in the world and is sadly not doing so well currently, due to the polluted waters of the lake. In 2011 a rescue operation was carried out to treat the pink lesions on the turtle’s skin, thought to have been caused by floating debris in the lake but it has since been returned to the water as it is considered sacred to residents of Hanoi. Sightings of the enormous creature are thought to be lucky and we were amazed to see how quickly an excited crowd gathered around the lakes edge as word of the turtle’s appearance spread.

After the excitement at the lake we decided to wander to the French quarter which is where many of the smart hotels, restaurants and patisseries are based. It was the closest I had come to feeling autumnal all year, warming up with a hot chocolate and a pain au chocolat as the evening dusk set in and the shop fronts and lake lamps began to light up. We were very glad that we would be staying in Hanoi for a good while longer because it was clear that this intricate city has a great deal to explore.

The next day we began our explorations in Ma May street where our guesthouse was based. I had come down with a bit of a cold so somebody recommended that we visit 69 Bar a few doors down for their sweet and sour dill soup and lime, ginger and honey tea. Both were delicious and helped set us up for another chilly day in Hanoi. For dessert we opted for the vegetarian Tamarind café on the same street which we heard was offering a heater and the prospect of warm apple pie for those who, like us, were missing home just a bit. Ma May street is central to Hanoi’s old quarter, and is perhaps the best known to tourists but the real action takes place on the surrounding streets which are bustling day and night with street sellers touting every kind of imaginable product you could ever wish to buy. The old district is a perfect example of a giant market where each street specialises in something different, so while one street is known for its bamboo ladders, another will be famous for coffins or kitchenware. A helpful lady we met in a shop sketched a basic street index for us, indicating which street name meant what, which helps to get across just some of the weird and wonderful things you can find in the narrow streets of the district if you know where to look:

Hang Ma – paper products; Hang Manh – bamboo mats; Hang Thiec – tin ovens; Hang Quat – religious artefacts; Hoang Hoa Tham – plants, pets; Le Duan – garages, running shoes (!); Ma May – passport, photos, cd burning; Ly Nam De – computers; Trang Tien – bookshops and galleries; Tran Hung Dao – dentists; Ba Trie – bicycles and motorbikes; Hang Bo – motorbike stickers, clothes accessories and barbeque squid (late night only); Gia Ngu – socks, stockings, underwear and gloves; Hang Luoc – plastic flowers; Hang Ga – bamboo ladders; Hang DAU – shoes etc. etc.

It was a pleasure to while away the hours just drifting from street to street, occasionally pausing to draw up a blue or red plastic stool to perch on at one of the many street cafes from which we could watch the world drift by while sipping a Vietnamese coffee. Like many South East Asian cities, the streets really are where the action is and everything from peeling potatoes, preparing meals and ‘chewing the fat’ with friends or family to having a hair cut takes place on its pavements. As the days went on, the sight of pavement slabs covered in sunflower seed husks, crab shells and discarded bits of hair became a familiar sight and one which I began to find strangely comforting. In the evenings, many of the cafes would transform into Bia Hơi stalls where fresh, 24-hour shelf life beer (containing no preservatives) would be sold by the pint for the equivalent of 15p, accompanied by freshly baked crisp baked and pipes/tobacco if desired. When we’d had our fill of Bia Hơi we would often wander up the boutique-lined Nha Tho street to Nha Chung or ‘lemon tea’ street where we were told the young, hip crowds of the city like to spend their evenings. The neo-gothic St Joseph’s Cathedral can also be found here and it looks rather spectacular lit up in the dark. This part of town bears the unmistakable markings of French influence perhaps more than any other, with its cathedral square and neatly painted, shutter fronted cafes and shops bordering it either side. The beautifully tiled La Place café provided a beautiful place to work and read from while looking out on the Cathedral and square below through the balcony window.

On our fifth day in Hanoi we heard back from Vietnam Impressive, who told us that they’d failed to get us a double entry visa (apparently visa entry requirements had become stricter in China since January 2012) but they could get us a single entry which would at least get us to Hong Kong where we should have ‘no problem securing another single entry visa’. They hadn’t even needed to sort out the train tickets from Hanoi to Nanning in order to get the visa so we decided to book those through our hotel which was a fair bit cheaper. With one more day left in Hanoi, we decided to spend our last evening at the Thăng Long Water Puppet Theatre on Dinh Tien Hoang street near the Hoan Kiem lake. We couldn’t leave Vietnam without seeing one performance of this traditional Vietnamese performance art and we weren’t disappointed as a live band sung, plucked and drummed their way through various water themed scenes from Vietnamese culture and legend (think buffalo’s tilling, farmers dancing, goats fighting, golden fish jumping and dragons soaring). It was a more than appropriate way to end our stay in such a wonderful and surprising city.

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The Reunification Express

Posted on June 28, 2012 by alex

The Reunification Express (now more commonly referred to as the “North-South Railway” outside of the tourist brochures) runs from Saigon to Hanoi – spanning 1,000 miles of beautiful pastureland, countryside and hilltops.

The railway was constructed in the thirties by French colonists, split in 1954 following the Geneva accords and remained as two separate rail systems until the end of the Vietnam war. In 1975 the two lines reunited and within a year the old route was put back into operation.

In order to book your tickets for this train you have to physically go to the station as there is no online ticket ordering service in operation yet. As the sleeper compartments usually get booked up a couple of days in advance, it can be a bit difficult to spontaneously travel onward (though there is usually room in the hard sleeper section which has as many as four bunks to a wall)! A slightly easier but more expensive way of going about booking is to go through an agency such as the efficient but expensive Vietnam Impressive (there are however many hotels and guesthouses that now offer train booking services and we found them to be cheaper). After our visa debacle at the Chinese embassy, we managed to find ourselves sleeper train tickets on the evening train out of Ho Chi Minh the next day. It was strange to think of this as the first train link in a continuous chain of connecting tracks that would eventually take us all the way back to London.

We were shown to our carriage by the attendant (each carriage has one) and after we tried to thank him in our broken Vietnamese he smiled before rushing back to his post at the carriage door. The interior of the cabins is basic but comfortable (and unlike the ‘plusher’ Chinese trains there were no television screens and sound systems so books and packs of cards came in very useful). The bottom bunks nearly always get booked up first as they are the most convenient during the day time, doubling up as basic sofas, having access to the table in the centre and enjoying the best views.

As we had booked fairly late in the game for all of our train rides through Vietnam, we were on the top bunks both times but as the train from Ho Chi Minh to Danang and from Hue to Hanoi are both basically night trains, this wasn’t a problem. This was our first introduction to the standard 4-berth sleeper carriage (most of them built by German companies) which are used on many routes through Vietnam, China, Mongolia and Eastern Europe. Each one may have differing degrees of comfort but the layout is always the same and was to become very familiar over the coming months.

The train is a really fantastic way to travel as it offers a chance to bond with both locals and fellow travellers. Our first cabin companions were a brother and sister from Australia who had come to Vietnam on a spontaneous holiday with a view to getting some wardrobe items made up in Hoi An. We spent the evening playing cards and swapping travel stories before trying some local beer to help us get to bed. It was hot inside the cabin with our air vent missing a few nuts and bolts but the night passed quickly and as morning broke we were able to see beautiful pastures and rolling hills through the scratched window pane. Our second lot of fellow cabin occupants were a Vietnamese couple who were travelling with a large number of other family members, all dotted amongst the other carriages. There was a celebratory atmosphere as they began to unpack steaming flasks of tea and pots of noodles to share amongst themselves. The women started to gather in one carriage while the men congregated on chairs by the sink area, both parties soon deep in conversation and laughter. One of the women helped us map out the exact train route on a Palin-esque blow-up globe that we a had brought along as an illustrative tool to help explain our journey. Although there was a language barrier between us, we really appreciated being privy to what was essentially a family gathering taking place on a train and they were very generous with their delicious home made dishes, which made a diverting alternative from our own carry-on dinner of crackers and peanut butter.

The train journey through Vietnam is particularly beautiful and we could see why people found it so difficult when the line was deliberately attacked and blown up during the war and resulting unrest. It has slowly but surely been patched up, mended and ‘reunified’ so travellers and locals are once more able to wind their way through the communities and endless fields of egrets and scarecrows which snake all the way along the coast from Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi.

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Night Herons and Elephants of the Forgotten City in Huế

Posted on May 20, 2012 by anna

Huế is a town with a rich history and a turbulent past which has dragged it through everything from the feudal dynasty of the Nguyễn Lords in 17th-19th centuries through to the Tet offensive and massacre at Huế by Communist forces in 1968 and the persistent aerial bombardment from the Americans during the Vietnam war. Even after the war had ended, the historical structures at Huế were seen as relics from a past no-one wished to preserve and many were left to rot and ruin. Since 1993, when many of Hue’s historical monuments were given UNESCO heritage status, work has taken place to preserve those buildings which managed to survive both war and neglect. And it’s a good thing too as there are some truly beautiful buildings here, not least the Thien Mu Pagoda (a 16th century structure and one of the oldest in the country) and the Imperial Citadel with its interior Forbidden City. The Thien Mu (celestial lady) Pagoda was a few miles from the centre of Huế where we were staying at a small but extremely cosy hotel called The Jade. As it was pouring with rain we decided to opt for a taxi instead of a Tuk-Tuk to the pagoda and as it’s about a 15 minute drive across the Perfume River and out of the town, the driver offered to wait for us and take us back. The monastery attached to the Pagoda is still active and so it is a peaceful place dedicated to learning – the car of the monk Thich Quang Duc, who burned himself to death in Saigon in 1963 in protest of the regime’s clamp down and violations against religious freedom, is on display here as a gentle reminder of what he fought to achieve. The bells, incense, bonsai trees, statues and spectacular views of the Perfume River make this an ideal place to take some time out to reflect and admire the many facets of this fascinating country.

Huế is certainly less geared towards tourists than Hoi An, making it an excellent place from which to observe the local day-to-day activity of the town. We were amused to watch fishermen in wooden boats on the Perfume River using traditional fishing techniques but taking breaks every now and again to talk on their mobile phones. It’s easy to forget that in seemingly timeless places such as this mobile phones have become as much a part of the culture as Nón Lá hats and you are just as likely to find Angry Birds merchandise for sale as you are silk embroidery. We also found that many young people very much wanted to practice their English and we had some interesting conversations about how they approach it. One lovely girl at our hotel was volunteering there to practice conversation by talking to guests and many of her favourite phrases had been taken straight out of Gone with the Wind and Little House on the Prairie – her favourite film/series. She said she wants to be just like Scarlett O’Hara and when I asked her why, she smiled and said “because she is a strong and fearsome woman”.

Our stay in Huế was only short as we were due to catch the train to Hanoi the next day but we couldn’t leave without a visit to the Citadel and its Forbidden Purple city within the walled and moated Imperial complex which was once the centre of life in the old capital. Most of the 17th-century buildings in this fortressed complex were destroyed or damaged during the war and bullet holes can still be seen in some of the stonework. Restoration work is in progress but slow, which suited us as there was something magical about the crumbling buildings set amongst lush green paddocks and rivers. Night Herons nestled in trees above the river while a couple of rather sad and damp looking elephants grazed in the old palace gardens (apparently they were due to appear at the Huế festival later that month but we hoped they’d be moved to better grounds after as they were on quite short tethers when we saw them). Apart from that, exploring the vine-covered city was an unexpected pleasure; we could weave in and out of its maze of buildings without coming across another soul, which brought back something of how we’d felt at the temples surrounding Angkor Wat. The interior buildings house art galleries and theatre spaces which were a great place to shelter in from the rain when it got a little heavier. There were some really beautiful and affordable pieces in the art gallery so I was able (after some gentle negotiation) to buy a charcoal sketch of two Vietnamese women despite being on a restrictive traveller’s budget.

Feeling restored and relaxed we headed for Huế train station to board our night train to Hanoi. The station was one of the more interesting we had encountered of late, with motorbikes and other merchandise being noisily crated up for transportation and delicious food being cooked up all along the trackside. I won’t forget the sights, sounds and smells of that train station for a long time and I was really looking forward to experiencing more of it in Hanoi.

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