tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52842804837277334962024-02-06T21:06:20.751-08:00Rice Noodles and BicyclesOur 25th wedding anniversary celebration...biking in Vietnam. November 2009Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-35654512601043918172009-12-20T18:51:00.000-08:002011-01-13T13:48:42.129-08:00<strong>Will I jinx the remainder of the trip if I say our journey here was smooth as silk? We arrived on schedule, picked up our bags and were in bed staring at the ceiling by 11:30PM Saigon time, which was close to noon in NY…which explains why we were staring at the ceiling.</strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhamwg2G9Go8XJkde_ddTEXocawG9lLJIZsgDEpmzLE3AFja7vENiLvSWY_pSsc7ldu_IoRxGQgrKoJDaHahOLWM7xUR354jXrPr_uC6KVm1jEsMegfek9MBKP-ddXYsVOFXnoRxRd0rv_s/s1600-h/image001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhamwg2G9Go8XJkde_ddTEXocawG9lLJIZsgDEpmzLE3AFja7vENiLvSWY_pSsc7ldu_IoRxGQgrKoJDaHahOLWM7xUR354jXrPr_uC6KVm1jEsMegfek9MBKP-ddXYsVOFXnoRxRd0rv_s/s320/image001.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>Traveled down to the Mekong Delta this morning. “Traffic” has a whole other meaning here; so does horn honking. Our favorite traffic sight so far has been the motorbike with a cart in front, sporting a 250lb pig. Yep, Porky out front. That’s SOME pig to be able to lead the way. </strong></div><strong><br />
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<strong>It took about 2 hours to get to My Tho, the “gateway” to the Delta. Our guide led us to our private tourist boat which puttered to Dragon Island for the tourista gig extraordinaire. Pony cart to authentic family restaurant for tea, fruit, photo with python and local musicians, to 10 minute canoe ride. Here we experience a smidge of the swamps and canals we heard about on the evening news all those decades ago. </strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-mhhI3JLFWUjQlZx3I8bRd4Wo0ieqb6DQ_oSOhCHUXPFv_YWT75T3lWHJd_BrXzzdqSp0iSnwoAb6QzLJwpt63rkc7SrI3arLzD-ckje_5TJ3-tvD95_ugWn3LG2ojxuhZr1Ix-xPYa4/s1600-h/image003.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-mhhI3JLFWUjQlZx3I8bRd4Wo0ieqb6DQ_oSOhCHUXPFv_YWT75T3lWHJd_BrXzzdqSp0iSnwoAb6QzLJwpt63rkc7SrI3arLzD-ckje_5TJ3-tvD95_ugWn3LG2ojxuhZr1Ix-xPYa4/s320/image003.png" /></strong></a></div><strong>It’s bizarre to think anyone would engage in a war here. The canals are crowded with canoes full of tourists, commandeered by incredibly hardworking locals, teenage boys to middle-aged women to older men. This work ages them quickly.</strong><br />
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<strong>There are no crocs or birds left – all obliterated by humans. We did see 2 water buffalo. There are no stray dogs – they’re all either someone’s pet or a family’s dinner. </strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4o2l0B4tL8dHQvmdtV2V8Im8QZPR8_fwFq89j7VLnFCWLagJfqbSCIYd9M3ci1KTx_sI_ouoCO9pRz4XB35UHcFe7n1Zu9YCBPAh3YWCoEuknPUOJ3DpYIxxPR_ATJizWssmrq7_60xW/s1600-h/image006.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4o2l0B4tL8dHQvmdtV2V8Im8QZPR8_fwFq89j7VLnFCWLagJfqbSCIYd9M3ci1KTx_sI_ouoCO9pRz4XB35UHcFe7n1Zu9YCBPAh3YWCoEuknPUOJ3DpYIxxPR_ATJizWssmrq7_60xW/s320/image006.gif" /></strong></a><strong>We braved crossing the streets tonight, risking our lives to meander around from corner to corner. It makes Times Square look like a stroll in the park. There is construction everywhere, and sidewalks and streets vary from rutted and muddy to smooth and sparkling. Motor bikes are the demi-gods and rule both. Electrical wiring hangs in crowded, clogged clumps from poles placed every 20 feet or so. </strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-mcRd82YYD9U-VeeCfO-kBVQ0aCETbgXlNVf_agwTiRvn78R3OEKgR520IWAC4Wk943Fbuz_vTXteYg1OZmc_3susZTG6Pyb5-UnMRkusxS8T3QhTtT_mQWka2Wy6IXYChC7QH3z__iz/s1600-h/image008.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-mcRd82YYD9U-VeeCfO-kBVQ0aCETbgXlNVf_agwTiRvn78R3OEKgR520IWAC4Wk943Fbuz_vTXteYg1OZmc_3susZTG6Pyb5-UnMRkusxS8T3QhTtT_mQWka2Wy6IXYChC7QH3z__iz/s320/image008.gif" /></strong></a><br />
<strong>New highways being built are displacing thousands of people, supposedly to new apartments. We saw the miles of construction, but not many new apartments. Not sure where all those people went. Maybe they live on their motorbikes and that’s why the traffic is so atrocious!</strong>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-27245473084239539782009-12-20T18:45:00.000-08:002010-03-29T09:10:46.513-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGWClMqfeOY9qSNio79qS_ue-u6r9GROj2esu8Gz6OwT2gN6alhwzL7HhohfiuNYzknsoClvwFjfTC3YaCvuV2lInKtJmKHCrc5SnniHaGfPeS-lrgNda_XR1HkD9LPRFPW3RufD5VUnML/s1600-h/image010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGWClMqfeOY9qSNio79qS_ue-u6r9GROj2esu8Gz6OwT2gN6alhwzL7HhohfiuNYzknsoClvwFjfTC3YaCvuV2lInKtJmKHCrc5SnniHaGfPeS-lrgNda_XR1HkD9LPRFPW3RufD5VUnML/s320/image010.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>Yesterday – Sunday - we spent the day trying to see all the sites that Lonely Planet suggested we cram into 1 day. And of course, we walked everywhere, our favorite way to go in a new city. The Reunification Palace is untouched since the 60’s, and much of the furniture looks like what’s being sold in Soho these days. </strong></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYOgOTmZN_aCd-tIUuyxz_kVrKBUJ8YJe2bfdhm-WZaaw7gf7nUvJ8ZAmPLdWY9hrF_7KarmjODdKzojTsVBSp9mxKpM3AbrHfi53yuE8u8SCmWcQiUGCotHdoFoxuVrLjfU8YNEVOKd1/s1600-h/image007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYOgOTmZN_aCd-tIUuyxz_kVrKBUJ8YJe2bfdhm-WZaaw7gf7nUvJ8ZAmPLdWY9hrF_7KarmjODdKzojTsVBSp9mxKpM3AbrHfi53yuE8u8SCmWcQiUGCotHdoFoxuVrLjfU8YNEVOKd1/s320/image007.jpg" /></a><br />
<strong>The market is the center of life and every shape and manner of thing is sold here. The meat market was quite a spectacle, displaying organs and other body parts that we’d never seen “in the flesh”. We observed one meat cleaver who worked so intimately with her wares that we feared she would mix in her own body parts (adding her own “toe-fu”, as Steven suggested.) </strong><br />
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<strong>From there, I wanted to go to Chinatown, where there are some wonderful pagodas. Notwithstanding the heat and Lonely Planet’s advice to take a taxi, we set out walking in that direction. Every street crossing has been a life altering experience. </strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMh1o_8V_ZzNFsHiQcMkHCV4UjIM3frvNaKMEFB4m4QvOZ7hGyAyfpqejQPpg0iSjSWq0axVyZ8CL_qO9FUXIpAv8gBVR3kho0hpja9vw1f6WOid-e9ls0zsQQCs5-Jks2rS_kSvEqIhyphenhyphenA/s1600-h/image005.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMh1o_8V_ZzNFsHiQcMkHCV4UjIM3frvNaKMEFB4m4QvOZ7hGyAyfpqejQPpg0iSjSWq0axVyZ8CL_qO9FUXIpAv8gBVR3kho0hpja9vw1f6WOid-e9ls0zsQQCs5-Jks2rS_kSvEqIhyphenhyphenA/s320/image005.png" /></strong></a></div><strong>Steven got muffler burn from a motorbike that kissed by him, and a slight bruise from another that stopped barely in time. At one point, we were so afraid to cross that an 11 year old rescued us and led us to safety. I think we provided a fair amount of street entertainment for the locals, who chuckled with glee while we plotzed and darted about in sheer terror. </strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXfda6GFkWOZtgSgZyttVSQlwQJXM1SDC8VxKjqvzysCkZL33z1wPhRXw4dWmGWCmZ7XSs1KDIpbe3RMR1m4uf1RSM5UnXaaReVmi9RTiTRCo6fNSKnh6Sy6cQo-1feprddQu14YOSYHBT/s1600-h/image003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXfda6GFkWOZtgSgZyttVSQlwQJXM1SDC8VxKjqvzysCkZL33z1wPhRXw4dWmGWCmZ7XSs1KDIpbe3RMR1m4uf1RSM5UnXaaReVmi9RTiTRCo6fNSKnh6Sy6cQo-1feprddQu14YOSYHBT/s320/image003.jpg" /></strong></a><br />
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<strong>As we cruised one fairly busy street, a motorbike cowboy grabbed my fanny pack from the front of my waist, expecting it to snap right off. WRONG, Roy Rogers. It finally gave way but so did I. Thankfully, he couldn’t hold on to the pack, and it flew to the sidewalk. (Steven’s glasses were in it.) I didn’t travel nearly so far, but hit the ground and got some fairly nasty scrapes. A toothless senior with a dangling cigarette retrieved the pack and then insisted on being my own personal Florence Nightingale. He scrubbed my elbow and palm with disinfectant from the nearby pharmacy. He hovered over me, close enough for his ashes to mix with the disinfectant, until we found a cab and headed back to the hotel. So, I’m bruised but OK, and I’ll be fine to bike. I’ve been in NYC for 30 years and never been mugged. Had to travel all the way to Saigon for the special event. Oy vey. Maybe getting mugged is on the universal bucket list.</strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5kNM7DYQNQdxMDDT_k17mNL0J-CfUtaWwRt7sHghaGVXeco5LxFJiuPqA6O3RDX0et9nalGlwDvxZafGWNSYh51WcGehLgNh-Gk-0IvV2Zfaoe-5mys4_Sb3nslHqHntDkci0TB33hsG/s1600-h/image002.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5kNM7DYQNQdxMDDT_k17mNL0J-CfUtaWwRt7sHghaGVXeco5LxFJiuPqA6O3RDX0et9nalGlwDvxZafGWNSYh51WcGehLgNh-Gk-0IvV2Zfaoe-5mys4_Sb3nslHqHntDkci0TB33hsG/s320/image002.png" /></strong></a></div><strong>Glad to say that we finally found a pagoda, and it was a wild sight. Lots of little rooms with altars to various gods. The worshippers have big stacks of burning incense sticks that they place at the altars of the gods of their choice. It was so smoky we could barely keep our eyes open; the incense brought me back to Hare Krishna recruiting ceremonies in Harvard Square in the 70’s. I couldn’t find the God of Graceful Aging, or you can bet I would have spent my allowance on incense for her. On the other hand, maybe it’s too late.</strong>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-72903522133800328822009-12-20T18:29:00.000-08:002010-11-29T13:07:59.144-08:00<b>On Sunday night we met with our Spice Roads group – a couple from Australia that we have so much in common with it’s creepy, and a solo gentleman from Belgium who bikes a lot, works for a Son-of-Siemens company, travels 2 weeks of every month, and lives next door to his parents. Our guide is a young Vietnamese man named Phuic –ok, try pronouncing this using your best manners. No matter how you try, even being super careful, it still comes out the same way. Of course, this is causing us no end of giggles and glee.</b><br />
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</b></div><b>On Monday, the van dropped us for our first ride, through villages and semi-rural areas on the outskirts of Saigon. The kids love yelling “Hello”. </b><br />
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<b>The street economy is lively, with everything you can imagine being sold along the side of the roads. People buzz around on motor bikes and bicycles, carrying loads that defy our Western judgment of what can be schlepped in one trip; the guys in the tire business are always busy. Lots of interesting smells, some from cooking (good) some from trash and ?? (not so good). We also cycled by acres and acres of rubber plantations.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_eoilNkZt97HY3N3iEEtyhuimwSEwX7wv8azGNkj2J1PUkt3d48UYSKw8BX7eK4in9Z5YBfNqtyR8VLFMmnapqv51vRR7jAW8L9fCR6mlpocjqrbj-F2ratJgIdF38X-_Dvyydw6MtoP/s1600-h/image002.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_eoilNkZt97HY3N3iEEtyhuimwSEwX7wv8azGNkj2J1PUkt3d48UYSKw8BX7eK4in9Z5YBfNqtyR8VLFMmnapqv51vRR7jAW8L9fCR6mlpocjqrbj-F2ratJgIdF38X-_Dvyydw6MtoP/s320/image002.gif" width="320" /></a><br />
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W<b>e stopped at the Cu Chi Tunnels, which is an amazing and extensive network of multi-layered underground tunnels built by the Viet Cong. </b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4F4Sr4gF2O1ChEvPcbP4DpF294GjveeaSPuI-KXkFuqNPY6OE8xa4jYG_mCwxD1C9ud5d_g9WBNxgt9mN2fJ34r253oZKU9UXeqqIjttAHYzpnY5nhr_qHvk2qxgp1ygUHAh3RGKa3VJ/s1600-h/image006.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4F4Sr4gF2O1ChEvPcbP4DpF294GjveeaSPuI-KXkFuqNPY6OE8xa4jYG_mCwxD1C9ud5d_g9WBNxgt9mN2fJ34r253oZKU9UXeqqIjttAHYzpnY5nhr_qHvk2qxgp1ygUHAh3RGKa3VJ/s320/image006.gif" /></a><b></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><b><br />
</b></b></div><b>The intro film was especially interesting, as we’re not used to the perspective that the North Vietnamese were the heroes. In fact, the film introduced several young women who had won the “Medal for killing Americans”. After touring the site, tourists are invited to shoot machine guns or rifles from the war. And it only cost $1 extra! Doesn’t get much better than that, huh? </b><br />
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<b>Next, we visited The Museum of War Remnants. Not for the faint of heart. Lots of anti-American depictions of the war and blame for the impact of Agent Orange during and post-war. The Americans are blamed for every birth defect since the late ‘60’s. Steven and I were both struck by the similarities of what the US did then and some of what we’re doing now. We all knew it then and we all know it now. Yet it continues. Not sure how to explain this.</b><br />
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<b>For all you foodies – yes, it’s wonderful. Lots of variety, interesting taste combinations and of course, pho, which is a clear broth soup with rice noodles and nearly anything else you want in it. Available for breakfast, lunch or dinner. We’ve been very careful to only drink and brush with bottled water and it’s been easy because bottled water is readily available. But they don’t use it to make ice, so we’ve backed off the hard stuff and I’ve made do with tepid diet coke. The local beer is pretty good and hits the spot. Course the prospect of many-mile bike rides, uphill both ways, has been quite effective in stifling my party urge.</b>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-3461137465004260162009-12-20T18:20:00.000-08:002010-01-04T14:40:23.015-08:00<strong>Our plan for day 3 was to drive to Dalat in the central highlands. We knew we were in for a fairly long van ride, due partly to the traffic congestion in leaving Saigon. But we weren’t prepared for the impact of the post-season typhoon that swept through the area a few days ago. Although the van ride seemed endless, we were treated to an extended view of the consequences of poor road construction and mud slides. It felt like our van was in first gear for hours. Finally, at about 3:00 PM, we were rewarded with a 2 hour bike ride. </strong><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>Most of the ride was through small towns where every single child was on the way home from school and needed to exchange “hello” with each of us. Sometimes they ignore me, since the master who is cycling</strong> <strong>behind me, is clearly more worthy. </strong><br />
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<strong>Each town has a few formal dress shops with ball gowns in the windows that look like they are taken right from “King and I”. These dresses are rented to brides for their wedding days, when they change outfits numerous times. They are in lavish contrast to the muddy streets and motorbike repair shops. Interestingly, I’ve only seen Caucasian mannequins in stores, some with brassy blond wigs and huge busts that are unlike anything I’ve seen on Vietnamese women. </strong><br />
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</div><strong>Our ride took us by the beautiful Dambri waterfalls, and through many acres of farms and plantations. Passing cemeteries provides us with a burst of colorful tombs presided over by gilded gods and offerings of flowers and fruits. The elderly are revered, probably more in death than in life, and are often buried in prime real estate with wonderful scenic vistas. We arrived in Dalat at dusk.</strong>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-20619291241016246942009-12-20T17:35:00.000-08:002010-11-29T13:16:14.205-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><b>Dalat is a beautiful mountain town known for its healthy air and French colonial influence. We left there early for Nha Trang, riding first around a man-made lake in the middle of the city and then through the market. Unlike the others we’ve visited, this market offered buckets of strawberries and displays of fresh flowers. Then we began a really big climb. </b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACXfWJL3G38Py8fgUSNcKwPxWpA8DrYpE_BGi7fr611Fg1axezis2iA8N-a_E-4uCxsqFpgL3nNrDAL25gtbl_I3_jlzUgfxif1gjtyQsHB06PgoCJ5-3spegjAbYFU9w2yF9PHXWajOK/s1600-h/vietnam+5-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACXfWJL3G38Py8fgUSNcKwPxWpA8DrYpE_BGi7fr611Fg1axezis2iA8N-a_E-4uCxsqFpgL3nNrDAL25gtbl_I3_jlzUgfxif1gjtyQsHB06PgoCJ5-3spegjAbYFU9w2yF9PHXWajOK/s320/vietnam+5-2.jpg" /></a></div><b>I thought I’d lose Steven when we passed the Dalat Palace golf course. The first 37k was uphill, generally a slow incline but sometimes demanding extra surges of energy. I fancy myself “the little engine that could”, but am also the self-appointed caboose for our posse. You get the picture – I’m huffing and puffing, relentlessly bringing up the rear. </b><br />
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</div><b>The countryside is terraced, with well-manicured coffee and vegetable farms.Agribusiness is evident in the rows of greenhouses that appear occasionally. Side of the road shanties provide shelter for so many families. </b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YV5rV6CjMDwuYYSB570GCflh1haIFtg4a1RCSoqOKiTyCEAjRH_ghV90qiNwY0k1EAqztTKJBoAKoNoWoOIKvulf2Ryhm7SlvqGgqZkdaIj36j7HIUGE5O5UsqtTshThXW2S1bPeRm6k/s1600-h/image002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YV5rV6CjMDwuYYSB570GCflh1haIFtg4a1RCSoqOKiTyCEAjRH_ghV90qiNwY0k1EAqztTKJBoAKoNoWoOIKvulf2Ryhm7SlvqGgqZkdaIj36j7HIUGE5O5UsqtTshThXW2S1bPeRm6k/s320/image002.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>We stopped for lunch at a small town café of sorts, but I guess our guide didn’t have confidence in the food since we broke open a picnic. Several tins of grey/beige putty were graciously served, but </b></div><b>all I could think of was Muffin’s Fancy Feast. </b><b>Laughing Cow cheese on bread with cucumber and tomato hit the spot just fine, though I craved a swab of Grey Poupon.</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_5vB-3ZdeC-JrU00DHA9yoVN-bb9ESPB_nnY4PEuISifZd6z5LDHH-TWCBJshihiuLHO0UlJAPivW4vxbbbRQpod8Mx5U9i9hx66HWrZAuXiz3RkTju4UugakKPwXYZT6QuUDr0roYlr/s1600-h/image004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_5vB-3ZdeC-JrU00DHA9yoVN-bb9ESPB_nnY4PEuISifZd6z5LDHH-TWCBJshihiuLHO0UlJAPivW4vxbbbRQpod8Mx5U9i9hx66HWrZAuXiz3RkTju4UugakKPwXYZT6QuUDr0roYlr/s320/image004.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b>The next 5k continued uphill and for the most part, it was about pain, sweat, exhaustion and dismay at my delusional self confidence. Reaching the top was sweet. We soon happened on a Buddhist Lunar Temple guarded by two massive Yin and Yang dragons. Very cool – but in the middle of nowhere, not near a village or any homes.</b><br />
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<strong>We’ve noticed that most restaurants don’t provide napkins – I’m not sure what you’re supposed to do when your hands get sticky or there’s schmutz on your face. Sometimes, there’s a small stack of 3"x4" note paper of sorts, that I guess is the napkin substitute. It doesn’t absorb much, and just makes me realize how much I want to wash my hands. Maybe it’s supposed to be used to blot grease. At the end of this meal, we were rewarded with big wet naps. Must be the tourist influence -- not very authentic, but a welcome addition.</strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj7GG04cA11HU26312ypEwCvIQPh5ODOi88K6dEECsXaY1DB6rJc9YiKJLIXQryTBt6SVUi4tmfNezr_2rh9JQSx-Dr8UD1fWj49mTtPYdchGCq5qHb_OucHzsriyMLBIQ9M0DaIn5uBai/s1600-h/vitenam+6-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj7GG04cA11HU26312ypEwCvIQPh5ODOi88K6dEECsXaY1DB6rJc9YiKJLIXQryTBt6SVUi4tmfNezr_2rh9JQSx-Dr8UD1fWj49mTtPYdchGCq5qHb_OucHzsriyMLBIQ9M0DaIn5uBai/s320/vitenam+6-1.jpg" /></strong></a><strong>The following day was supposed to include a boat ride, snorkeling and swimming in the beautiful bay. Because of the typhoon 3 days earlier however, the water was very rough and cloudy. The plans were canceled and Steven and I took off on one of our famous walks. The market here seems slightly less frantic than some of the others we've visited, and the inside area was relatively neat and quiet. Until people started to roar through on motorbikes. I guess I forgot that motorbikes are demi gods and have free rein to go wherever they want. </strong></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<strong>We taxi’d to the Cham Towers, which provided us with wonderful views of the local fishing fleet on the Cai River. The towers, originally 10, were built between the 6th and 12th centuries. Four remain, the most impressive of which was built in 817. Each contains ornate shrines, and visitors must remove their shoes and cover their knees to enter. Worshippers burn incense and leave offerings of food and flowers for the gods.</strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFGNcdo3foZKNDlOJ2sAQ3KFd_bE7Cht97E39QSYyU6M70gE4EbM_Aq_LachjvUH7XuhYx8GMIk7pYwvWBSMOakZT6MT7RXsx_UKkfdVBnWLLvHhdPtU6Tsfeo2JZlwKCOpV8OWm6fWeFu/s1600-h/vitenam+6-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFGNcdo3foZKNDlOJ2sAQ3KFd_bE7Cht97E39QSYyU6M70gE4EbM_Aq_LachjvUH7XuhYx8GMIk7pYwvWBSMOakZT6MT7RXsx_UKkfdVBnWLLvHhdPtU6Tsfeo2JZlwKCOpV8OWm6fWeFu/s320/vitenam+6-3.jpg" /></strong></a><br />
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<strong>We also visited the White Buddha and Long Sun Pagoda. The Buddha was built in 1963 to symbolize the Buddhist struggle against the Diem regime. Around the base, there are carved images of some of the most renowned nuns and monks who set fire to themselves in protest. A bunch of kids tried to provide valuable tid bits of info in “minimalist” English. Their intrusiveness was quite annoying, but when they referred to Steven as “Happy Buddha”, I forgave them completely.</strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUoZrLg1BMERiJ9dr_wxPKV6RoqyvsHGlyNQYSr18KtfDTNXidrx8IHkgpsc4bi_O3Qk0Bibqm83Jc3rXzZwD4wXh5Nz_xsR6_ha2EZW1bNmVMQAAKYyXmFir0hF7ec6qrdsAVn-jn8W3X/s1600-h/vitenam+6-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUoZrLg1BMERiJ9dr_wxPKV6RoqyvsHGlyNQYSr18KtfDTNXidrx8IHkgpsc4bi_O3Qk0Bibqm83Jc3rXzZwD4wXh5Nz_xsR6_ha2EZW1bNmVMQAAKYyXmFir0hF7ec6qrdsAVn-jn8W3X/s320/vitenam+6-4.jpg" /></strong></a><br />
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<strong>We had booked massages for the late afternoon, and headed to the hotel’s salon. We were shown into adjacent rooms, and our masseuses chatted easily between themselves while they pinched, whacked and did gymnastics on our bodies. As a finale, Steven was urged to indulge in a “happy ending”; his masseuse promised to be very quiet, and that I would never know! Then our ladies proceeded to plead – no demand – generous tips. We were glad to escape….</strong>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-80109199670788581432009-12-20T16:03:00.000-08:002009-12-20T16:03:43.920-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHbA9_ioE4P6Ek0bFhBzLQ9ze7WWmoJlrCnGOikoPkaP_cytcBAccsLJg4aySRRqVzZAlMmQsBp-gq2znC5TpbnUwN5O5dbnoT6SQH-HmD21cRN3yg7GJoXWEvTnkgXemKKGb24jATMho/s1600-h/image002.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHbA9_ioE4P6Ek0bFhBzLQ9ze7WWmoJlrCnGOikoPkaP_cytcBAccsLJg4aySRRqVzZAlMmQsBp-gq2znC5TpbnUwN5O5dbnoT6SQH-HmD21cRN3yg7GJoXWEvTnkgXemKKGb24jATMho/s320/image002.gif" /></a><br />
</div>In the morning, we left Nha Trang early and biked toward the beach. There is a beautiful boardwalk that runs north/south and would have made for a perfect ride if the typhoon hadn’t beaten us to it. There is debris everywhere, mostly vegetation. Large pieces of wood are being gathered by area residents for fire wood or construction materials, but there is still quite an obstacle course to negotiate. Little Phuic had a wonderful time bobbing and weaving through the ruins, while I gingerly (and slowly) tried to avoid skidding on the sand. <br />
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</div>Many of the homes close to the beach have been badly damaged, which was completely predictable considering their reliance on Elmer’s, duct tape and scrap metal. Roofs are torn off, trees are down, and everything is wet and moldy. But there’s no evident panic, and folks seem pretty lackadaisical about putting the pieces back together. <br />
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The fishing industry may have taken the day off due to the rough waters, and blue boats of many sizes and conditions are strewn about the harbor and the river. To reach their boats, the locals have small perfectly round bamboo row boats that remind me of the tea cup ride at an amusement park.<br />
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We biked north, taking a 36k detour in order to rack up some saddle sores – I swear the wind was in our faces the whole way - and to see the beach. We rode past an aborted luxury resort and down a desolate road with scrub brush on both sides that reminded us of Amagansett. A big snake slithered out of our way but otherwise, we were threatened only by heat and exhaustion. <br />
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When we finally reached Tuy Hoa, we were treated to a 2-star hotel in the middle of no-where Vietnam. The food they served for dinner was…interesting (mysterious and kinda gross). Apparently, one of the dishes was chicken; I should have recognized it from the feet and feathers. Thankfully, white rice is ubiquitous and was abundant.Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-83464950925458309682009-12-20T15:55:00.000-08:002010-03-29T09:14:08.627-07:00<strong>As we were leaving Tuy Hoa, a wedding was being set up in the lobby of our hotel. The outfits were spectacular and the families’ happiness was palpable (even the mothers). </strong><br />
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<strong>This village is in the process of being transformed into a city. Adhering to feng shui principles, it’s situated with mountains behind and the oceans ahead. The construction activity is rigorous, and when completed, the buildings are painted in bright pastel colors. I’m sure each of these colors means something, and that the number of floors, windows and doors is also based on the rules.</strong><br />
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<strong>Continuing to ride north, the typhoon’s impact was apparent everywhere. Mud, torn up roads, downed trees, garbage strewn about. The Vietnamese are incredibly industrious, and everyone pitches in. There are so many little old ladies on bicycles or walking, hauling wood, chickens, building supplies; they work in the rice paddies, on the fishing boats, at the markets, tend live stock, cook, clean, watch babies. They are mostly toothless but if they have teeth, they’re generally stained red from chewing betel nuts or just plain black from rot. </strong><br />
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<strong>As we ride, we pass fish farms, banana plantations, corn and sugar cane fields and of course, rice paddies; cows on the side of the road in groups of 2 or 3, water buffalos in the paddies with their buddies, the egrets. The farmers spread their rice out along the side of the road to dry, so we’re careful where we ride. </strong><br />
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</div>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-77190186085517002872009-12-20T10:44:00.000-08:002010-03-29T09:08:52.228-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblpFZZUSIV25v9v7ZRvAdxWu9prZ1Sb7dje3lovChvLGfK-rz1f-EVjC7dybz2TqigWyyqw3ocGG99AkHtsS2DMLmv2xyOP9tnxLG0M1IZUEWs_mZAuSnfNs4Cfgyu4M9c7TwZHcC5ZdZ/s320/image002.gif" /></div><br />
<strong>We visited the Thien An pagoda, a fabulous old shrine built in 1670. Among the monuments and statues was a large gold statue of Siddhartha that exuded incredible calm and beauty. </strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEift9b_DYJgmTahPuXNaeaSBZCIbtrSDLmpiXuGZEEmK2TOoaqHE0GEs4tL0OtCmA-4OAORe07fVp2mpWMKEKXXsUbwDgkejgSo3zd61bqM1sqLtbhfdJIRx1b5O0UIlPCSioWKrEfTzgRK/s1600-h/image003.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEift9b_DYJgmTahPuXNaeaSBZCIbtrSDLmpiXuGZEEmK2TOoaqHE0GEs4tL0OtCmA-4OAORe07fVp2mpWMKEKXXsUbwDgkejgSo3zd61bqM1sqLtbhfdJIRx1b5O0UIlPCSioWKrEfTzgRK/s200/image003.png" /></a><br />
<strong>The site includes a monastery </strong><strong>and we were treated to a private Buddhist ceremony by one of </strong><strong>the monks-in-training. We also spied </strong><strong>4 monks chanting, bonging a brass </strong><strong>drum for emphasis (I guess), joined by an equally pious shepherd mix who </strong><strong>was fervently snoozing on the rug behind them. The monks’ sleeping quarters are wooden slabs, some double decked, with one blanket or cover, mosquito netting and not much else. Notably, the prime spot in the dorm, in the cool and dark rear corner, was claimed by the hallowed motor bike. </strong><br />
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<strong>Our next stop was My Lai. You know the story. </strong><br />
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<strong>We spent the rest of the day biking (in 95 degree heat) through miles of villages and rice paddies that featured the occasional water buffalo and many hard-working farmers hidden beneath conical hats. Narrow strips of solid land allow walking between the plots and to the villages beyond. Interspersed within and outside villages are an extraordinary number of construction projects, from repairing roofs, roads and stores to building hotels and temples. There are piles of sand, timber and tools everywhere. Also ubiquitous are wires in thick bunches hanging from wooden poles and large communication towers that seem to run the length of the country. And of course, everyone has mobile phones.</strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Dhma2DQQrCh7rqQlF9cwxhGuetz0m3R8n-G3JtIO7bnnS72JO4eDt6qRhQSETbO8_KxYWg4szZPymJx786z5QfUQbZMRvuqVmkEdZJ13H3GcqQY6gNUltnr7_O8r6Odit0j5nBzIpAe_/s1600-h/image006.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Dhma2DQQrCh7rqQlF9cwxhGuetz0m3R8n-G3JtIO7bnnS72JO4eDt6qRhQSETbO8_KxYWg4szZPymJx786z5QfUQbZMRvuqVmkEdZJ13H3GcqQY6gNUltnr7_O8r6Odit0j5nBzIpAe_/s400/image006.gif" /></strong></a><strong></strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>The people are amazingly friendly and everyone is quick to say hello. The kids love to practice English, which they all study in school. We hear a lot of “how are you”, “what’s your name”, and “where are you from?” We smile and return the greetings, which elicits their uproarious laughter. I suspect they are mostly laughing at us (we are a bizarre sight, to say the least.) They ride 2-3 to a bicycle, back and forth to school, in white shirts and blue pants. The teen age girls wear long white side-split dresses, long sleeved, over white pants. I guess the point there is pretty clear.</strong></div><strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAQ6eB-hUaaZ1qDbRe2gKtQpgt14efXhqao6VyQS3JJTIqJqKRFObtAlcXSiOiuI2oFJZS8wShllffGfBab5A9GzIeSNiIikOB5ZhTJlsm1d4I9upE0a0HLteMBdSU3nKpt8SGr6FX0HA/s1600/image008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAQ6eB-hUaaZ1qDbRe2gKtQpgt14efXhqao6VyQS3JJTIqJqKRFObtAlcXSiOiuI2oFJZS8wShllffGfBab5A9GzIeSNiIikOB5ZhTJlsm1d4I9upE0a0HLteMBdSU3nKpt8SGr6FX0HA/s320/image008.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>The warmth of the women is truly heartfelt. We met one elderly couple who were very curious</strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAQ6eB-hUaaZ1qDbRe2gKtQpgt14efXhqao6VyQS3JJTIqJqKRFObtAlcXSiOiuI2oFJZS8wShllffGfBab5A9GzIeSNiIikOB5ZhTJlsm1d4I9upE0a0HLteMBdSU3nKpt8SGr6FX0HA/s1600-h/image008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong></strong></a><strong> about us and anxious to communicate their good will. The woman was deaf, and her few betel nut - red teeth were quite a sight, but she was eager to make friends and share her spirit. </strong></div><strong><br />
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<strong>We arrived just before dinner in Hoi An, where the shopping is known to be fabulous. I quickly realized I don’t need no stinkin’ bicycle….CHARGE!</strong>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-20057954964811052102009-12-20T10:28:00.000-08:002011-01-13T14:04:50.727-08:00<strong>In Hoi An, we went to Little Phoic's tailor shop. Most of the made-to-measure shops show the same styles and fabrics, and they will make anything you want in less than a day. Somehow the lovely ladies convinced Steven to buy 2 suits ('course, he blames me) and measured him in minutes. He chose 2 lovely light-weight cashmere-wool blends and after 2 fittings and a few lightening fast tweaks, voila! Not one to wait patiently in the wings, I managed to get a few choice little numbers made as well. </strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMuBaDvFfTWdwvjg-ayodstVkoI9ty0bnxBf7IdA6dp-UhzTxWmX3g4ATc1J41KomqzxrpUgrCMwRbiFgKIZtJcDkB_XSf67El7gqdI3boN_Mh76RjSc_CfEOJopvFP9iXR6B-Vt2ghaRH/s1600-h/image004.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMuBaDvFfTWdwvjg-ayodstVkoI9ty0bnxBf7IdA6dp-UhzTxWmX3g4ATc1J41KomqzxrpUgrCMwRbiFgKIZtJcDkB_XSf67El7gqdI3boN_Mh76RjSc_CfEOJopvFP9iXR6B-Vt2ghaRH/s200/image004.gif" /></strong></a></div><strong>The next morning, we biked to My Son along winding country roads through miles of rice paddies. We veered off the main road onto a path that led us past many homes containing cotton looms. </strong><br />
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<strong>The equipment was 50-60 years old. Homes have 2-4 looms, while larger stand alone rooms had more. It was quite noisy and we assumed these folks suffer hearing problems at a fairly young age. The whole area seems to clatter and hum.</strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLc_BfQuLobNwbdc9Bkt3eW6uM6ORSp2WRQwKU2M1Bn9MyWmOYeJJGyPUlCwPFv0cOoGx8lb4gkG1G3itk53s9nhzWCq5UvlnGC7P0MxXfEtVkDEDzMM1YAEUoFddptuTIeuHHwavOPFv/s1600-h/image001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLc_BfQuLobNwbdc9Bkt3eW6uM6ORSp2WRQwKU2M1Bn9MyWmOYeJJGyPUlCwPFv0cOoGx8lb4gkG1G3itk53s9nhzWCq5UvlnGC7P0MxXfEtVkDEDzMM1YAEUoFddptuTIeuHHwavOPFv/s200/image001.jpg" /></strong></a><br />
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<strong>We got sort of lost wending our way through the village alleys. But it was a flat leisurely ride and we eventually returned to a main road.</strong> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>We visited a fantastic series of Champa ruins that included a palace and many smaller temples. This was clearly a civilization that was obsessed with fertility. </strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<strong>Short ride today, since the BIG hill comes tomorrow.</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmBk6GD6eb1fYQXlticTrdVsQzXx5-QPEjNkAeHCED8MydYJfIYUizX2Yzm3O2nH7qU88pM3ayLwlqVkp03ON4mPFXw2-tP3e5owiilb1Fb_l7HQsargqnm0fczKgBecdad68UQ6CMpMf/s1600-h/image010.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmBk6GD6eb1fYQXlticTrdVsQzXx5-QPEjNkAeHCED8MydYJfIYUizX2Yzm3O2nH7qU88pM3ayLwlqVkp03ON4mPFXw2-tP3e5owiilb1Fb_l7HQsargqnm0fczKgBecdad68UQ6CMpMf/s320/image010.gif" /></a></div><strong>We returned to Hoi An and wandered around. It’s a charming city, with wonderful old riverfront buildings, shops, cafes and a whole lot of personality.</strong><br />
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</div>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-612500516779552992009-12-20T09:58:00.000-08:002011-01-13T14:08:44.871-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2oXsZewie0WeOER1WvPIBf8J0fuO4wURQ7r_Svu-FFypmOWGhRCqYmKBPY-c9-2aR-G5IjT7Q_fgeabCRa_-OJT8XM75lr6PrDynVNUeoBORFImUgpej5WO5gojKSgVf69wJZ1L8nKnA/s1600-h/image001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2oXsZewie0WeOER1WvPIBf8J0fuO4wURQ7r_Svu-FFypmOWGhRCqYmKBPY-c9-2aR-G5IjT7Q_fgeabCRa_-OJT8XM75lr6PrDynVNUeoBORFImUgpej5WO5gojKSgVf69wJZ1L8nKnA/s200/image001.jpg" /></a></div><strong>We started the day driving north through Da Nang, which is the 3rd largest city in Vietnam. The biggest American airbase was here during the war, and it is also one of the leading ports in the country since the Han River is so deep. It’s a hub of massive construction projects, as well. Big fancy apartment buildings and resorts are being built on China beach, and the American influence is very obvious, much more than I noticed in the other cities we’ve visited (Café Lipton). Two of the 5 large ships grounded by the typhoon in mid-October are not yet repaired, and all along the beach, there are tears in the sea wall. </strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhjswqhv6UMEdMEChBplnhB4JDlF4BpwuOyB-w3k6EffN5nBHdJPsrDJU0MtjjVUjYX7b5DZAPqgZcpZa2hXXPVGxmOXzMuQ8r7UJz0VmmCBf1ckLsm7JzlFGmtgrr7XmNjb4BXbIplmx/s1600-h/image003.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhjswqhv6UMEdMEChBplnhB4JDlF4BpwuOyB-w3k6EffN5nBHdJPsrDJU0MtjjVUjYX7b5DZAPqgZcpZa2hXXPVGxmOXzMuQ8r7UJz0VmmCBf1ckLsm7JzlFGmtgrr7XmNjb4BXbIplmx/s200/image003.png" /></a><strong>Once through Da Nang, our van dropped us off to begin cycling up Hai Van pass. The distance to the top is 10k with an 8-10% grade. The road is generally well paved though too many stinky diesel trucks loudly honk their way around the hairpin turns. Not a cloud floated by to shield us from the 95 degree heat and shade trees are few and far between. </strong><br />
<strong></strong><strong>The guys started out (4 of them) all piss and vinegar, harboring secret competitive ambitions of being the first to make it to the top. I tooled along for a few minutes and in short order, was on the lowest gear. </strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzHJXPzZoiN7CqmvoNUJbyMCdTLQA7N6ZwmLKS3bKQsSQh6_wi4ffOu3QZFC_x8jJrRRtt0-r6gxjakX456cEnff7eyA4zpeHgiAyABgxVFtG4Z0xAXMGzqcI6uyAAgRdwlpX5rjySAGYq/s1600-h/image006.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzHJXPzZoiN7CqmvoNUJbyMCdTLQA7N6ZwmLKS3bKQsSQh6_wi4ffOu3QZFC_x8jJrRRtt0-r6gxjakX456cEnff7eyA4zpeHgiAyABgxVFtG4Z0xAXMGzqcI6uyAAgRdwlpX5rjySAGYq/s200/image006.gif" /></strong></a></div><strong>The views off the mountain are simply spectacular…lush, thick, green forest, mountain streams and small waterfalls on the uphill side; the magnificent sparkling ocean and a long sandy beach below us. As it turned out, “the little engine that could” couldn’t, since I got off the bike at the 7k mark, determined to keep on trucking on foot. Judy pulled over at 8k, and she and I tried to catch our breath in a tiny patch of shade, next to a little shack. Notwithstanding our being puce, dripping wet, and nauseous, 2 women ambushed us with “You buy something? You very pretty. You want massage? Come in here”. Timing is everything, huh? We could barely muster a “no”. </strong><br />
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<strong>Steven and the 3 other guys made it to the top (though my Happy Buddha was quite red and ragged) and regaled us with their tales of brute force. After recuperating with cold drinks, bananas and cashews, we were rewarded with the downhill side of the Pass. I have to admit being a bit intimidated by the sand and ruts in the road; they’re an annoyance on the climb, but a hazard when I’m going fast. So I wasn’t exactly a speed demon, but the wind helped defray that deep fried feeling I had from the heat on the way up. </strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>We continued to bike for another 50k, past mile after mile of magnificent ornate marble shrines side by side with typical 2 room shacks. Some of the burial monuments cost many $100,000s, but these folks believe that honoring ancestors in this way leads to great wealth and happiness. Not sure how it works since the debt incurred in building these shrines has to be overwhelming.</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHhIVWTbDwNPV3CgVTlJFNtv-f0_GiZQBL0dYFTL-cn9d4d9nHnEkXoO8O8shbJIvlNP50i_TjxOLLOig0c4n-DtEEEKpKJSY28o1RGrM5i9Ts2tHr2u-VzLv_BnEJ7Sq4P2wW2MBs5Ta/s1600-h/image012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHhIVWTbDwNPV3CgVTlJFNtv-f0_GiZQBL0dYFTL-cn9d4d9nHnEkXoO8O8shbJIvlNP50i_TjxOLLOig0c4n-DtEEEKpKJSY28o1RGrM5i9Ts2tHr2u-VzLv_BnEJ7Sq4P2wW2MBs5Ta/s200/image012.jpg" /></strong></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgR5kn8iqRPZMp0MHCfExqO7u6h2k50Bfy7P-5wySn2HEJVttG6Cbt58z0WiP53G4-QahROnudx2loYZ-mkLRBUhRDYbHvJzS7-JhY4sViqwDc-SpW-c61pG86DCs8_RdAiUzdYoV52y1/s1600-h/image014.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgR5kn8iqRPZMp0MHCfExqO7u6h2k50Bfy7P-5wySn2HEJVttG6Cbt58z0WiP53G4-QahROnudx2loYZ-mkLRBUhRDYbHvJzS7-JhY4sViqwDc-SpW-c61pG86DCs8_RdAiUzdYoV52y1/s320/image014.gif" /></strong></a><br />
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<strong>We rode through numerous fishing and farming villages where we passed ox carts and cows and chickens and kids on bikes and adults on motorbikes carrying everything imaginable. Many people in both urban and rural areas wear face masks, especially women – it’s really dusty, the exhaust fumes are bad, they want to keep their skin as fair as possible. </strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpNVfmeWYyPdK3lYUaR58bTK95k7OIgL7Yly0RtYyK8sjvG2KuHBejam5mIbD2ysG66f4WolJLJh1bk-rXGSd7R5-PsjgzGRNbMgjed8u-6_g7zqWUloPNzPPrpxaeFoe8h6RI63faXVk/s1600-h/image016.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpNVfmeWYyPdK3lYUaR58bTK95k7OIgL7Yly0RtYyK8sjvG2KuHBejam5mIbD2ysG66f4WolJLJh1bk-rXGSd7R5-PsjgzGRNbMgjed8u-6_g7zqWUloPNzPPrpxaeFoe8h6RI63faXVk/s320/image016.gif" /></strong></a></div><strong>Every so often, we got a break to catch our breaths. At one such break, needing to pee like a race horse, I asked Little Phuic to request access to the loo at a home/barber shop/pool hall (2 tables). A young man led me along the side of the house to a door that opened onto a small dark room, and pointed to a barely visible hallway off to the left. </strong><br />
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<strong>Since there was very little light, I picked my way across the room, careful not to trip on a large mound of tubers. Immediately to my right off the hallway was a room that I guessed was my "rest stop" though it was too dark to know exactly what was where. I crouched over what I hope was the hole and was startled by some shuffling and snuffling noises. Sure 'nuff, not 5 feet from me, were 4 indoor pig pens with about 20 lovely white pigs of varying sizes who were grunting, snorting and humping (and listening to me pee). Afternoon delights all around!</strong>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-66668318114795127972009-12-20T09:36:00.000-08:002011-01-13T14:12:43.231-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BWc9KPTes3q3NQ7t46naAwNmlKZ01fpqyj8NHhyphenhyphen_HqQONMbY23PGKjhxyaw9oIRUFv-HQ_cUHbXQhWmUnLg7yRmvjWBF_X4vRFzoELlYCPbXTxtgX01FtcJn9wgiubS0vyCHuWBXZo7X/s1600-h/image001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BWc9KPTes3q3NQ7t46naAwNmlKZ01fpqyj8NHhyphenhyphen_HqQONMbY23PGKjhxyaw9oIRUFv-HQ_cUHbXQhWmUnLg7yRmvjWBF_X4vRFzoELlYCPbXTxtgX01FtcJn9wgiubS0vyCHuWBXZo7X/s200/image001.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<strong>In Hue, off the bikes today. This is the capital city of Vietnam and a UNESCO world heritage site. It’s a relatively sophisticated and peaceful city. The most famous attraction is the Citadel, which was built beginning in 1805 to serve as the home of the Nguyen Dynasty emperors. We walked there from the hotel in highly humid 95+ degree heat. The palace is surrounded by a moat and then similar to those in medieval Europe, protected by an extremely thick brick wall. Inside, there are many acres of gardens and building remains that are in the process of being reincarnated; when completed, they will be extraordinary. </strong><br />
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<strong>We were so honored to get a surprise audience with one of the royal family, who was very regal but also warm and approachable. He introduced us to 2 of his concubines.</strong><br />
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<strong>Mid-afternoon we headed to the train station to catch a train that would transport us north about 400 miles. We boarded at 4PM for our 11 hour trip, planning to eat and snooze on the train before heading to a guest house for 5 hours of sleep. How bad could it be, we asked ourselves? </strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtbXHqzrSk_pwGbhptG_CnglG1akxiHzflvMZMSylLA_g1P_RijZkMbSZymQTU1-m-i_wH0JIPZIo1KNUmUrK90EPC6-69wAFP2aU32FDbtk4MhIwjSrLr07xEHRx-lYVJ-Utm2Hu9-52/s1600-h/image007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtbXHqzrSk_pwGbhptG_CnglG1akxiHzflvMZMSylLA_g1P_RijZkMbSZymQTU1-m-i_wH0JIPZIo1KNUmUrK90EPC6-69wAFP2aU32FDbtk4MhIwjSrLr07xEHRx-lYVJ-Utm2Hu9-52/s200/image007.jpg" /></strong></a><br />
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<strong>Do the words gross, grimy, smelly, dirty, bug ridden, hot, cramped, airless and skeevy conjure up any kind of picture? Steven named it “hell in a cell”. Rather than belabor the description and memory, suffice it to say that ox cart transport may have been more comfortable. It certainly would have smelled better. We had 3 minutes to disembark at 3:15AM, and arrived at our crash pad in Ninhbinh by about 4:00. Steven and I fought over who got to shower first.</strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aJHsCKUPcjJoLUo_xbhMOfNmQk0xRz5pxYBzKiYL0_F_W-GIdaLIoUX3gQgGgHmRfM4VyRgpq9C5rsXYYPFTV8fWqRj2-Mg9pVlo6ncqBXjjX0tzbIr902QDuz2awhqm2J_UQp9F6nVU/s1600-h/image011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aJHsCKUPcjJoLUo_xbhMOfNmQk0xRz5pxYBzKiYL0_F_W-GIdaLIoUX3gQgGgHmRfM4VyRgpq9C5rsXYYPFTV8fWqRj2-Mg9pVlo6ncqBXjjX0tzbIr902QDuz2awhqm2J_UQp9F6nVU/s200/image011.jpg" /></strong></a></div><strong>Granted a late start the next morning (9:30), we cycled through Tam Coc and some of the most glorious country I’ve ever seen. Soaring limestone cliffs bordered fish farms and rice paddies. The sky was crystal clear, the sun brutal (as usual), but we were graced with occasional breezes that enhanced our experience of this remarkable beauty. We stopped at the ancient city of Hoa Lu, famous for being one of Vietnam’s ancient capitals. There isn’t much here in the way of ruins, but the capitalist (!) tourism industry is building a major attraction that is sure to be a favored destination of future visitors to Vietnam. </strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIX1ocId6aGc9xMGONJ08-wtAjGSM1WKNfeTP2FxLuh8FzDxwpzuY8qwZdJau3wbprOzayLqjddByDw4MMjR6woZOVjPDmypy-9jqfqpqZvX6WplgsiYPJK4A6x4GptxAKylRR56xWaWk/s1600-h/image009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIX1ocId6aGc9xMGONJ08-wtAjGSM1WKNfeTP2FxLuh8FzDxwpzuY8qwZdJau3wbprOzayLqjddByDw4MMjR6woZOVjPDmypy-9jqfqpqZvX6WplgsiYPJK4A6x4GptxAKylRR56xWaWk/s320/image009.jpg" /></strong></a></div><strong>We covered a lot of ground today, biking through enchanted villages that almost seemed medieval in the use of stone and the narrow alleys connecting homes. It was a spectacular ride.</strong>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-5649367347269256182009-12-20T09:08:00.000-08:002010-03-29T09:24:26.007-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbHPQK81R_GLpvDPSdA7rdCjc-pkAUMcHaXlG_4IZ2ieYqHRygcEydjjA3O9WqQeIKaEPU466xiUl8Qr8IhlB8p7hhwese6rWJlDSxsL8NUP4jYc8CcvUFI3H_GiZd13VTWnKy5zBy86S/s1600-h/13-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbHPQK81R_GLpvDPSdA7rdCjc-pkAUMcHaXlG_4IZ2ieYqHRygcEydjjA3O9WqQeIKaEPU466xiUl8Qr8IhlB8p7hhwese6rWJlDSxsL8NUP4jYc8CcvUFI3H_GiZd13VTWnKy5zBy86S/s200/13-1.jpg" /></a></div><strong>Our next destination was Cuc Phuong National Park, established in 1962 as Vietnam’s first national park. We visited the Endangered Primate Rescue Center, where they rehab mostly monkeys (chronic drinking of rice wine?), many from the commercial market and prepare them to be returned to their natural habitat. We saw several different breeds of Langur, which is an unusual and colorful variety of monkey. </strong><br />
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<strong>That night we slept under mosquito netting; I’m sure it wasn’t necessary, but when it’s there, you gotta use it. It rained hard in the morning, making the rain forest’s mossy road especially treacherous for bikers. As "designated wuss" (DW), I stayed in the van for the first part of the ride, grateful for the option. </strong><br />
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<strong>We traveled by van to Haiphong, the largest port in Vietnam. You may remember Nixon ordering the bombing of Haiphong harbor in 1972, or the exodus of hundreds of boat people later in the decade. Now it’s exploding with new construction. </strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslIkORRdrvPDbH_oCUtAxkPIRmN6ZYXhlU8xMLHtYbBCIdMInJ38SnsEiuc_zV7ohP_T17c-eE59CJT6uqaBCbAcuTvJNQbO2a_-wVFMjbzdf0CwXj-fquE8rqzT1QIGlH7frdWfMKeex/s1600-h/13-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslIkORRdrvPDbH_oCUtAxkPIRmN6ZYXhlU8xMLHtYbBCIdMInJ38SnsEiuc_zV7ohP_T17c-eE59CJT6uqaBCbAcuTvJNQbO2a_-wVFMjbzdf0CwXj-fquE8rqzT1QIGlH7frdWfMKeex/s200/13-2.jpg" /></strong></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGtSfkVQBqbEXedKa-qDnCDDWUPFtUytU96aXfJw-C5HKrbb4f3SbMjG5uHL5n1HsLnoVGFaCLw0UUJmZIA_7lhagk6teDdlfC2ot2cC0SUxobgCifmvEMT7JV2ofnjqUPluK41xG8p-Hu/s1600-h/13-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGtSfkVQBqbEXedKa-qDnCDDWUPFtUytU96aXfJw-C5HKrbb4f3SbMjG5uHL5n1HsLnoVGFaCLw0UUJmZIA_7lhagk6teDdlfC2ot2cC0SUxobgCifmvEMT7JV2ofnjqUPluK41xG8p-Hu/s200/13-3.jpg" /></strong></a><br />
<strong>From there, we boarded a private touring boat and spent 3+ lovely hours puttering around Ha Long Bay. The magnificent limestone formations sprinkled throughout the bay (close to 2000 of them) provide an eerily prehistoric aura. We stopped at an island to explore some fabulous natural caves which were lighted beautifully to highlight interesting rock formations and shadows. The boat docked at Cat Ba Island where we mounted our bikes for our last ride. </strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQqy3lsQcil6AEJiXHAh37DpHFiEqNpDyE7bT4CY5E5id4urnnXjQNqOcXtwtD5iUp0zfKablEYPRSFcz1SeVq4iuGd276PZwQozzb4vUASIN1sr3cDC74ylPqkNd035wKvhT5uQlUQ1R/s1600-h/13-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQqy3lsQcil6AEJiXHAh37DpHFiEqNpDyE7bT4CY5E5id4urnnXjQNqOcXtwtD5iUp0zfKablEYPRSFcz1SeVq4iuGd276PZwQozzb4vUASIN1sr3cDC74ylPqkNd035wKvhT5uQlUQ1R/s200/13-4.jpg" /></strong></a></div><strong><br />
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<strong>Somehow this 22k ride seemed easy despite 7k’s of hills. The scenery was lovely and the villages were typically friendly and ragged. The cool air was welcome relief from the extreme heat we’d been riding in for the past 10 days or so. I actually wished we had a longer ride. </strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCkucjnK50x4jNmoN8noN6d2iYA_5cSEvk78Fw-Ta2Rih5dzpqffbfFnhi8YHBNEZ4rWB-6uUMDqR849GZezcKFrPT42swDeKsWkn9hhCPxzUf8vGNQLWkgn8KCyrGerVwQrJqBhw0-4a/s1600-h/13-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCkucjnK50x4jNmoN8noN6d2iYA_5cSEvk78Fw-Ta2Rih5dzpqffbfFnhi8YHBNEZ4rWB-6uUMDqR849GZezcKFrPT42swDeKsWkn9hhCPxzUf8vGNQLWkgn8KCyrGerVwQrJqBhw0-4a/s640/13-5.jpg" /></strong></a></div><strong><br />
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<strong>After we checked in to our hotel on the island, I decided to treat myself to a post-ride massage. After all, didn’t I deserve it?</strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkF2CHmONN9I6HoZGH64zciaFckBzlP1IhyphenhyphenGLZwPRMcp9IG-8I5aEw_fi3VXrUqKuu_YqmYJHwamuXspjhBbDkJmLR2EHAjrTLjvAEX4UYD2hs-jI2c1mERDT9TCHV72so-77i1jfukHx/s1600-h/13-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkF2CHmONN9I6HoZGH64zciaFckBzlP1IhyphenhyphenGLZwPRMcp9IG-8I5aEw_fi3VXrUqKuu_YqmYJHwamuXspjhBbDkJmLR2EHAjrTLjvAEX4UYD2hs-jI2c1mERDT9TCHV72so-77i1jfukHx/s200/13-.jpg" /></strong></a></div><strong>Since the hotel salon was being renovated, I hit the streets to find one that looked respectable. After walking the length of the main drag and perusing the options, I chose one that had several friendly women out front. The negotiated price was 60,000 dong, which is less than $4. A lovely young thing dressed in a white mini-skirt and cami led me up a narrow, gray stairway. At the bottom, 2 boys were cleaving a chicken on the floor. When we reached the third floor, she showed me into a small room that was lit by a red florescent bulb and furnished with a queen sized bed. Steven said that should have tipped me off as to where I was. Maybe, but I was too focused on the smoke from the lit cigarette in the ashtray and insisted on changing rooms.</strong><br />
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<strong>My hostess showed me into another room containing 2 double beds and 1 florescent bulb (not red), and bade me take my clothes off and lie down. There was a bottom sheet on the bed and a grungy looking pillow. Not wanting to seem ungrateful or overly critical, I did as suggested and was graced with a bath towel.</strong><br />
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<strong>My “masseuse” then produced a percussion symphony on each of my body parts: pinch, pound, karate chop, drum, finger poke, castanets, move on. Oy vey. As soon as there was a break in the action, I bolted upright, grabbed my clothes, thanked her very much, threw some dong her way and escaped with every ounce of energy I had left. Didn’t even stop for chicken!</strong>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5284280483727733496.post-8323261484068221852009-12-20T08:54:00.000-08:002010-03-29T09:35:07.805-07:00<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjikJRZ8S5le2_cSNeAABQZ1ls9ksSfjQotJfr1KD4D4TBpffi34dB7m2L6sQRJ9PHxl09sr00L8iCF7D8Yi-FT1oB7DKYmFEGS6JYqZbbXibDsKGH1RwWou-BdZ6NmMHlQLCXoakcGUKUW/s1600-h/image002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjikJRZ8S5le2_cSNeAABQZ1ls9ksSfjQotJfr1KD4D4TBpffi34dB7m2L6sQRJ9PHxl09sr00L8iCF7D8Yi-FT1oB7DKYmFEGS6JYqZbbXibDsKGH1RwWou-BdZ6NmMHlQLCXoakcGUKUW/s200/image002.jpg" /></strong></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYphQnlKGvhqXEDTi89W8GTXvRQWiFofEOLQWw7UueqLJZhirfOKQ-s1KZJMUWlZ4b6KQJvqfF-fdh0M2XHn8L6z_SZM7zfrafcU4-vpIYKFHkntAI02Z5ghVzFmcm8Y3yPRO56spqMft/s1600-h/image005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong>`</strong></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2kd7sduyjzEBjzCCjs7mUCs6Ci9PMAwKE1k_Iv4Yt3m4JiRKNJ0byc5zzpeQ01JO1I1xYL53jKjL1960Bw57RM8KrhrwFOxc_N8F4XUGzqMbKF_6js3KG9sTSw-IVWtoNWgJIu5llj2W-/s1600-h/14-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2kd7sduyjzEBjzCCjs7mUCs6Ci9PMAwKE1k_Iv4Yt3m4JiRKNJ0byc5zzpeQ01JO1I1xYL53jKjL1960Bw57RM8KrhrwFOxc_N8F4XUGzqMbKF_6js3KG9sTSw-IVWtoNWgJIu5llj2W-/s200/14-1.jpg" /></strong></a><strong>On our way to Hanoi, about 40 miles east, we stopped for a visit with Little Phuic’s grandparents. Notwithstanding its proximity to Hanoi, the village they live in is astoundingly archaic. The main house is 3 rooms. Granny and Gramps and their beds, a table and 2 benches, and the ancestor altar are all in the main room. I saw one electrical outlet above the table. There’s a guest bedroom where Little Phuic stays when he’s visiting, and a store room/root cellar. Declarations of war bravery adorn the walls, along with a village proclamation congratulating Granny on her 80th birthday. </strong></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>A separate building across a small courtyard contains the kitchen and an adjacent “rest room” of some sort (I didn’t want to look). The kitchen has an electric rice cooker (!) and a 2-burner stove top. Behind the kitchen is a series of small rooms/pens for any live stock, chickens etc that happen to be resident. There are a few places where herbs and vegetables are growing. Gramps served us tea while Granny sat on her bed contentedly chewing her betel nut. They were truly gracious, although the bomb crater just beyond their front yard has to be a nagging reminder of “the American War”.</strong></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><br />
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</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfY5TMYtq1MJde_QTsZlwVHfqkbLr3cN1ia-GNDy7LiE-NAuHVBGBt86GS614j0TkWDrqphWNNHKe5BaqlNG78b-A7Tw_84nf7AgGDaY5hlvyfzX0-iEBas0-8PzN7oDtxI7i0yMiGEzx7/s1600-h/image009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfY5TMYtq1MJde_QTsZlwVHfqkbLr3cN1ia-GNDy7LiE-NAuHVBGBt86GS614j0TkWDrqphWNNHKe5BaqlNG78b-A7Tw_84nf7AgGDaY5hlvyfzX0-iEBas0-8PzN7oDtxI7i0yMiGEzx7/s200/image009.jpg" /></strong></a></div><strong>Hanoi is pretty crazy and chaotic, but it’s more westernized than Saigon and the cooler temperatures made it feel more manageable to us. Since we’re practiced street crossers at this point, it was also less intimidating and life-threatening. That said, Steven took a hilarious video of Judy and me clinging to an older lady in order to safely make it across.</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGoycVDsJEUKv52J6rIc5etb1u6DKLt9uQMfcw5L-m_Dk1aVY7eUXqOJ7tPN1ixCj0MZ0pa67SZ9MbFypOpm0lZ8g8VA5f6UcG86t-GdaFZ_pkZFmBXd3kgj0exFkIU0dutApMLWNprDAo/s1600-h/image006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGoycVDsJEUKv52J6rIc5etb1u6DKLt9uQMfcw5L-m_Dk1aVY7eUXqOJ7tPN1ixCj0MZ0pa67SZ9MbFypOpm0lZ8g8VA5f6UcG86t-GdaFZ_pkZFmBXd3kgj0exFkIU0dutApMLWNprDAo/s200/image006.jpg" /></strong></a></div><strong><br />
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<strong>We spent the morning trying to see the highlights but like NY, the museums are all closed on Monday. Stumbling around with our heads bobbing in and out of street maps and tour books, we managed to get a sense of the Hoan Kiem Lake District which is the central commercial area, the Old Quarter with its shops spilling over the sidewalks, and the French Quarter, more elegant and residential. We visited a “tube-house” in the Old Quarter. Built in the early 1900’s, these started as market stalls, evolved to store fronts, and then extended many times in the back to accommodate family members’ living rooms, court yards to let in light and air, and store rooms. Taxes were based on store frontage so from the street, these houses look like small single storey structures. </strong><br />
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<strong>Hoan Kiem Lake is the Central Park of Hanoi. There’s Tai Chi at dawn, vendors selling everything from live chickens to fried dough, lunch rendezvous’, old men playing chess, and lots more that goes on here. </strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD52wPOj3fQvB1tC8QP3Rl37rXlD7L3MvxuC2p_S5f_6xHT-udB-o-mi4SskaKNG_Ez_ZgMmvldURNCN43HKDDQqhJ2RrqwDE7c9dZFlyjS2pAvAcdbtVJgzg0dbOFCMh2WCsWYmCZjae4/s1600-h/image011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD52wPOj3fQvB1tC8QP3Rl37rXlD7L3MvxuC2p_S5f_6xHT-udB-o-mi4SskaKNG_Ez_ZgMmvldURNCN43HKDDQqhJ2RrqwDE7c9dZFlyjS2pAvAcdbtVJgzg0dbOFCMh2WCsWYmCZjae4/s200/image011.jpg" /></strong></a></div><strong>We visited the Temple of the Jade Mound on an island accessible via the red-lacquered Huc Bridge. The temple buildings are from the 1800’s and contain wonderfully ornate altars, with dragons, birds, statues of gods, huge vases, and offerings of all kinds of food, flowers and incense. </strong><br />
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<strong>My charge for the afternoon was just that – charge up a storm! I didn’t disappoint, and Steven was thrilled because he didn’t come with me. Little Phuic met us for a last dinner and regaled us with tales of his financial woes, in preparation for the laying on of tips. Nonetheless, the food was divine and we gorged ourselves. Steven and I braved the ice risk and indulged in real drinks, a true celebration. </strong><br />
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<strong>So now, we’ve stuffed everything into our suitcases including a ton of dirty laundry, and are primed to leave in the morning. It’s been an amazing trip – fascinating, fun and just long enough to feel like we’ve truly been away. The rice noodles have left their mark, but cycling along the way provided some damage control and more importantly, intimate exposure to life on the streets of Vietnam. </strong><br />
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<strong>What a way to go!</strong>Ellen Sonethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14916046568930309538noreply@blogger.com0