Day 93 - Luck

The upper deck of an A380 (which, by the way, looks a lot like the lower deck of an A380) is a fitting location to write these final words on what will hopefully be Part 1 of 2 of this blog. Without much to say of a very rainy final day in Saigon - apart from a visit to the very cool Cafe Apartments, a building destined to be demolished that was instead turned into a cluster of small independent shops and cafes, and a quick stop at the very colonial post office to buy stamps so I can send one postcard to the one person I know who still cares about postcards - I will do my best to finish off without too many clichés or too much sentimentalism despite my pretty pathetic emotional state at this point.

I had obviously never travelled for this amount of time before and I must confess that the day I got on a 6.30am TAP flight in Lisbon feels like about a decade ago, but at the same time I also have to admit I am not quite ready to call it a day. My next stop would have been Australia and New Zealand, where I would have most definitely had to work for a month or two just so I had enough to survive until the New Year - while I probably would have travelled quite differently had I been properly unemployed and travelling for twelve months, I also feel like I have underestimated just how much in the toilet the Great British Pound is at the moment… In any case, Oceania would have almost definitely been radically different from India, Southeast Asia and Japan, and most of all I sincerely hope I actually make it down there next time around.

As I have mentioned before, India was my favourite stop on this trip. It is hard to name one reason why, although its vastness and diversity, the complex character of its people or the sheer natural beauty that surrounds the numerous examples of exquisite Mogul architecture would probably make a good top three. Travelling around by train was a great way to appreciate the lesser seen parts of the country, and the hours I spent hanging from open doors trying to get one decent snapshot of the scenery that surrounded us were certainly well spent. Despite the constant hassling from people on the street, some of whom trying to be helpful and others quite the opposite, the Indians I got to know along the way were kind-hearted, warm and appreciative of life in a way that a lot of us “white people” should probably learn a thing or two from. While I feel like I have got a decent grasp of places like Varanasi and Jaipur, which I thoroughly enjoyed, I left regions like Goa and Ladakh reluctantly and eager to come back for a lot longer than three days. Combined with the fact that Ana and I pretty much missed the whole of Mumbai (but can tell our grandchildren we witnessed the worst floods in over a decade!), this leaves me pretty confident I will be back in the country of Gandhi, Cricket and Paneer Butter Masala before long.

Walking amongst the skyscrapers in Tokyo only a couple of months after leaving the chaos of India could have been a big shock to the system, but thankfully I had a smooth transition via Southeast Asia. The reasons Japan is number two on my list could not be more different from why India is number one. The Japanese people’s honesty, integrity (the Yakuza aside) and pride in their work made our short tour an absolute pleasure, but at the same time Pete and I could not help but feeling we may have caused some suicides along the way - you know, for inadvertently leaving a tip or making an evidently unreasonable request that cannot be fulfilled. While India was beautiful in its bi-polar monsoon weather, either suffocatingly hot and humid or pouring it down with rain, Japan’s almost constant drizzle made it just like I had imagined it while still giving us a couple of brief breaks and a pair of beautiful hazy sunsets with Mount Fuji in the background. Together with Pete’s company (I challenge anyone to spend a week travelling with him and name a better partner) and my first Typhoon experience, all this made Japan an utterly memorable venture.

Myanmar is Southeast Asia’s soon-to-be-discovered pearl and I count myself lucky to have seen it before it is. The staggeringly beautiful landscapes of Bagan, with an infinitude of stupas poking out of the forest until the horizon, the serenity and traditional lakeside life of Inle and the trip back in time on the train to Thazi felt like the perfect antidote to Vietnam - places that are so special just as they are, no one should be allowed to touch them. Another outstanding travel partner in Renu, who always offered a different (and often hilarious) perspective and somehow managed to lift my spirits when things nearly went terribly wrong (a few hours after nearly killing me for taking her on a 14-hour train trip), helped a lot but, to the Burmese people’s credit, sitting in the Yangon circular train for three hours doing nothing but people-watching was the perfect way to transition to my meagre few days of solo-travelling. 

Having endured nearly half a century of civil war and being hit by a Tsunami towards the end of it for good measure, the constant kind and mellow smile on the face of nearly every Sri Lankan person Ana and I came across will never cease to amaze me. Do not get me wrong - the beautiful country that survived the aforementioned half-century of hell would be more than enough to warrant a visit, be it the stunning tea-country landscapes of Ella and Kandy, the colonial charm of Galle or the wild purity of the Yala natural reserve, but Ana and I could not get over thefact that its people’s hospitality and sweetness are Sri Lanka’s biggest assets. The fact my sister fell in love with the locals as soon as we arrived made travelling with her as pleasurable as any of our previous trips together.

Much like Japan was a bit of a shock to the system for someone coming from Burma (going from a train trundling at 20kph for 14 hours to one firing away at 200kph is something else), arriving in Singapore was equally overwhelming. Comparing it to Japan is probably unfair, since there is only so much you can fit in an area comparable to a small suburb of Tokyo, but for the race week we spent there it was a thoroughly enjoyable place to be. As Amar and Alice poetically described in their own blog, jumping between the concrete jungle of the city centre and the monkey-filled real jungle that surrounds it was undoubtedly great fun. Watching 17 of the World’s best race car drivers (plus Jolyon Palmer, Lance Stroll and Marcus Ericsson) pushing their cars’ limits only a few metres in front of us, dancing to Calvin Harris and ending our night at a club atop the most iconic hotel in the city? Simply surreal.

The Khmer people’s second half of the twentieth century was every bit as brutal as any place in the World, and despite that (much like the adorable Sri Lankans) everyone has a smile for you, whether you are loitering around the countryside at sunset or sleepily trying to make it to Angkor Wat for sunrise. The temples are impressive and impressively crowded (even in the low season), but the remnants of the horrors of the Khmer Rouge were definitely what will stick with me the longest. This also marked the last part of the trip I had the pleasure of Ben’s company, who possesses the perfect combination of an easy-going attitude and an almost unrivalled availability to party at a minute’s notice.

Finally, there is very little I can say about Vietnam that will come as a surprise to you. A classic backpacker destination ever since the country started opening itself to the World after four decades of nearly uninterrupted conflict, it is undoubtedly a country with beautiful places and kind people. While until this second stop I felt like the backpacker culture has taken a lot of its authenticity away, I now feel like it actually brought it a different charm - but at this point I still feel like the country has gone too far in adapting to the needs of travellers. Nevertheless it was still a pleasant experience, with Ben and Mari’s company bringing plenty of added value.

For those of you who have not (and cannot be) bothered reading the previous 92 posts (I do not blame you), this one should at least give you a half-decent idea of what is in them - or maybe even make you want to actually go back and binge (although I must warn you - they are no Game of Thrones). In any case, I must thank those who did bother reading some of it and I hope it has been at least half as enjoyable for you as writing it was for me. I also hold a faint slither of hope that my words and pictures have motivated you to maybe plan your own trip one day, or at least awakened the travelling bug that I believe is somewhere inside all of us.

As I have mentioned recently, many of my British friends mockingly wished me luck “finding myself” as we said goodbye. That was never the point - I do not think I would like to know myself any better than I do, especially since I like being surprised every now and then. Moreover, I feel like I come back to Europe with more questions than answers and most of all with a realisation that may sound cliché, but is nevertheless indisputable  - the circumstances in which I was born are the single biggest player in defining the circumstances in which I am now. On one hand, that makes me feel like a fool for ever thinking I had played any more than a very minor role on how I got to this point, and on the other it makes me feel pretty bloody lucky to have been born where and to whom I was. If my lucky run continues for another few years I will do all I can to make this blog live up to its title one day. Until then…

Cheers,

J-Wowww

Dia 92 - Encanto

Acordar com a notícia do cancelamento de um voo é sempre agradável, mas a realidade de que o mau tempo nos vai custar uma noite em Da Lat depois de várias mudanças de horário dá-me a certeza de que a Vietnam Airlines é, das duas uma, amaldiçoada por um qualquer demónio ou simplesmente incompetente. Felizmente conseguimos alterar a nossa reserva para o último voo de hoje (uma vez que a alternativa, o ultimo voo de amanhã, me deixaria com a tarefa ingrata de inventar uma máquina do tempo se quisesse apanhar o meu voo de volta a casa) e ainda teríamos algumas horas para explorar os arredores de Da Lat antes de voltarmos a HCMC.

Arranjar quem nos levasse até às Cascatas do Elefante (assim baptizadas por nascerem numa montanha que alegadamente se parece com o simpático mamífero) foi uma tarefa complicada, já que a comunicação em Inglês por estes lados não é tão fácil como nos outros sítios onde tínhamos estado. Após um par de tentativas acabámos num hostel, onde as acções do rapaz da recepção pareciam indicar que nos podia ajudar, apesar de as palavras dizerem pouco. Com efeito, o rapaz acabou por chamar dois “Easy Riders”, guias locais que levam passageiros à pendura nas suas motas pelas zonas campestres que rodeiam a cidade de Da Lat. Visto que a Mari não achava grande piada à ideia de andarmos seis horas à pendura de desconhecidos num dia que prometia chuva e vento acabámos por lhes pedir para irmos de carro e, pela hora de almoço, estávamos a caminho das cascatas. Como é inevitável nestas viagens fomos parando aqui e ali, ora para apreciar a excelente vista ora para nos ser mostrada a produção de Son Tinh, licor feito a partir da destilação de vinho de arroz que os locais preferem à cerveja pela imbatível relação embriaguez/preço.

Antes de chegarmos ao nosso destino fizemos ainda uma paragem num templo budista, o maior na região de Da Lat.  Creio ser do conhecimento dos caros leitores que, desde há umas semanas a esta parte, tenho começado a desenvolver sinais de estar ligeiramente farto de templos - budistas ou do que quer que seja. Ainda assim foi-me impossível ficar indiferente à estátua de um Buda gigante nas traseiras do templo, cuja expressão contagiante de alegria e gozo foi suficiente para me deixar de melhor humor depois de uma manhã um tanto ou quanto frustrante. A chegada às cascatas, tão próximas do templo que mais valia termos ido a pé, deixou-nos suficientemente satisfeitos e justificou perfeitamente a hora e meia de caminho para lá chegarmos.

O exercício de saltar entre as pedras escorregadias agarrados a corrimãos metálicos (raramente fixos a coisa alguma) para chegarmos mais perto das cascatas, imersos na espécie de nevoeiro de chuva miudinha característico de sítios onde água cai de uma altura de quase uma centena de metros, foi um bom substituto para a corrida à volta do lago que não dei esta manhã. Depois de me meter num caminho sem saída mas com uma enorme poça de lama, onde enterrei a totalidade do meu pé esquerdo, e de apreciarmos a cascata e a paisagem que a rodeia voltámos a Da Lat com mais uma curta paragem numa plantação de café, que apesar de se situar numa colina vistosa não tinha grande interesse para quem não é apreciador de doninhas enjauladas.

Após um duche rápido e de jantarmos na pizzaria que na noite anterior tinha esgotado o seu stock de pizzas seguimos para o aeroporto, onde embarcámos para o nosso voo antecipado para Saigão, tão curto que o sinal de apertar os cintos de segurança esteve desligado cerca de cinco minutos entre a subida e a descida. A minha última noite antes de regressar à Europa (é verdade…) foi relativamente calma apesar de a rua Bui Vien, o centro da cena “backpacker” em HCMC, estar bastante mais animada do que quando cá tinha estado com o Ben - talvez por ser sexta à noite ou por a época das chuvas estar a chegar ao fim.

Ainda assim acabámos por voltar ao bar com música ao vivo onde eu e o Ben bebemos um par de cervejas há mês e meio, repetindo o ritual enquanto assistíamos a covers que variavam do muito bom (as que eram executadas pelos músicos, que apesar de parecerem ter quinze anos eram afinadotes) ao doloroso (a da senhora que tentou cantar Adele para o namorado aniversariante e acabou por gerar uma manifestação geral de vergonha alheia ainda maior do que o rapaz do cabelo azul tinha conseguido na noite anterior).

Antes de ir dormir voltei à rua cinco minutos para tirar fotografias e acabei por ficar meia hora a observar a mistura de miúdos vietnamitas a celebrar o fim da semana, viajantes a aproveitar a sua liberdade temporária e pais com bebés ao colo a fazer sabe-se lá o quê. Apesar de ter acontecido por acaso, passar os últimos momentos noctívagos desta viagem a observar o que se passava na rua cheia de vendedores ambulantes e luzes de néon foi a maneira ideal de me despedir do Vietname, deixando-me curioso sobre como seria Saigão quando os primeiros “backpackers” inauguraram o caminho hoje em dia percorrido por meio Mundo de mochila às costas. O Vietname pode ser o sítio de que menos gostei nesta viagem, mas ainda assim tenho de admitir que esta rua, neste dia e a esta hora não deixa de ter um certo encanto.

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete

Day 91 - Crazy

If anyone has managed to stay interested in this blog after the past three posts, which were as exciting as hearing Prince Charles reading a phone book, I have good news for you - today was actually worth writing about! Even though the (very) early hours were a bit of a haze, we made it to Da Lat by 10am and luckily our homestay let us check in and freshen up before heading out to explore South Vietnam’s summer capital. Our host recommended that we spent our first day exploring the city and checked out the surroundings tomorrow, which happened to be exactly what we had in mind.

Our first stop was Crazy House, probably the most accurate name for a building I have ever come across. A personal project by the architect Dang Viet Nga, the daughter of a former Prime Minister who was inspired by artists like Antoni Gaudi or Salvador Dali, it was designed by non-professional local craftsmen based on paintings produced by the author. The result is a set of buildings that sometimes look to resemble giant trees connected by branch-like bridges, but most of the time just look like a product of someone’s feverish dream. To help minimising the financial burden on the author, who incurred in millions of dong (yup, still makes me giggle) in debt in order to complete the project, it functions as a guest house were several empty rooms are on show for the visitors.

My favourite bit was when Mari found a door that no one seemed to have noticed, leading to an incomplete room with an aquatic theme which looks destined to eventually become an oceanic ballroom. Having the place to ourselves was unexpected given the number of times we got stuck in a traffic jam of Russian visitors elsewhere in the house, but being surrounded by paintings and sculptures of heavily stylised marine creatures was as surreal as the rest of the building. This was not the only part of the complex that was not quite finished yet, as several other areas were still very clearly under construction but still accessible, with the terrace atop the tallest tower providing a pretty epic view over the city of Da Lat.

From there we planned to check the King Palace but, as we struggled to find it and eventually realised it was a 45-minute walk away, we instead decided to take the cable car to the Truc Lam Pagoda, an active monastery not far from Da Lat. A quick snack at a cute cafe near the terminal prepared us for an absolutely epic 15-minute journey, with the views over the tree-covered hills and valleys almost making Mari forget her fear of heights. The word “almost” is crucial here, with her nerves growing towards the end as we dived towards the terminal while I dealt with a mixture of concern for her and amazement at the stunning scenery of the lakes and mountains that laid right in front of us.

The monastery itself was an incredibly peaceful place, where not even the young children running around the place managed to affect the tranquility we felt while walking around it. Although none of the structures were particularly impressive, especially given the shremple overload I have been through over the past month, the whole complex and its surroundings were the ideal place to spend a couple of hours away from the rest of the World. Sadly we only lasted about 45 minutes as we still wanted to check a couple of places before sunset, including Ga Da Lat - the only train station where I have ever been where the number of wheels on the trains in service (exactly zero) was smaller than the number of people posing for photos (definitely nonzero).

After a satisfactory sunset at the Xuan Huong lake (no Mount Fuji in the background) we headed home for a power-nap before dinner. Our first attempt was at a pizzeria which had run out of pizza, so we headed to a cafe near the live music bar we wanted to check out afterwards. As it turns out, the two venues are connected and the name Curtis King was all over the cafe, otherwise populated by its employees and a weird couple consisting of an old white man and a bored younger Vietnamese lading. Upon arriving to the bar we noticed a distinct lack of live music, which led me to TripAdvisor to try and find out how frequently it happened. A quick scan of the reviews revealed that Curtis King, the American musician who owned Escape Bar and led the live band, was no longer welcome in Da Lat after a number of drunk incidents on stage, all of which well documented online. Nevertheless, a fairly competent live band did start playing a few minutes later, and after a couple of songs they were joined on stage by a customer with blue hair and a baseball cap, whose contribution to the performance of “Buffalo Soldiers” was something that resembled Mike Shinoda’s lines from “In The End”. After informing everyone he was the lead singer’s “bro for like 10 years” he returned to his seat and we thought that would be it. We were wrong.

As the band continued playing, sometimes accompanied by one of the waitresses who can definitely sing, weird baseball cap dude would step in at his own leisure, sometimes just making grunting sounds but on two more occasions interrupting perfectly sound performances to inform us that in the end, it does not even matter. I am not sure who told this guy he could rap or that the words to “In The End” are like Sean Paul (add a little bit of it to any song and you have a single) but that person needs to stop giving his or her opinions right now. In any case, blue-haired person made this a very entertaining night and I must say I am almost tempted to try a broken Linkin Park rap at the next open mic session I happen to be at. Once again, “almost” is the key word here.

Cheers,
J-Wowww

Dia 90 - Glorioso

A minha segunda despedida de Hoi An foi menos frenética do que a primeira já que, apesar da ligeira melhora do tempo durante a noite, não teríamos muito tempo para tirar proveito das tréguas de chuva devido ao check-out do hotel e check-in para o voo de Da Nang para Saigão (cuja hora foi alterada tantas vezes que até estar sentado no avião foi difícil ter a certeza de que ia mesmo acontecer). Como tal, fui desenferrujar os braços na piscina do hotel (tão pequena que acabou por ser mais um exercício de viragens do que outra coisa) antes de recuperar as calorias gratuitas desperdiçadas no pequeno almoço de ontem enfardando compulsivamente no de hoje.

O staff do hotel foi extremamente simpático à saída, talvez à pesca de uma boa review no Tripadvisor (que tivemos de escrever na hora, incluindo os nomes das senhoras que nos fizeram o check-out) mas nada de surpreendente depois de serem incrivelmente prestáveis durante toda a nossa estadia. Ainda assim, dizerem à Mari que é parecida com a Miranda Kerr e oferecerem-nos uma gravata e um lenço foi tão agradável quanto bizarro, mas quem somos nós para nos queixarmos? Uma viagem rápida no autocarro do hotel até ao aeroporto deu-nos tempo para despacharmos a mala e darmos um salto a Da Nang para almoçarmos num restaurante de street food onde tinha ido com o Ben na minha primeira passagem por estas paragens.

A chegada a Ho Chi Minh City marcou o regresso do calor abafado que a minha mente associa ao Vietname, ainda que numa variante bastante mais suportável do que da última vez. O facto de envergar a camisola da Selecção Nacional (que estava quase quase seca de manhã!) levou a que toda a gente com quem interagimos me perguntasse se era português, fazendo imediatamente a ligação ao nosso querido Cristiano. Já o rapaz da recepção do nosso hotel perguntou-me qual era a minha equipa favorita, e quando respondi que era adepto do Glorioso informou-me que tínhamos perdido com o Manchester United na noite anterior, o que obviamente me deixou com um sorriso amarelo na cara.

Um hambúrguer no Soul Burger, que me tinha deixado com água na boca desde a minha última visita com o Ben, e uma cerveja na Heart of Darnkess Brewery completou o meu “best-of” de Ho Chi Minh City, após o qual voltámos ao hotel para uma curta noite de sono antes do nosso voo das 7 da manhã para Da Lat - isto se não for cancelado ou alterado à última da hora, visto que os horários de voos neste país são tão voláteis como o onze inicial do Rui Vitória…

Beijos e abraços,
Ginete