There is a 2nd time for everything...
Six hours is a long time to sit still on any vehicle and most definitely on the back of a motorbike. This, however, was what I perched on all the way to Can Tho in the Mekong Delta; my Vietnamese student Huong at the helm. Our differing approaches to the motorbike ride were stark: Huong wore denim jeans with a protective apron covering them; a cloth shield over her face; scarf, woollen gloves and her helmet. I wore a helmet, crop top, harem pants, sunglasses and a smattering of factor 30 sun cream. My red back and black face at the journeys' culmination confirmed my rookie approach however it did not knock the feeling that I had cultivated a true 'roadie' experience. We breakfasted on noodle soup slurped whilst sitting on small plastic stools and drank coffee from hammocks slung inside a roadside 'cafe'. Each of these stop-off points were located within spitting distance of large, busy roads populated by fellow bikers weaving through the endless traffic like fish in a weedy stream. Using these rest points I too felt undeniably part of the 'bikers club'. I am now branded with a 'Saigonese kiss', a large burn from the exhaust pipe imprinted on the inside of my right calf.
It was Huong's first time to visit the Mekong Delta and my second. She was excited for the opportunity to speak English and I was thrilled to have a native speaker as a companion. An excellent advantage when haggling for boat rides. At 5 AM the following morning we checked out of 'Amazon Hostel' and headed for the riverside. The floating market of Cai Rang beckoned us from our slumbers, an early start vital to witness it in all its excitement. Huong did herself proud and managed to find us a boat all to ourselves navigated by a lively Vietnamese woman in a brightly patterned blue and sunflower yellow top and bottom ensemble. The small but noisy boat glided seamlessly through the dark water as a rim of orange slowly appeared at the water's edge, punctuated with silhouetted palm trees. A brightening sky struggled to peer through scuddy clouds as the day began. We passed under a newly built concrete bridge, a skyscraper illuminated stubbornly in the background. Two reminders of a globalized capitalism that we intended to leave behind, if only briefly, while immersed in the floating economy of trade and barter. Cai Rang market has existed for over one hundred years and translates to 'What teeth' in English. I did not see any molars for sale.
Our boat was wooden, close to the water and, most importantly, easily steered straight into the action. We ate our breakfast (a fishy noodle broth) served from a small kitchen boat beside us. Gordon Ramsay reportedly ate the same thing once upon a time and declared it to be the best broth he had ever tasted. I am in complete accord. Wooden planks were placed in front of us creating an impromptu breakfast table--what service!
Of course, any trip to the Mekong Delta is not complete without a countryside detour so once comfortably heading Eastward to Saigon, Huong veered off the path into a maze of small roads lining paddy fields and fruit farms. A countryside Venice, without the crowds and gondolas. Same same, but so very different. Confident in Huong's ability to navigate I was happy to sit and observe. Once back on the main road I spotted three water buffaloe's swimming in a muddy swamp in front of an office building entitled 'Saigon Machines'. Perhaps the employee's rides home.
Sitting now in Vietnam's neighbouring country of Cambodia, I realise that I miss Saigon (pun intended). With my new role on stage and my time abroad significantly extended, I must partake in the well known migratory period among expats, the 'visa run'. In my case, I decided to turn this run into a slow jog and spend a little longer in Cambodia- "just a few days", I assure my theatre company. For my Cambodian excursion I take the bus from Saigon to Phnom Penh and from there travel to the small and remote village of Chi Phat in the Cardamom mountains. This is a location that I had read about on other travel blogs, a 'community based, eco-tourism project' (http://www.chi-phat.org/). Arriving into Phnom Penh in the early evening I set off to try to find the bus station. Sadly no local was able to help me on this quest and eventually, in a hotel reception I was told that I should leave the next morning instead. The bus journey would be "dangerous in the dark". I took this at its word and turned my search into finding a hostel for the night.
The following morning after two Tuk Tuk rides, the second more successful than the first, I made it to the bus station and then on board a bus to Koh Kong squished in between a bag of rice and an equally uncomfortable looking Cambodian man. The next challenge was ensuring that the bus driver would stop at the town of Andoung Teuk. This was achieved by making myself the most annoying passenger on the bus and warranting that, yes, the bus would indeed stop for the poor confused foreign passenger. Four and a half hours later I stand, relieved, outside a small shop (a three-sided wooden shed) beside a dusty road, looking in relief at a sign advertising 'Chi Phat community-based Eco-tourism' and instructions to "please follow telephone cable".
Shortly later I found myself, once again, sitting on the back of a motorbike. My silent driver wore a full face helmet but had given me nothing. I hold on for dear life as we skid past homes on stilts and cows with bells sitting idly in the middle of the red dust track that we bump along. After a time significantly shorter than the advertised '45 minutes', we arrive to the edge of the river Piphot. Through, I assume, telepathy my motorbike driver had informed a raft driver to be waiting at that exact moment. The village of Chi Phat lay invitingly on the other side. I later learn that this is the only side of the river provided with electricity.
Once at the village centre I sign up for my accommodation and activities, opting to stay in a homestay for $5 a night. This means staying with a local family and all that this entails: home cooked meal, outside bathroom, no shower but a bucket to douse yourself with. I revelled in the glorious, elementary simplicity.
During an evening kayak shortly after my arrival, I have an unexpected encounter with a Khmer lady who speaks fluent English in an unmistakable French accent. She invites me to join her for a swim and beer by the riverbank.
I learn a lot about her life as we chat easily:
-She is engaged to a French man who doesn't enjoy camping. She wants to camp in the jungle that surrounds their village.
- Her mother in law originally moved to Cambodia in the 70's but had to leave when Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge gained power.
-The whole family (mother in law, sister in law and husband in to be) returned to the country about 10 years ago and now live on a large plot of land, farming near the Cardamom mountains.
-She met her French beau when she was a 'fancy lady' living in Phnom Penh.
-She worries about making money, and their new business selling chickens. It is difficult to transport them to the capital.
-Her sister in law has a business selling french style perfumes in Phnom Penh. She is a strong lady so has "a lot of problems with men". She is not in a relationship.
-The Khmer culture around marriage is still very traditional; the wife has a dowrie and if invited to a wedding you MUST attend and give money to the new couple. When you get married the favour is returned and you receive a slightly larger amount of money. She scoffs at all of this and wonders
outloud if marriage is really 'for her'.
As the sun begins to set we bid our goodbyes as she and her worker (her wording) set off upstream to their farm on a long wooden rowing boat. I paddle back for my first home cooked meal in a long time. My host mother cooks me a stir fry of beef and vegetables grown in her farm. I help to chop carrots and peppers and organise running races for her two children.
Hungry after my kayak I struggle to know what is deemed an 'acceptable' amount to gobble down.
The next morning I meet Lee Huon who will be my guide for a cycling trip through the jungle. I marvel at Lee's shoe choice of flip-flops as I pant behind him discovering this to be an intensive mountain bike work out worthy of my father's standards. Before Lee Huon became a guide he worked as a poacher in the very jungle we cycle through. He trapped Sun bears and Pangolin; the sun bears gall bladder is used in medicine and the pangolin is valuable for both meat and medicinal purposes. Lee explains that he has no interest in killing animals anymore. His new lifestyle allows him to meet people from new cultures every day and he can now speak fluent English, undeniably an invaluable skill in Cambodia.
The CBET scheme (Community-based Eco
tourism) came into being after the village was approched by an NGO called Wildlife Alliance. The jungle now exists as a protected area and residents who made their money, like Lee Huon, from deforestation or poaching have been given an alternative vocation working as local guides. The NGO provided English lessons for the locals and now more than 10 years on, Chi Phat is a success story and survives independently to outside aid.
Our ride takes us through a Keisha tree plantation (part of a reforesting scheme), a 'silver meadow' so called because of the dazzling white sand that appears in a natural clearing, tall bamboo's, shady jungle, over gnarled tree roots and back onto a dusty track which leads us to our end destination of O'Malu waterfall, offering ultimate relief swimming under its cool showers. The rocks at these falls remind me instantly of the Giants Causeway at home: dark and ominous, formed in strange hexagonal columns. An unlikely connection to Ireland found through basalt rocks in the heart of Cambodia's 'middle of nowhere'.
Reality was hit hard as my return from Chi Phat met adventure at every turn; this began with boarding the wrong bus ending up in Sihanoukville instead of Phnom Penh and ended with a delayed visa and finding myself stranded in PP for two extra nights. The Irish girl that finally crossed the border was in no mood for the scammers that asked for a $35 instead of $25 stamping fee, pleading with a cheeky glint in their eye, "coffee". I was not to be taken for a fool and stood my ground firmly. Unimpressed, the border guards reluctantly returned my new 3-month visa. Walking out onto Vietnamese soil, patting myself heartily on the back for my 'no bullshit' approach, I found that my bus had left without me.
It was Huong's first time to visit the Mekong Delta and my second. She was excited for the opportunity to speak English and I was thrilled to have a native speaker as a companion. An excellent advantage when haggling for boat rides. At 5 AM the following morning we checked out of 'Amazon Hostel' and headed for the riverside. The floating market of Cai Rang beckoned us from our slumbers, an early start vital to witness it in all its excitement. Huong did herself proud and managed to find us a boat all to ourselves navigated by a lively Vietnamese woman in a brightly patterned blue and sunflower yellow top and bottom ensemble. The small but noisy boat glided seamlessly through the dark water as a rim of orange slowly appeared at the water's edge, punctuated with silhouetted palm trees. A brightening sky struggled to peer through scuddy clouds as the day began. We passed under a newly built concrete bridge, a skyscraper illuminated stubbornly in the background. Two reminders of a globalized capitalism that we intended to leave behind, if only briefly, while immersed in the floating economy of trade and barter. Cai Rang market has existed for over one hundred years and translates to 'What teeth' in English. I did not see any molars for sale.
Our boat was wooden, close to the water and, most importantly, easily steered straight into the action. We ate our breakfast (a fishy noodle broth) served from a small kitchen boat beside us. Gordon Ramsay reportedly ate the same thing once upon a time and declared it to be the best broth he had ever tasted. I am in complete accord. Wooden planks were placed in front of us creating an impromptu breakfast table--what service!
Sitting now in Vietnam's neighbouring country of Cambodia, I realise that I miss Saigon (pun intended). With my new role on stage and my time abroad significantly extended, I must partake in the well known migratory period among expats, the 'visa run'. In my case, I decided to turn this run into a slow jog and spend a little longer in Cambodia- "just a few days", I assure my theatre company. For my Cambodian excursion I take the bus from Saigon to Phnom Penh and from there travel to the small and remote village of Chi Phat in the Cardamom mountains. This is a location that I had read about on other travel blogs, a 'community based, eco-tourism project' (http://www.chi-phat.org/). Arriving into Phnom Penh in the early evening I set off to try to find the bus station. Sadly no local was able to help me on this quest and eventually, in a hotel reception I was told that I should leave the next morning instead. The bus journey would be "dangerous in the dark". I took this at its word and turned my search into finding a hostel for the night.
The following morning after two Tuk Tuk rides, the second more successful than the first, I made it to the bus station and then on board a bus to Koh Kong squished in between a bag of rice and an equally uncomfortable looking Cambodian man. The next challenge was ensuring that the bus driver would stop at the town of Andoung Teuk. This was achieved by making myself the most annoying passenger on the bus and warranting that, yes, the bus would indeed stop for the poor confused foreign passenger. Four and a half hours later I stand, relieved, outside a small shop (a three-sided wooden shed) beside a dusty road, looking in relief at a sign advertising 'Chi Phat community-based Eco-tourism' and instructions to "please follow telephone cable".
Once at the village centre I sign up for my accommodation and activities, opting to stay in a homestay for $5 a night. This means staying with a local family and all that this entails: home cooked meal, outside bathroom, no shower but a bucket to douse yourself with. I revelled in the glorious, elementary simplicity.
During an evening kayak shortly after my arrival, I have an unexpected encounter with a Khmer lady who speaks fluent English in an unmistakable French accent. She invites me to join her for a swim and beer by the riverbank.I learn a lot about her life as we chat easily:
-She is engaged to a French man who doesn't enjoy camping. She wants to camp in the jungle that surrounds their village.
- Her mother in law originally moved to Cambodia in the 70's but had to leave when Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge gained power.
-The whole family (mother in law, sister in law and husband in to be) returned to the country about 10 years ago and now live on a large plot of land, farming near the Cardamom mountains.
-She met her French beau when she was a 'fancy lady' living in Phnom Penh.
-She worries about making money, and their new business selling chickens. It is difficult to transport them to the capital.
-Her sister in law has a business selling french style perfumes in Phnom Penh. She is a strong lady so has "a lot of problems with men". She is not in a relationship.
-The Khmer culture around marriage is still very traditional; the wife has a dowrie and if invited to a wedding you MUST attend and give money to the new couple. When you get married the favour is returned and you receive a slightly larger amount of money. She scoffs at all of this and wonders
outloud if marriage is really 'for her'.
As the sun begins to set we bid our goodbyes as she and her worker (her wording) set off upstream to their farm on a long wooden rowing boat. I paddle back for my first home cooked meal in a long time. My host mother cooks me a stir fry of beef and vegetables grown in her farm. I help to chop carrots and peppers and organise running races for her two children.Hungry after my kayak I struggle to know what is deemed an 'acceptable' amount to gobble down.
The next morning I meet Lee Huon who will be my guide for a cycling trip through the jungle. I marvel at Lee's shoe choice of flip-flops as I pant behind him discovering this to be an intensive mountain bike work out worthy of my father's standards. Before Lee Huon became a guide he worked as a poacher in the very jungle we cycle through. He trapped Sun bears and Pangolin; the sun bears gall bladder is used in medicine and the pangolin is valuable for both meat and medicinal purposes. Lee explains that he has no interest in killing animals anymore. His new lifestyle allows him to meet people from new cultures every day and he can now speak fluent English, undeniably an invaluable skill in Cambodia.
The CBET scheme (Community-based Eco
tourism) came into being after the village was approched by an NGO called Wildlife Alliance. The jungle now exists as a protected area and residents who made their money, like Lee Huon, from deforestation or poaching have been given an alternative vocation working as local guides. The NGO provided English lessons for the locals and now more than 10 years on, Chi Phat is a success story and survives independently to outside aid.
Our ride takes us through a Keisha tree plantation (part of a reforesting scheme), a 'silver meadow' so called because of the dazzling white sand that appears in a natural clearing, tall bamboo's, shady jungle, over gnarled tree roots and back onto a dusty track which leads us to our end destination of O'Malu waterfall, offering ultimate relief swimming under its cool showers. The rocks at these falls remind me instantly of the Giants Causeway at home: dark and ominous, formed in strange hexagonal columns. An unlikely connection to Ireland found through basalt rocks in the heart of Cambodia's 'middle of nowhere'.
Reality was hit hard as my return from Chi Phat met adventure at every turn; this began with boarding the wrong bus ending up in Sihanoukville instead of Phnom Penh and ended with a delayed visa and finding myself stranded in PP for two extra nights. The Irish girl that finally crossed the border was in no mood for the scammers that asked for a $35 instead of $25 stamping fee, pleading with a cheeky glint in their eye, "coffee". I was not to be taken for a fool and stood my ground firmly. Unimpressed, the border guards reluctantly returned my new 3-month visa. Walking out onto Vietnamese soil, patting myself heartily on the back for my 'no bullshit' approach, I found that my bus had left without me.
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