Time for a story…

Farnham, England – We’ve just celebrated Easter. It’s the highpoint of the Christian calendar, celebrating the death and resurrection of Jesus. It’s a time of fresh starts, holding the mysteries of death and life in harness, restoration, healing, transformation… it’s a time for reflection.

One of my favourite quotes of recent years comes from Richard Rohr: “Jesus was asked 183 questions in the gospels, he only answered 3 of them”. Many of you will know that frequently Jesus’ response was a tell a story, a parable… the purpose was to allow the listener to wrestle with it, and try to explore and extract the meaning applicable. This might sometimes be generic, but often, it was specific, personal…

We returned to the UK after our IndoChina adventure just over a week ago. A fantastic voyage that will definitely hold many memories… not surprisingly, everyone is asking us about “our favourites”. It’s a tough assignment, but we’re trying to order our thoughts a bit more coherently and will shortly publish our “Awards” ceremony.

However, there is one vignette that’s stuck in my mind during the last week. It’s been poking at me, pricking, irritating, wanting to be explored. It’s a “story” that happened in Sapa, right at the end of our trip. You may remember we walked through the tiered rice fields, and I waxed lyrical about their beauty. It wasn’t quite the perfect day I portrayed. I missed out something. So enter Exhibit A, a photo.

There’s four people in the photo, walking closely together. May (our guide), Nicky, and two young Red Tzao women, local minority tribes people, following in close formation.

One of the joys of walking for me is experiencing the landscape, observing the beauty, and in a remote area such as this, drinking in the silence, the solitude. So I was less than enamoured when we started the trek that all-of-a-sudden “the tourists” were the centre of attention; about ten local women strapped their baskets on their backs (carrying their craft wares) and prepared to accompany us, uninvited. It was unhelpful in the extreme to start with… there had been a biblically heavy thunderstorm several hours earlier, and the packed red clay was a mud bath, intensely slippery. As I took each step gingerly, various people crowded around me and often I was unable to put my foot down as the space was taken away. The “crowd” dwindled down to two stalwarts who accompanied us on the entire trek. Occasionally they would try to open conversation in broken English. Their rationale was simple – “We are following you so that you will buy from us”. It was the act of service, the fact they had accompanied us that somehow made this their “emotional contract”, despite several clear statements to the contrary on our part. We didn’t buy anything, mainly on principle, not wanting to reward unhelpful behaviour; they had walked with us for several hours.

So… further conversation with May confirmed that we’d experienced a very common occurrence. When I wondered whether it would not be better to build a craft stall at the EcoLodge (where the walk started), May confirmed that the owners of the Lodge had offered to do exactly that, not happy with their guests being harried in this way. Despite numerous efforts over the months and years to explain that Westerners may not like this type of behaviour, the Red Tzao women continued: “If we don’t follow, someone else will, and they’ll get the sale”.

The vignette has been pressing me in the last 10 days – it’s asking me a question. “Where might your thinking, your approach, your actions be COMPLETELY wrong or in-appropriate? How could you remove the blindness to hear and explore a new, different & ultimately better way?”

Photo Journal – Images of Sapa

Photo Journal: Sapa in a beautiful place, the mountains, the rice fields, the colourful people…

Peeking through the mist at the beauty of Sapa

Sapa, Northern Vietnam – 42 days on the road, and the final venue is three days in the mountains up in the north-west of Vietnam, in what the French termed the “Tonkinese Alps”, right on the Chinese border. It’s remote, and the only reasonable way to get there is the overnight train from Hanoi. Surprisingly, we slept fairly well, no doubt enhanced for me by the complimentary beer; nice touch - British Rail? We were woken abruptly at 4:30am by a strong rapping on our cabin door – “Lao Cai! Lau Cai!” One of the few times you don’t celebrate a train arriving an hour early. From there it’s an hours drive through winding mountain roads, made more atmospheric by a total cloud whiteout and torrential rain.

And so we arrived in Sapa – WOW! It’s a rich tribal area, largely untouched and untroubled by the emerging 21st Century, with time honoured customs, folklore, stories and a wonderful sense of tradition. The recent influx of tourism to this remote region is changing things, albeit slowly, and in many cases unfairly. The hotels (even those based on so-called “Social Enterprise”) are syphoning profits without significant investment in the local culture. Hmong and Tzao people are used to travelling significant distances to tend their crops, search for firewood, gather water, attend the local market… yet now an additional journey, to Sapa, basket strapped to your back, filled with handicrafts to sell to tourists. “Why you not buy from me?” is a VERY valid question, yet an unanswerable one too when its repeated with each footstep.

I found Sapa to be a place where you question the Western right or morality in deciding what’s best, how a culture should develop, what is the nature of wealth. Is progress a satellite dish? Strangely the one beneficial technology norm is the ubiquitous mobile phone… Sapa is a place where by many definitions, people are INCREDIBLY poor. Extreme Poverty is often defined as living on less than $1/day; the hill tribe people of Sapa live on far less – but still they have adequate housing, generally plentiful food (it’s such a rich agrarian landscape), make their own clothing from hemp, have access to education (but generally shun it)… it’s a very hard life, but one that has been resistant to change. So what is poverty? And what right does a Westerner have to either define it, impose it, or explore whether “progress” is appropriate?

May, our guide, is from a Black Hmong village ~18km from Sapa. She grew up with 8 brothers & sisters (the “law” in Vietnam is two children maximum) in a very rural community where as children you were expected to search for firewood, collect crops, sew and harvest rice… the immediate “child labour” view is of a childhood lost, yet the attraction of an incredibly simple lifestyle with its ingrained traditions did often shine through. Arranged marriages are the norm, but not in the sense of interviews and pairings, but more of a “supermarket”. Parents of young men seek brides of the age of 14+, where the only qualification is availability and dowry (chickens and pigs); most families are started before 16. May didn’t marry till 18, and as is traditional went to live with her husband’s family. She has a four year old son who she is incredibly proud of. Yet the story from there develops in a way that is all too familiar elsewhere. A male dominated culture, where women are expected to do most everything, including the heavy manual labour. The men spend time together, drinking the local rice whisky, come home and if you’re lucky sleep it off, if not violence is not only normal but a male right. May was gracious and careful when I asked was her husband a good man, but she has managed to step forward. As an un-educated person, she taught herself English by speaking with tourists and working on a local market craft stall. She has been a tour guide for five years now, a “salaried” position (except we would call it freelance; no clients, no pay), and is much in demand as her intimate local tribal knowledge and familiarity with the landscape allow her to show an extra dimension beyond the tourist centre of Sapa.

We spent three days in this mountainous and scenic gem. May led us on treks through remote villages, to local markets which have likely been the same for centuries, and through the wonderful landscape of terraced rice fields. Yet we will have to return… not only because it was a place that captured us, but because the continuous fog with less than 10m visibility didn’t allow us to wonder at the panorama of peaks and crags; it was the third day before we realised there was a lake and Catholic cathedral right next to our hotel. Yet still it held a charm that resonated in a unique way…

Sapa was extra-ordinary, but mainly because its people and landscape are quite simply that. Beautiful!

Photo Journal - From Hanoi to Halong Bay…

Photo Journal: The contrast between bustling Hanoi, and the exquisite tranquillity & beauty of Halong Bay…

From Hanoi to Halong (without International Incident)

Halong Bay, North Vietnam – Hanoi is different. A sense that you are in “North Vietnam”; the loudspeakers with “helpful parking messages” (really?), the constant red banners with yellow lettering that I sense were not the billboards of aspiration, but more likely conformation. It’s a city where people live, rather than having it impose on them. There are many varied colloquial sights, such as the communal 5:30am morning exercise in the parks, badminton, Tai Chi, and Ballroom Dancing! The 6:30am morning flag raising at the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum is filled with patriotic marching and music, but far more interesting is watching the white suited soldiers going puce blowing their whistles at the never-ending surge of Chinese tourists crossing the wrong line. The Army Museum contains the normal re-educational and propagandist rhetoric, but also a sculpture I found strangely moving, made from pieces of shot-down planes from the “American War”. Hoa Lo prison (otherwise known as the Hanoi Hilton, a PoW camp for American pilots) with it’s strange gateway “Maison Centrale” sign is now a museum, but I smiled inwardly when realising that most of the prison footprint has been re-purposed to build a significant multi-storey skyscraper… hotel?

While the British always talk about the weather, for the Vietnamese it’s the traffic. You can understand why… it’s the dominant and significant challenge that first assaults you as you venture beyond the safety of any hotel haven. While I’ve tried to explore the Vietnamese Green Cross Code previously, Hanoi poses a new challenge: walking. Sure there are pavements (sidewalks), but they are quite simply an obstacle course, a venue for spontaneous street restaurants and family dinners, a parking place for the myriad of scooters that if they’re not moving, have to go somewhere. So what of the poor tourist? Targets… an opportunity for mayhem! You might be surprised to learn though that walking is a mere kindergarten sport; the brave warriors have to tackle travelling on roads… not driving (that would be silly), but having the courage to attempt a journey from A to B, any A, any B.

On the two lane highway to Halong Bay, speed is regulated by continuous potholes (and no suspension). It’s frequent to see four-five abreast, each vehicle daring the other to move last; there is NO margin for error. The prime maniacs seem to be buses – these helpfully sound their horns (in perpetuity) to indicate their intent to enter any non-existent gap, in the brave hope that other road users will reinvent the laws of physics to create space for them. I’ve strangely grown to appreciate the horns, as their Doppler shift is a reassuring signal to re-open your eyes and celebrate a few more seconds of life. One must also celebrate the benevolence of the Koreans (Kia and Hyundai supply most of the vehicles). Consider the indiscriminate act-of-war that the mere act of increasing their anti-corrosion warranty would cause, perchance adding an extra layer of paint? Strangely we’ve witnessed virtually no accidents. It seems massively chaotic, but somehow it all (only) just works. The local Vietnamese almost always have a religious icon in their car, a Buddha to offer protection; I like to think our vehicle, with its bobbing head Mickey was the real source – the celestial Mouse would surely not let any tourist come to harm.

Halong Bay is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, lobbying to become one of the “new” seven wonders. Fabulous limestone crags erupting majestically heavenwards from the sea: 1969 islands… no more, no less. It makes one wonder what would have happened had Ho Chi Minh not died in 1969? The Bay is absolutely STUNNING! I’d seen the pictures of our floating palace for three days, a beautiful teak junk. So I was slightly disconcerted to discover an extremely run-down white painted boat, flaking badly and looking significantly in need of repair. The explanation, a new government directive that all Halong Bay boats must be white. So a quick spray job two weeks before ensures compliance but definitely not beauty. The reason for the directive was strangely absent, many explanations, but none that seemed valid. Googling “Halong Bay accident” (never mentioned) may be a clearer source…

“Sticker Shock” has increased gradually throughout our trip, and the beautiful Halong Ginger has lulled us into a beautiful relaxed reverie as we’ve lurched from one stunning view to the next, where photographs just can’t even try to capture the scale or beauty of what you’re affronted with. So to cocktail hour; while we may be “outraged” at the increased prices, it’s a sign of a travelling mind that it’s the principle, the comparative to the previous - cocktails are still less than our European norm. I was intrigued though that the Ginger has a Scotch collection, something of my PLBT (“previous life before travel”). An 18-year old Macallan, wonderful… a treat perchance? I think not – a “glass” was $196!!! WOW… I kept reading; one of the idiosyncrasies (?) of the Vietnam bar list is they will often not only give you the price of a glass, but also a bottle. Helpfully that was included – $14!! That’ll be a case then…

We cycled round Cat Ba island, witnessing numerous mirth opportunities as one poor chap’s back wheel fell off – “Fat Buddha” (a term of honour, prosperity, wealth) likely showed our guide’s superior command of English. The list of “rules” quaintly included “Speed down at sliding areas, sloping road…” (emphasis 2nd word, not first?), “Do not be Panic”, and “Do not race”. However, there were no such rules for Kayaking. So the first ever (annual?) “International Halong Bay Race” commenced, our two Vietnamese guides in one double canoe, Nicky & I in the other. I’d like to say Nicky was helpful, and maybe she was – she resolutely refused to participate, so no problem with synchronised paddles there! It was a splendid event, and I’d like to say I graciously agreed honours were even - my alter-ego Sir Steve was proud of me.

Photo Journal – Cham: The Places in Between

Historically Vietnam had three regions, the North, the South, and the Central area… the Cham Kingdom. We fell in love with the beautiful beach side town of Hoi An, full of charm and character. Hue, the former capital of Vietnam (till 1945), is full of history, but we struggled to really connect with it in the same way…

Photo Journal – Cham: The Places in Between

The Nightmare of Invasion

Hoi An, Central Vietnam – So amidst our adventure, we have a break! It seems a strange concept to consider something a holiday while travelling, but somehow it seems apt and the best way of describing four days at the beautiful Victoria Hoi An Beach Resort. Imagine a sun-kissed sea, with gentle rolling waves, a lone wooden fishing boat gently “phut-phutting” towards rich shoals of barren sea, the distant Cham Islands poking through the mist of the horizon, an infinity pool that lazily reflects the tall coconut palms, a gathering sunset with pinprick lights at sea where the local fisherman hunker down hopefully for a night’s toil in their bobbing boats, a room which opens onto a panoramic vista of breaking waves, where within 10 paces you can be rolling in the surf, an emerging sunrise with the sympathetic dragging sound of a water buffalo combing the beach with a hand-crafted wooden rake in tow, the nightly folklore stories left on our pillow alongside a single red rose… Disney right? Probably, but we were there… The stuff of dreams!

Hoi An is a gem, a former French colonial town of winding streets, beautifully balustraded upper floors, cascading Morning Glory flowers. At its centre, a vibrant and visually embracing local market, vendors who chase you down to get a sale and curiously ask “Why won’t you buy?” in an emotional onslaught against your wallet. Street vendors cooking on open charcoal stoves, creating wisps of enticing and appetizing smells. Traditional artisans making colourful silk lampshades, custom shoes, tailoring silk dresses. The magnificent 40km uninterrupted perfect white sand of of Cua Dai Beach effortlessly stretching between Hoi An and Danang. Wonderful… the resort allowed Nicky her guilty pleasure of BBQing herself to a gentle medium rare, while I relaxed into reading stories of a rich cultural past.

Vietnam has an incredible history of war, far more involved and complicated than I had any sense of. “The Eaves of Heaven: A Life in Three Wars” by Andrew Pham is a remarkably poetic description of one man’s life, his struggle to emerge through constant conflict, a lifetime of plenty followed by famine, and the cycle repeated. It’s compelling reading and beautifully written. He unravels a political landscape that is not only imposed externally by frequent invaders, but how internal struggles between factions supporting diverse ideologies ripped his country apart, where so often the enemy was within, where corruption and personal gain undermined the integrity needed to survive.

OK – Rant Alert! “Agitated from Surrey”: What is the POINT of amazingly BEAUTIFUL places when you have to share them with TOURISTS?? Time to name names… The Australian middle-aged-lady who loudly-and-aggressively criticised a young Vietnamese girl for not understanding her exact culinary requirements – why should anyone cook your omelette with one-hand tied behind their back while whistling “Waltzing Matilda”? The gentleman who abused a modest culture, not only wearing socks with his sandals, but tucking his long-sleeved shirt into the heaved-up waistband of his skimpy shorts, helpfully not buttoning his shirt to allow us all to see his undulating fat at rippling distance (where are the Fashion Police?) The French monsieur who dismissively mis-understood a waitress and berated her language skills – graciously she responded (with an almost English sense of understated wit) “I understand No Sir”. And what about the MUZAK? As Nicky so eloquently remarked, this “elevator music” is enough to make you take the stairs; I helpfully re-phrased this “…or an open lift shaft”. PLEASE please let Karen Carpenter rest-in-peace… [Breathe in, hold, count, one… two… three… relax. And again…]

Vietnam is embracing the tourist dream as a source of nationwide economic growth. Cua Dai Beach is being swallowed, whole – miles of beautiful coastline the subject of never-ending construction projects, one after the other. Back-to-back hotel resort monstrosities in process, where “Western Transplants” can bus in to a cheaper version of their “name badged” comfort zone, transferred, gated, and protected from incursion.

So the stuff of dreams… or a developing nightmare? I wonder. Since 1975, Vietnam has generally been at peace - so what of the next invasion? Of a tourist army determined to transplant a false ghetto of imposed culture? How can the traditional Vietnamese values and heritage be held preciously? It’s an unseen war playing out as we speak…

Photo Journal: Seeking Brother Ho

Saigon is a city with many stories to tell… we had 3 days exploring it, and came away feeling we’d only seen a glimpse.

Photo Journal: Seeking Brother Ho

Re-learning the Green Cross Code

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam – Vietnam is part of the South-East Asian economic “miracle”. Arising from the 1990 decision to pursue a market economy within a communist regime, yearly GDP growth since that point has been 6-8%, the only red flag (apart from the national one) being an eye watering Inflation Rate of 16.4% in Feb 2012.

Ho Chi Minh City feels different – more people, more activity, more frenetic, more building works, more skyscrapers… The Bitexco Financial Tower was “topped out” barely a year ago, 72 floors, the tallest building in the city, with a striking resemblance to the Sail of the Burg in Dubai, also sporting its own helipad platform – tennis anyone? Saigon as was, still is to many, and is officially the name of Ho Chi Minh City’s “District 1”, which encompasses the financial district and its “resplendent” opulence of Gucci, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Burberry… it’s a neon city with helpful western muzak everywhere; it reminds me of the change when Moscow and East Berlin were “transformed”.

“History is written by the Victors”

Vietnam is one of those places where a contemporary history plays out in our own lifetime - The “American War” (as it is known here). This poignant quote of unclear origin (but often associated with George Orwell or Winston Churchill) has added immediacy. The “War Remnants Museum” (presented by the Ho Chi Minh City Department of “Culture, Sports & Tourism”) is the first real demonstration of “communist propaganda” we’ve experienced in IndoChina - first exhibit “Historical Truth”. However it is also a fascinating, deeply moving and very troubling exhibition. My primary emotion circled around the horror and pointless nature of war; there are never truly any winners, the consequences always dominate, and the common man suffers. In truth I’d missed the French intervention post-WW2 to re-establish “IndoChine”, which lead to the 1954 Geneva Accord that separated North & South Vietnam along the 17th parallel. The exhibition “missed” any reference to an invasion of the South in 1965 or the consequent “Boat People” tragedy in 1975, preferring to talk in terms of a liberating army from the “South Vietnam Puppet Government” – fascinating to see those exact words on numerous wall charts. Somewhat perversely, Vietnam is now courting Western & particularly American favour – Clinton lifted economic sanctions in 1994, cemented by a 2000 visit. Vietnam (as are all in IndoChina) is wary of China, referred to as “Big” Brother… a series of autocratic moves, particularly in damming the Mekong, has created unease… bigger brothers can often be bullies too.

So what of Saigon today? It thrives with street vendors, a bustling Chinatown, markets… a popular tourist sport is to walk the tightly packed market aisles, 2+ feet wide, where local vendors assault you, trying to put shirts on your back! I’ve renewed my long-lost love affair with “rocket fuel”, Vietnamese coffee – strong black iced coffee, with condensed milk to flavour. The flower stalls everywhere… it’s a beautiful and bustling city – did I mention the traffic?

Those of us “of an age” may remember Tufty or a jolly Green Giant, a superhero proclaiming road safety for UK citizens: The Green Cross Code – Stop, Look, Listen, Think! In Saigon, “Think” turns into raw “Panic”. At each junction you are faced by a seething mass of carnivorous scooters – there’s no let-up, they are always there, mystically appearing before your eyes with bared fangs. We were advised by locals on how to cross the road and I’m afraid Tufty will be turning in his squirrel grave: Step out SLOWLY into the traffic, keep moving slowly and evenly forward. Do NOT speed up, and NEVER turn back. Occasionally pause if deemed “necessary”… strangely, it works. As you enter the abyss, the scooter sea parts giving you a small channel like the bow of a breaking wave in which to continue. The “slowly” allows the scooter cavalry to sense where the gap around you may be and gently alter course to pass in front or behind you (all at top speed of course). It’s a heart-in-the mouth experience… but the alternative of waiting for a Green Superhero is clearly a cartoon fable!

Saigon retains a lot of its fabled allure and romance. It’s a city re-discovering itself, creating a new history, while living within its own past. I met and spoke with Mr Duong Van Ngo, a wonderful stately gentlemen of 80 who sits each day in his designated seat at the Saigon Post Office, helping local people to read, or simply go about their business in the post office. He has worked in this supremely grand building (it reminds me of Grand Central Station in NYC) for 60 years, the last two decades as a volunteer post-retirement. His english is cultured and he emanates a calm and sincere grace that inspired me. Duong will have met & helped many people over the years – I would love to spend hours listening; I wonder what stories he has to tell?

Photo Journal: The Enchanting Mekong Delta

We began our journey through Vietnam by spending two glorious days exploring the Mekong Delta on the Bassac Boat. The fertile arable lands of the Mekong are incredibly beautiful and enchanting… for the village locals a simple life, based around the rivers and waterways, but one with so much richness!

Photo Journal: The Enchanting Mekong Delta…

Photo Journal: The Jewel of IndoChina

Photo Journal: Phnom Penh is often called the Jewel of IndoChina - it’s certainly a many faceted diamond…

Time for a Restaurant Review…

Phnom Penh, Cambodia – While we’ve been travelling, we’ve happened several times upon an interesting NGO (Non-Governmental Organisation, read Charity) that works with street children. Friends International, started in 1984 in Cambodia, is based across IndoChina and does fantastic work. Their website states:

Friends-International works with marginalised urban children and youth, their families and communities to become productive, independent citizens of their country. We do this by listening to and being guided by those who matter the most to us - the children and youth we work with everyday.

Exploring a little how they do this made me sense that they have developed a really good and “best practice” model that seems to be making a significant difference. Their charter would make interesting reading and a good template for many charities!

So the challenge for any NGO is that you can innovate and develop numerous ways of doing a better and more expansive job of your core mission, but it needs to be funded. So the traditional nightmare… help please Mr Westerner?

So, time for a restaurant review?

Last night we ate at Friends. It’s a highly rated restaurant and we enjoyed it immensely. It’s different in that it is a tapas bar, serving small portions of various Khmer, Asian, & Fusion dishes. Set in a former French Colonial building, the food is extremely tasty, beautifully presented, with lots of interesting flavours mixed together in creative and delicate ways. The atmosphere reflects the wonderfully energetic streets & city, full of colour & intrigue. Our meal was not expensive ($26 for both of us, inc drinks); we particularly liked the Grilled Fish with Salsa Verde & Chickpea Hummus on crisply fried flour tortillas. Service was superb, efficient, and the whole evening was a delight. Rating: 11/10.

So was that last paragraph a commercial break? In a weird twist of words – maybe! Friends the Restaurant is owned by Friends International. Quite the business model; they own four restaurants – we’ve eaten at two of them (Friends & Makphet).

But it doesn’t stop there… this is truly a “social enterprise”. Each restaurant is staffed by former street children, as part of their higher level training and re-integration back into society. Operating as Students & Teachers, both serving and cooking, they are learning and perfecting a trade that has economic currency; many graduate to be able to work in the hotels and restaurants of the city.

So is it working – try getting in without a reservation! In Phnom Penh, Friends is #1 of 278 on TripAdvisor, Romdeng #2. In Vientiane (Laos), Makphet is #1 of 119. The food is very good, but its more than that… the ethos, the atmosphere, the sense of being part of something far larger and with more purpose than eating a mere tapa… that has currency; they are doing a superb job with an innovative “integrative business model”.

Friends International – a different kind of NGO… did I mention their Frozen Raspberry & Lime Daiquiris are to die for?

The Jewel of IndoChina

Foreign Correspondents Club, Phnom Penh, Cambodia – This city, often dubbed the “jewel”, seems a bit of an enigma on first look. It’s clearly complex and hides many stories; it had a rich history with strong French influence, was wiped out, and is now trying to re-create and rebuild a culture that was “de-programmed”. I find I have not immediately warmed to it in two days here, but sense that it’s a place that could grow into you and that its tendrils could easily enchant given time.

It’s impossible to be here without exploring the contemporary history. Phnom Penh fell to the Khmer Rouge on April 17th 1975, weeks before the fall of Saigon. It heralded in a Communist “revolution” the likes of which no-one anticipated or foresaw, but which Pol Pot had clearly planned over the previous decade. Phnom Penh, a city of 2m+ people was evacuated, the population moved to the remote countryside to create a new “utopia” based on a agrarian economic ideal. Pol Pot was in power for only four years, 1975-79, before Cambodia was liberated by the Vietnamese, then ruled by them for a further decade. It wasn’t until 1993, when the monarchy was re-established and free elections were held under the sponsorship of the UN (which perversely elected communists), that Cambodia started to re-embark on peace, but even then Pol Pot was at large, living in the hills to the north with a small army and cadre of weapons to protect him. That he never came to justice is likely an indictment that we all bear. He died in 1998, likely from Malaria, and finally a country and its people were able to start to move on.

The recent history of IndoChina is one that all of us of an age likely remember snippets of. I remember well moving to California a mere decade after Vietnam; it was a few months before I put my finger on the gap, the realisation that many of the people I was spending time with had been involved in the Vietnam conflict, yet were unable to acknowledge or talk about it. America had “failed” in their eyes, and a relatively young and supremely successful society was trying to come to terms with that, initially with denial. Being here in Cambodia, shows a far more raw expression of that. The “Killing Fields” saw a massive “re-education” program which removed all opposition… intellectuals, teachers, doctors, officials; 3m Cambodians died in under 4 years, leaving a population of 4m, now 14m some 30 years later. So it’s a young “country” rediscovering its culture and heritage. Yet look around and chat to people (everyone seems remarkably open), they all have a story; everyone was affected.

When travelling, one of my indulgences is to read a book about the country I am in. I have been reading “River of Time” by Jon Swain, which is beautifully written and “part love letter to the land he so adores”. He was a journalist during the Vietnam conflict and was one of four depicted in the film “The Killing Fields” during the fall of Phnom Penh. He provides real insights, but has helped to add colour and an additional dimension to our experience here; it seems to underline that the Hollywood depiction we all saw is likely slightly glossy, but my surprise is, in truth, it seems a remarkably accurate depiction. We all saw the young testosterone filled child soldiers in their black pyjamas, flip flops, red & white checked headbands, & the obligatory AK47. I’d assumed this was a cinematic trick, but I was wrong. And you realise that the boy soldiers of the Khmer Rouge would now be entering their 50’s; who and where are they, and what legacy do they bring… is it a constructive one, or do the scars and indoctrination of those years still blind?

We visited the “Killing Fields” memorial at Choeung Ek. It is a deeply humbling & poignant place. A central Stupa (“burial ground”) provides a fitting memorial, rising 17 levels, each filled with skulls, exhumed from the nearby mass graves, & their clothes… all visible behind acrylic glass. A quiet and profound silence as people wandered around dazed, often in tears. I visited Belsen in Germany as a teenager, but somehow this was more… likely because of the detail (the Khmer Rouge were vociferous record keepers) and the starkly assaulting visual pictures. Visiting S-21 (Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum) in Phnom Penh, the prison & torture centre, provided even starker reminders. Row upon row of black and white photos, each of a victim. Graphic pictures of life inside… It’s all a bit too much to take in, and we scarcely needed a guide to helpfully point out the details of the atrocities; it was there, tangible.

I’m struck by the enormity of Man’s cruelty to Man – I’m overwhelmed by it & can’t comprehend it, but in this place I can touch and smell it.

Photo Journal: “Probably the best Temples in the World…”

Photo Journal: We were amazed and dumfounded by the grandeur & scale of the temples that are Angkor Wat…

“Probably the best Temples in the World…”

Siem Reap, Cambodia – Following a wonderfully languid drift through Laos, it was immediately apparent that we’d arrived somewhere different. A fresh, new, steam-cleaned airport welcomed you to the tourist “Mecca” that is Siem Reap, home of Angkor Wat; 200 temples only re-discovered in the last century, built by the Khmer Kingdom as long ago as the 12th Century.

As we travelled from the airport, row upon row (upon row upon row) of freshly built hotels, many very opulent, all trying to include “Angkor” somehow in their name; 2.8m tourists visited Siem Reap in 2011, this year it will be 4m, mainly Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, Korean, but increasingly Western (& not just backpackers). To support this further, the government is investing in a new fully International Airport that can support long-haul flights. Yet travel beyond the central area, and you’re quickly in (very?) poor areas, beautiful villages which hark back to a long cultural history based on agriculture, but also city slum-like dwellings with a strong demarcation line to the polished centre with its curiously named “Pub Street”. As we entered the city, a hospital… with long queues of dancing children and their parents, waiting… free injections for TB and a range of other diseases.

As a westerner, you’re not allowed to drive in Siem Reap. What seemed like an affront, quickly made sense. Chaotic traffic, but slowly it emerged there was a code. Approaching a traffic junction - cars, buses, trucks, cycles, mopeds & the ubiquitous TukTuk’s – execute a strange, varied pattern, random, incoherent to the observer. Everyone enters at speed and asynchronously, from the left, right, wrong side of the road. The code wasn’t discernable, but somehow it was there; there was choreography, a dance… a further example of “co-operative driving”.

Words don’t do justice to the amazing wonder of the Angkor Wat complex, neither really do pictures. It was the scale of it; Stonehenge multiplied a trillion times. The complexity of changing dynasties following war after war; Hindu replacing Buddhist and swapping again, evidenced by the artwork and the deliberate defacement of it down the years as one religion or the other dominated. Today Cambodia is mainly Buddhist, but it feels more an acknowledgement than our  experience of it as being embedded and primal to the Lao culture. Strange to realise that the wonderfully delicate entrance gates, built for the King to ride through on his elephant, were the entrance for tanks in recent times, scraping their way against the intricate artwork on the walls, that landmines had to be cleared (some as recently as the last five years) from the inner courtyards, to observe the AK47 bullet holes & grenade craters… but these all merely add colour to an overwhelming assault on the senses from the Temples themselves.

We visited Ta Prohm, the jungle temple of Tomb Raider, Lara Croft & Angelina Jolie “fame”. We were stunned by Angkor Thom, and the magnificent Bayon, with its multitude of carved smiling faces. Angkor Wat left us breathless (literally, searing heat) with wonder at its architecture. Sunrise at Banteay Srei showed craftsmanship in its carving that left you wondering “how?” and finally the jungle temple Beng Melea, only recently re-opened after mine clearance.

Our guide, Maray, was refreshingly open, evidencing a British sense of sarcasm, & at times dry & black humour. Within minutes of meeting him, he was telling us of his country’s none-too-proud history. And over the hours we spent together, he shared parts of his story. Born in 1969, he was 5 when the Khmer Rouge seized power. He lost his Father at 5, & Mother at 8, both teachers so killed as part of Pol Pot’s re-education of the people; 3m lives lost in a “holocaust” repeat that the world labelled the “Killing Fields”. Maray didn’t talk about that time much more than to say that his “Step Father” was cruel, and he was 13 before he was able to start attending school. His dream was to become a Doctor, but he didn’t have the money… so he taught himself English and became a guide, one of the original 50 (there are now ~4500, many of which Maray has “trained” at his “guide school”). He told us stories of people he’d met, and took particular relish is directing me to the best locations & angles to take photos – former clients included  professional National Geographic photographers.

Maray grew up in Angkor and as a child used to play in & climb around the temples and fish in their lakes. His obvious passion for Angkor, its temples & their art seemed much more personal, often pointing out a particular place with a story about his childhood. He was also incredibly astute at noticing the small things, particularly nature: flowers, lizards, birds, a snake… as we explored the temples at dawn, he was the little boy again, calling out to the birds and delighting in their response. Following an arranged marriage (the custom here), he worked in partnership with his brother-in-law, but after a couple of years of supposed “crop failures” in sales at the market, he realised the profit-share partnership was far from equal. He now lives in a local village under his tin roof, with his family & his chickens, not quite following the economic advancement that many of his compatriots seemed to have done. His goal: to build a better life for his two “wonderful girls” – he showed us pictures of his daughters with obvious pride.

I found Maray inspiring; having faced a horrendous past, he is striving to move on and break the ties and repetitions from before. He exhibited that Buddhist sense of karma, and relaxing into it. I also sensed that Maray’s story is the story of modern Cambodia; rebuilding from & grieving a past, while trying to find honour, pride & dignity in a future.

Laos – Images of her Future…

We were captivated by this beautiful & deeply enchanting country…

Photo Journal: Laos - Images of her Future…

Photo Journal: On the Trail of the Southern Tiger

Photo Journal: Exploring Southern Laos

On the trail of Chickens, Watermelons & a Tiger

Don Daeng, Southern Laos – Travelling can often be about “doing”, a hurried checklist tour of “Tourist Site A”, followed by B, C… and we’ve participated in that too. I could write about Wat Phu Champasak, a 5th Century temple built by the Khmers that many believe to be the pre-cursor to the more famous Angkor Wat; it was stunning and very beautiful, but many guidebooks do it much better justice. Somehow the waterfalls, the local villages, the coffee & tea plantations were more inspiring. For me, this trip has been more about the “being”, observing those little vignettes and pictures of local life.

So where in a guidebooks does it cover “Chicken Village”? It lies about half-way between Thakek & Pakse on the Dancing Road. 300 chickens are killed each day to create “Ping Gai” – butterflied BBQ chicken. Row upon row of village stalls… so who will buy. Suddenly, the stalls are abandoned as vendors rush & jostle. I look around, and spot a tall travel bus approaching. The focus, and audience, and the race to sell…

Travelling South we visited a “Live market”, maybe fortunately arriving too early to see it in full flow. The normal assortment of agricultural products & BBQ’d delights, but more; the Lao pride themselves on their reputation for eating anything, so was the “live” all to be eaten? The normal experience on arrival in any worldwide “tourist” venue is to be swamped by local vendors trying to encourage you to facilitate their economic advancement. The Lao tend to be more laid back, and wait for you to engage (How British!)… so the surprise on arrival was to experience the throng of vendors crowding against the van, holding their bagged palm fruit & beautiful woven bamboo cylinders filled with raw cane sugar nuggets… their focus, our guide! He was clearly well known to them & proceeded to engage… we wandered off to explore the market!

Arriving in Pakse, we encountered row upon row of watermelon vendors… thousands upon thousands of beautiful fresh picked fruit. Scanning the stalls stretching to the horizon, one thing jumped out – no-one was purchasing! A puzzle, still only slightly understood… this “Watermelon Road” is the wholesale market; people travel to purchase and transport back to local villages & other roadside stalls. But where was Mr Tesco or Mr Waitrose? I watched and waited, and the buyers remained invisible… as we left, an empty lorry approached. 

Southern Laos appears more affluent relatively, the trade routes available to Vietnam & Thailand, & a more organised agricultural production give an air of difference. The villages are still similar, the children’s smiles, the simple lifestyle without direct poverty. One clue to the difference. Suddenly in each tribal “Minority Village” there was one addition. Each hut had an extra architectural element, the pervasive satellite dish. Progress?

Since Pakse, our guide Seua (Lao: Tiger) has added a slightly new dimension; “Call me Tiger” is dare I say slightly non-Lao, more a Type-A achiever. He stands out against a Lao culture that is supremely gracious, relaxed, community & family oriented. So as Laos develops, is Tiger the start of a “New-Lao” persona?

So we’re on the “Tiger Trail”, a focused checklist. Gradually I’m reshaping that, helping the Tiger realise that an impromptu stop at a local coffee drying field can be considered a “visit” and success for him, while creating a wonderful process of being for us.

We’ve spent two weeks exploring and discovering Laos, a supremely beautiful & enchanting country… it’s captivated us in a way I hadn’t anticipated. To paraphrase a past Facebook post:

Today I am leaving Laos, but I suspect Laos in not leaving me…

Photo Journal - Memories from the “Dancing Road”

Photo Journal: Exploring Central Laos, Memories from the “Dancing Road”

Celebrating some Lao ingenuity

Tad Lo Lodge, Tad Lo, Laos – Some assignments are difficult to take. This “simple” lodge blew us away with its amazing panoramic view over a river, cascading through rocks, water tumbling & burbling over a wonderful waterfall. We took advantage of the cooler morning and set off at first light to walk beside the river. It was peaceful & quiet, apart from a couple of young local village lads checking the snares they had set the night before. Clambering across massive limestone boulders, watching the sun slowly rise, in search of the perfect vista, and best Kodak moment… few moments in time rise to this level. Perfect.

Returning to the Lodge for an early breakfast, we experienced a visual escalation… what’s beyond perfect? Three elephants gently strolling down a brick-red mud path, coming to bathe in the cooler morning air, heading for a river pool directly in front of the Lodge. My camera went into overdrive, snapping away as the Mahouts (Lao: Elephant Keepers) gently rode their elephants into the river, encouraging them to bathe. Perfect-er!?

Then the moment each photographer dreads; the perfect shot, but you’ve got the wrong lens on the camera. Action stations! Lens off, lens swap, lens on… the good news was that when I dropped the lens cap, it didn’t fall into the river. As I bent down to pick it up, I realised it had fallen into a crack between two boulders. On closer inspection, I couldn’t see the lens cap - it appeared to have somehow bounced under one of the boulders. It was obvious that with my massive paws, I couldn’t squeeze a hand down. But help was at hand – two local lads (one a Mahout) came running over to join the thrill of the chase, the “search for the missing lens cap”. Despite much smaller hands and the careful use of various sticks, they too failed. I was resigned to my fate… but with no Lao other than “Sabaidee” (Hello) & “Kopchai” (Thank you), how should I communicate “It’s OK”… in particular to the Mahout, who had taken the task on with relish and didn’t seem to want to return to washing elephants in a hurry! He stood up purposefully and moved off – no words were spoken, but I sensed I should wait and that he was going to get something… a longer & more flexible piece of bamboo maybe?

Several minutes later, the Mahout returned. Imagine my surprise, when in one hand he held a hammer, and in the other a massive bolster chisel. Note to conservationists: I regret what happened next, but my lack of language - and consummate wonder - blocked me from doing anything but gawp. The Mahout proceeded to apply said chisel and hammer into the small crack between the rocks, and with three or four deft blows, small pieces of rock were removed, allowing him to finally insert his hand into the crack and retrieve the lens cap. The gathered crowd (this was by now an incident of International import) showed their appreciation, and I stood there amazed… as after my profusive “Kopchai LaLa” (Thank you very much), the Mahout casually strolled away, mounted his elephant and proceeded with his day.

Perfect... Perfect-er... ???

Rapid change in Southern Laos

Tad Lo Lodge, Bolaven Plateau, Laos – Sometimes it’s important to smile. It’s often so simple; you draw a conclusion, state an opinion, and then get exposed…

Minutes after I published our latest blog on Central Laos, we finished lunch in a rather nice coffee house/cafe in Pakse. Our guide had called ahead as the last time he visited, there were no tables available. So he made a reservation. We arrived to a surprise – a wonderfully quiet cafe, and a mis-understanding… “reservation” was taken to mean “please prepare us a special Lao meal to be ready for our arrival”. Travelling is full of these moments, and often all you can do is smile… it was a WONDERFUL lunch!

So we left Pakse, with a new guide & a new vehicle, to begin our journey into Southern Laos. I’d grandly stated in our last blog that Lao driving was “co-operative”… the road to Paksong was kinder (read “less potholes”, no “Dancing”), but conversely it was a road with a purpose, one of the trade routes to Vietnam: speed was higher, “rights” were important, horns were sounded “helpfully”. We drove through a rich land of market gardens, including coffee plantations that clearly generated a higher economic output than we’d previously experienced in Laos. It wasn’t long before we happened upon our first accident…

So a question: Does a richer, faster, more economically beneficial life have to change a culture… or maybe we were just mourning the loss of the “Dancing Road”?

To clarify… we were travelling in a car!

Travelling the Dancing Road…

Central Laos – Leaving Vientiane, Route 13 heads south. The geography of Laos is long and thin, almost Italy-like. So we’re leaving Milan… and we’re off the standard tourist route, which mainly covers Luang Prabang & Vientiane in the north. So the M1 of Laos, single carriageway, extremely undulating, with potholes, and occasionally simply missing. The Lao have a wonderful phrase for this… “The Dancing Road”.

The highway is equally used by Buses & Trucks, Tourist “People Carriers” [all seem to be Hyundai], Lao Tractors, Mopeds, Bikes, People, Cows, Goats, Chickens, & the very occasional car! The driving style is co-operative in the sense that although the roads are not over crowded, overtaking often requires help, and instead of enforcing a western “right-of-way”, Lao drivers adjust speed and road position to allow traffic to gently flow. Road rage it is not, and strangely it feels safe & accidents are few (unlike previous travels in India).

Central Laos is much flatter, but paradoxically the most memorable tourist “sites” are caves in the hills. That belittles the wonder of just “experiencing” villages, markets, emerald green crop laden fields, and the enchanting people. The Lao are gracious, relaxed and openly friendly in a way I’ve rarely experienced in the developing world. My favourite pastime has become practising my fluent Lao – “Sabaidee” (Hello) - & capturing the wonderful face of the children, who delight in smiling broadly and shyly giggling.

Another significant highlight is the food – clearly the chef in Heaven will be Lao - a cross between Thai and Vietnamese, with much more use of fresh spices and leaves. The national dishes are a Spicy Papaya salad and Laap, a meat (Chicken, Pork, or Beef) salad with mint, cilantro, and spices. The mixture of hot and cold, meat and salad is a Lao theme, a wonderful one!

Hin Buin National Park hosts the most original natural “wonder” I have visited – Tham Kong Lo, a 7 km cave under the mountain, sometimes up to a 100m high, pitch black inside and clear cool water, and after a ~1 hour trip on a shallow wooden boat with a long-tail outboard motors, you exit the other side, providing a new route for villages to transport their crops rather than the difficult 40km journey over the mountain pass. It was recently “discovered” by a local farmer who wondered why his ducks would swim into the cave and not return. The trip provides real adventure, head torches to the fore and several times exiting the boat & wading in the water to lift it across shallow beds or gentle rapids. The guides know the cave well, necessary as rocks frequently appear out of the blackness & are deftly avoided. Since the cave is remote & in the less touristy Central Laos, an average day sees only 15 boat trips. It felt a privilege to experience this now, as surely development of the area will generate more accessibility, commercialism & the inevitable crowds.

Mataxai Caves, near Thakek, are majestically carved from limestone hills, accessed via a jungle walk with a “local guide” - we’d have been lost in seconds; clear paths they were not, machetes would have been helpful. The local villagers revere their cool protection in the searing summer heat. There is a spiritual dimension too as local monks go on “retreat” to pray, some for two years, fed only by the gifts local villagers bring. The walk was hard work, draining in the mid 30’s sun, but the reward was the sudden appearance of Nong Thao Lake, hidden in the forest with the majestic backdrop of tree covered hills. For the villagers this is a source of food, fish & river weed; for the visitor, sheer wonder!

This country is simply breath-takingly beautiful…

Images of Vientiane…

Pictures: A visual feast in Vientiane…

Falling in love with Luang Prabang

Luang Prabang, Laos – Every once in a while (lifetime?), you visit a place that seems to capture you, brings out emotions and experiences that somehow resonate. When you do, it’s a gift, and the eternal traveller begins the quest to enjoy that moment… and to search for the next opportunity.

Laos is a country of ~6.5m people in a geographical area about the size of the UK. It has a rich tribal history, and its past embraces being a French colony, numerous wars, and the infamous “non-war” – America dropped more bombs per capita on Laos than any other country on earth, all part of a “secret” black-ops war driven by the CIA to counter the Viet Cong.

Laos started a new, more peaceful chapter in 1975 with the installation of a communist government and the dissolution of its monarchy. Luang Prabang, the former capital, was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1995. The country feels more progressive & “socialist” than the “communist” label; tourism has now replaced agriculture as its number one industry, and with a GDP growth rate in excess of 7% in recent years, change is inevitable.

So how can sleepy Luang Prabang preserve its essence as a delightful town, full of a mix of artistic culture, French colonial architecture, cafes, authentic local experience, honesty, cleanliness, and fed by the lifeblood of the majestic Mekong river? How does she do this while embracing the tourist experience that will drive the local economy?

We enjoyed our four days here immensely, gently and inevitably falling in love with it. We became enchanted with the food at the fantastic Lao restaurants, enjoyed the local craft centres, wondered at the entrepreneurial spirit, visited the Night Market, Kuang Si Falls, numerous Wats (Temples) & monasteries, the vibrant local market, with a highlight being the fascinating Traditional Arts & Ethnology Centre.

However, one memory is a standout. At dawn each morning, the Buddhist monks silently walk in single file through the town, receiving alms from the local people to support them. It’s a powerful visual picture that we sensed carries far more depth and visibility into the culture, beliefs and traditions of the Lao people.

As we left Luang Prabang, we reflected. Were we tourists, visitors, participants, or even more… maybe part of the community for that moment? While travelling, you always hope and aspire to be the latter (or more), but was the picture we perceived a false one? Were we seduced by her curious mix of Asian culture and European chic? Did we fall for a myth we created?

I worry that dramatic changes will inevitably somehow prick the timeless cultural bubble we think we experienced, that the moment might be gone and lost, a silent but precious memory. How imminent & complete will the change be that she experiences? I’ve recognised a strange yearning growing, the desire to be able to return is strong and true, mixed with a forlorn hope that her timeless beauty endures.

So, a torrid past sits in direct contrast to the relaxed, gentle and gracious Lao people. One picture imprints on my mind… will the next few decades repeat the conflicts of previous ones, or can the spirit of peace prevail?

Photo Journal: The beauty of Luang Prabang

Photo Journal – Cruising down the Mekong…

Photo Journal: Two days cruising down the most beautiful scenery...

“Being” along a river…

Mekong River, Laos – The adventure is commencing. Initial destination Laos (pronounced Lau-ow, and many other ways), a country of 7m people being “modernised” by the western (& Chinese) obsession with economic growth; new roads and bridges are creating an (enviable?) economic highway in IndoChina, with scant observance of the initial creeping transference of a greed culture.



The “Laos Country” gateway – Chiang Rai, Thailand, a city of 1.2m people that Lonely Planet helpfully states has “no tourist attractions”. The night market begs to differ, a surreal combination of tourist gift “tax” opportunities and self service food stalls with many wonderful and appetising delicacies, some more suitable for “I’m a Celebrity…”. The central tabled area featured a surreal remake of Stamford Bridge; Didier Drogba on a giant HD screen, while enjoying a refreshing Singha! Leaving early the next morning to join the convoy of “private” transfers to Chiang Khong, LP’s statement was further belittled – a huge red orb of a rising sun, reflected into the brilliant green hue of horizon filling rice fields. Beauty at its finest…

Entering Laos prepares you for their laid back lifestyle of “Being”. Fourfold queues to obtain a visa generates comical mutters as agitated western business brains suggest “process improvements”.

The Mekong River is the true gateway to gently enter a new culture, two days cruising through massively generous scenery, where the real stress is one of camera overload – the perfect picture is elusive and continually escalating opportunities present themselves. A stop at Ban Gon Dturn, a Hmong village by the river, highlights an existing culture based on agriculture and crafts. Many young children throng to greet the boat, displaying their handwoven bracelets with their captivating smiles. I purchased two, for once deliberately overpaying by 4x; it seemed appropriate for it to be my first tourist “rip-off”.

So we sit back, relax, enjoy the views, and pretend that “doing” the best picture is really an opportunity for “being”. Time for a Beer Lao…