I will not by damn wear my Ex Officio tank tops. It didn't rain, it did me one better.

Never, ever ever make pronouncements to the travel spirits. They wake up and then come after you and laugh at you as you suddenly remember, two steps out of the van that delivered you to the airport this morning, that your passport is not on your person. AH! That would be a problem. You stop the driver. The driver calls Pepperhouse. Diem doesn't have it. That would be....ah....the guide at Oxalis. They don't have it they say. I look again. There are multiple calls back and forth, frantic, because my plane leaves in 40...30...15 minutes. Diem calls. Oxalis has my passport and they are coming NOW!!!!! The van driver leaves you in the parking lot.

Well, I run into the airport to the customer service counter where I discover several things: first, there is no other flight until next Saturday. My flight is a one time use once no refund. I get on this or I leave in two days. I will lose three other flights as a result.

Visions of waving palm trees are diminishing into the distance, along with all hopes of warmth. Egad. The charming girl looks at me and then her watch and she informs me that boarding ends in 7 minutes. Oxalis is a long way off still. I pull out my computer and start cancelling my scuba, my hotel, my flights. 'Tis what it is. I try to call Pepperhouse for a reservation. No answers. No worries. See what happens.

About 35 minutes later the operations manager of Oxalis comes hurtling in the glass doors waving my passport, grabs my bag and yells "you can still make it come on come on come ON!" I am spread out all over the counter, and the attendant gives me this look like "Lady I wouldn't count on it," and this guy is running like mad across the tiles towards the turnstiles and I'm trying to stuff my things back into my backpack. Pretty soon there's an official who's running at us at similar speed waving something and making go away signs, saying Pilot Waved Goodbye Long Time Ago.

Sigh. My heart said, 'nuther two cold nights in Paradise baby. Must be something here in Phong Nha for me.

So I can't make a new res, have to do that online. I pile up my stuff, grab my gear and we load up. The ops guy and I have a lively discussion about the guide and the trip and the possibility (yes I'm a glutton for punishment) of my going to see the famous Tu Lan cave, the one that National Geo got so many awards for. Now look. I did want to see that cave, there is a one day trip, it's epic but there are only three streams and I can handle three streams. The weather's been downright warm (I actually cast a real shadow today. Nearly fell over.)
So I kinda committed myself. What else am I going to do in this tiny, rather drab, monotonous little town that has absolutely nothing else going for it but the caves, which I have seen, and if I am going to be stuck here another day I might as well go see what I came here to see. The bumps have flattened out. My back is well, it is what it is.

We drove to Pepperhouse, which is booked. So he makes a res for me at what he said was the best place in town. Thirty a night, warm showers, big bed. No heat. Nobody has heat. Them's the rules. So they drop me off and I get to my room. Cold, big bed, nice bathroom, real toilet.

The girl leaves me alone. I go in the bathroom. Turned on the water in the sink. It was warm. Then hot. I filled the sink with blessed, wonderful, holy, HOT water then sank my constantly aching angry cold hands in it.

A sensation that I had become quite unfamiliar with these last three weeks shot through my whole body- pleasure from having warm hands- and I was anchored to the floor, until the sink nearly flooded the bathroom. Indescribable. I have misplaced my gloves, oh well, so my hands are white all the time now. So this was just, well, the berries.

I am now thinking about that shower, how the hair on my legs has gotten so long that those resident ants ( if there are any) are playing jumprope down there, and it's gonna be heaven if this trend continues. Clean hair. Shaved legs. Ladies, you're tracking me here, right? These are not small things. Hugging a puny trickle of warmish water hasn't been particularly satisfying so the idea of the real thing makes the mouth water.


Well I have to book this trip so I put the shower off (delayed gratification) and walked the 1km to Oxalis. That, by the way is what the sign says. It's easily two or three times that, which is fine by me, but if you're not a walker you're not going to be happy about that inaccuracy. As I walked out of downtown and along the river, I waved at the tourists, and enjoyed the bright sun on the mountains whose jungle coverings were particularly green and lush today. And still hazy. I bought some fruit, which one guy demanded a piece of (this is what tourists bring to town, it happened often- gimme gimme gimme money) and then arrived at Oxalis. The trip booked, I headed back. Oxalis brings a lot of traffic, people are accustomed to whites coming down this way.

Men working on motorcycles yelled out Money! Give me money! and slapped their stomachs. Tiny kids giggled and called out hello. I bought that SuSu for want of yogurt for my dinner and two doors down a man demanded it for his child. There is no bank here and I am almost out of dong so I am hoarding my limited funds. But responding to this teaches begging. And I won't do it.

There was a terrific fruit stand near the market but the town's market was a dump. Muddy, trashy and foul, only a few outside cooking stands. Phong Nha is not prepared for tourists at all, and in one way that's good. There's nothing set up for them. You can't get much of anything that a Westerner would want here. Nor would you really want to go near many of these shops. The guys tend to leer and be a little threatening, and I just cross the street. This is the first town I've not felt comfortable walking around. So one day to the cave, twelve hours of it tomorrow, and then out of here again Saturday morning. I sure hope so.

Back at the hotel the deep freeze has begun, and I shut down windows and doors, and not without trepidation strip down and enter the shower. There's a red knob on the wall and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to turn it. The water is off, I push things here and there, turn the knob, water comes, it's not hot, here we go again. I dress and start down the stairs but am met by the manager who escorts me back in, finds the same problem ( good I'm not mad) twiddles this that and the other, then waves me in and warns me, may be too hot. No such thing.

Well yes there is. Bless him, yes there is. And bless him there is pressure in this shower which means that if you move half an inch in either direction the water is actually still landing on you. What a concept. This room immediately filled with red hot steam. Red. Hot. Fabulous. Incredible. I stood under the shower and got my head warm then hot, and I might have screamed were it not for a big French family with young kids right next door, and they don't need to know that there is an insane woman in the next room trying to kiss a shower head.

I didn't care if I used up the entire hot water supply for the building. Didn't care if they had cold water for washing dishes tonight. Didn't care...well you get my drift. I stayed hot when I turned around. I stayed hot when I reached for hair goop. I was actually HOT. Okay it was over too fast, but for just a few minutes, yeah, it was pretty good. Awful good. Doing it again tomorrow night when I've earned it. I'd pay sixty a night for that shower alone. Kindly don't email the manager. I mean you just don't realize how cold you've been for so long until you are truly warm again.

Tonight I laid out gear for tomorrow, and being far wiser this time around the choices are informed. I pray we don't have rain. We are supposed to swim in the caves. The other people will swim in the caves and I am going to sit and watch. I'm just not into self-flagellation.

So gallumphing through the jungle again tomorrow by choice mind you, and I hope to see wondrous things, and get less cold, and be off to Saigon successfully on Saturday.


We'll make no more final pronouncements about ANYTHING and I'm going to see if I can find some flowers for the spirits.

Oh dear, I was so looking forward to you take on Phu Quoc as I haven't been there yet.

I'm kinda surprised that someone who battled to retain her passport earlier in the trip has now let it become absent at a crucial time... Last night I read your South American post, and realise that losing various items are par for the course (whether lost or just really well hidden), for you. Viva la difference.

I'm sending empathetic thoughts from Oz (I hate the cold and would not be able to endure what you have put up with so cheerfully and pragmatically)

Hope you find LOTS of very special flowers for those dastardly travel spirits !

Julia - Courtney here, one half of "the couple who couldn't be bothered", as you so kindly called my husband and I.

It's been a long time since I have been as disappointed in a human being as I have been in you. I felt a connection and understanding between us and enjoyed our many conversations on our cave trek. Given your treatment of us here, it's clear you did not feel the same and saw us as nothing more than fodder for your semi-fictional stories.

Your write-up of our trek includes outright lies (e.g. we can prove through photos that you did not have trekking poles with you when you went down in the river the first afternoon, nor was there a porter - only our guide, Vung, who was doing everything he could to help you cross), misrepresentations, and omission of key details (like my husband coming back to help you many times).

You say that you learned valuable lessons on this trip, but you seem to miss that you learned those lessons at the expense of other people. That was our trip too, and we spent an inordinate amount of time waiting for you to catch up. The pace was not "warp speed" or "far too fast" and certainly shouldn't have been a challenge for a "serious athlete" such as yourself. No apology from you or recognition that you were holding us back. Fine, ok.

Similarly, no else, including the other couple from the group that joined us, had issues w/ respect to gear, pace, food, etc. - just you.

Much more importantly, your lack of prior research and due diligence as well as general ill-preparedness (both in terms of gear and physical ability/training) endangered us all. To put it simply, you had zero business being on a trip like this.

Personal responsibility is the first rule of adventure, and by the account of everyone on this trek, Oxalis staff and other fellow clients included, you failed miserably in this regard.

As a result, we too have learned a lesson of our own - namely, next time we find ourselves with the misfortune of being on trip with someone like you, we will abort or wait for another group.

I contemplated long and hard about whether I should respond to your post here ("wrestle with a pig", as the saying goes). Ultimately, while I could swallow your casual smearing of me and my husband, I simply cannot allow you to do so to other wonderful people like our guide, Vung, whom you personally assured that you didn't hold accountable for your own mistakes, only to later throw him under the bus to his boss, Luke. You even smeared the town, which does in fact have an ATM and is full of lovely people (we had a wonderful stay and the pleasure of attending a local wedding, where we were treated as honored guests).

My guess is that you will have this comment removed as inappropriate, and so be it if you do. But, I hope you at least take away from this that "adventure" is not a game or just a good story for travel forums.

In light of both this cave trek and the fact that you had to be carried during during your descent of Mt. Kilimanjaro (as you told me on our 2nd day), please seriously reconsider your upcoming trip to Everest base camp for the sake of the guides and your fellow clients.

Well, Courtney, I also have pictures. And in all frankness you guys were simply terrific, both of you, until the ride that was for all of us disappeared and left us standing in the freezing cold and having to hike for two hours. That’s what I meant by “couldn’t be bothered.” I also felt a wonderful connection, and yes HJ did lots of extremely kind things. But Vung said to me later that he was “extremely angry” with you for going ahead taking the ride.
And he also told me the reason you gave him for leaving early. Sometimes as a writer I have a little fun with that and it's the writer's right to do that. Two sides to everything. Perhaps more.


I’ve written three versions of a response. It isn’t worth it. It just isn’t. There is so much that you don’t know, weren’t privy to, didn’t hear, and can’t know because you weren’t around that it doesn’t serve. While I’m sorry you’re so angry, it appears that you’re more angry at my choice of words. For that I apologize. However, when I have a disagreement I don’t engage in character assassination, which says a great deal more about you than it does about me. You have a right to disagree. No problem. The post stands. But it seems more about that I didn’t give you more credit than that we might disagree about the details about how things went.


I went out with Oxalis again today for the one day, twelve hour Tu Lan hike, and it was an absolute gas. By bringing Tevos and not wearing the river boots, changing into hiking boots and warm socks, the entire day was perfect. Skipped the swim. Instead my guide and I went up and over an epic mountain, same jungle, same mud, no rain but still slippery. But good boots and warm feet. Hiked all day. It was an absolute delight- and no falls. A bit of butt scooting on certain rocks, but otherwise, cave exploration and magical sights. No, I’m not a danger to my guides. I need to know the conditions. And I made sure that Luke and Vung both knew that I hadn’t done my proper inquiries and that wasn’t their fault.


I hope you have a good rest of your journey. And I honestly do hope you put this behind you and just let. It. Go.

Sartoric,
I have laughed myself silly about that piece of idiocy, and it comes down to two things: I wasn’t done with the caves, and I needed that big fat shower last night.


So as you probably gathered in my above response I did sign up for Oxalis again today, and it simply could not have been a more delightful trip. About 12 hours of hiking, two caves, swimming for the two Danes and I got to hike over one fabulous epic mountain. That was a nice trade. The trade was for “you chicken you won’t swim in our freezing water, here you climb mountain.” Great, I’ll take it. The mountain was gorgeous.

We started about 7:30 this morning and this time I took Tevos for river crossings and plastic bags for wet stuff and lots of dry socks. The two caves were stunning, although Hang En cave was preposterous in its size, these caves were just as interesting in their formations. After we split up my guide and I wandered in the cave and then set to heading up and over the mountain.

Now the trail, which had been affected by the typhoons, was still there but had been affected by fallen trees. He kept reminding me “be careful, be careful,” addressing the slippery mud, so this had the effect of getting me to focus hard on where I put my boots (which is a pretty good idea anyway). The bad news is that I didn’t then see what was about to bean the brain, like the great big fat tree that I walked right into while I was concentrating on said feet.

My guide comes rushing over and asks “You okay? You okay?” Well, not right at the moment, trust me, but if you give me five, the waves of pain will cease. More trees crossed the trail, many of which it was hard to slip under with my pack but too high to climb, so it was a night at the calypso bar to bend over backwards. The trail climbed and climbed, and climbed some more, and more and more and more, until we finally started heading downwards. The views were just breathtaking. He pointed out the valley where we had begun that morning, but we had to circle around towards it to get there. More slipping and sliding, all the while passing cow and buffalo tracks.


About 2:30, we hit the flat and the cornfields, and the Danes and our other guide were just crossing the stream. We crossed shortly afterward and made the SUV, downed some fruit in the late afternoon light.


As for dastardly travel spirits. They’re out there. Including people who get offended and don’t agree with your version of a story (hey it happens) and lost passports (a beaut that one) and no time in island paradise. I am so very glad I had a chance to go hike out in the Tu Lan area today, because it gave me a chance to re-experience the adventure with better thought out gear. Not as much to write about this one because all went well. When things go sideways, then there are stories.


I’ve also learned that when I think something is lost or missing or hahaha “stolen,” it will almost always turns up, because there so many pockets and places to put things, that inevitably this got shoved there and forgotten, and a pair of glasses got put in this pocket rather than that. Right now my scuba gloves are still MIA. Easy to replace. Probably will turn up in a shoe somewhere when I get back home.

Oh and Sartoric, if you read my Argentinian post, you also saw that my beloved friend AvRooster regularly kidded me about losing things, and while that passport was a first, I've taken a philosophical attitude about it, especially good knives in other countries. The bigger the adventures I do, the bigger the gear bags get and the greater the likelihood of something going walkies. But of course since I can't possibly be athletic and can't possibly climb a mountain I guess I'd better just cancel all my upcoming adventures right now and go home and sit in a rocking chair.

The thing about the passport was, for me, a humbling reminder of our rank stupidity about some things, stuff that we can take for granted (well of COURSE I have my passport). Vung was supposed to give it back to me when we got back, he didn't, I didn't think of it, we were both kinda eager to get home. Moment lost and life went on for three more days. And you're absolutely right, it stands out in stark contrast to my standing my ground about it up north. That's what I mean about rank stupidity. But the end product is that I got this wonderful day in the caves, which I would have lost otherwise. So it's fun to see what is Quixotic in ourselves, and what windmills we are whacking, and which of them whack us back when we're not looking. Travel's the best method I know to discover those things.

The disparity between how we see ourselves and how others see us is always fascinating.

Marija, I concur completely. Robert Browning said it best, and I am going to mangle the quote here as it is off the top of my head: "oh what a gift that eie would gie us to see ourselves as others see us

Hi JH

It's Saturday, are you in Saigon ? At least you won't be cold there.

Don 't miss the war remnants museum if you have time, the propaganda is an insight into how the Vietnamese view the American War. I also remember that era, although I was very young. So, it was interesting and enlightening, and very moving for me.

We wandered nearby and found a local food hall consisting of many booths, offering such delights as "incremental chicken" and "beef communications landscape" very funny, we chickened out and only had a couple of beers.

Two sides to a story, maybe more,....Many sides to a story, I like that and will use it.

Watch out for those whacking windmills....

Hey Sar,

Just landed. It's a rather indulgent habit to give myself nice digs for the last week, and I am in the very nicely appointed Evergreen Hotel which as a REAL SEPARATE SHOWER which I've not seen for a month. It's so sweet by contrast in here I feel like Queen Lizzie Herself indeed. Bamboo this and that, fourth floor view from floor to ceiling windows. Come on, come on, and no cold air flowing in from the Balcony Door That Won't Shut. It's 2 pm local time, 29 degrees, and while I am genuinely sorry that I missed the scuba diving, I am still also genuinely happy I got to see the Tu Lan caves, hike with a great guide and put a very nice cap on the Oxalis adventure, Courtney notwithstanding.

I have, as I always do on such things, given this tempest in a teapot much thought, including my part in it. I spent a slew of time with Luke and his ops manager giving them ideas and feedback that I most certainly did not put on the Web, and I gave them a great rating on TA which is where my guess is the bulk of their business comes from. The guide got positive and mixed feedback, and some of what he did Courtney and her husband weren't privy to simply because they were, as she repeatedly states, gone. Like the whole second day. So my thought was to speak to the company directly about what I saw were some questionable practices, and their response was a resounding thanks. Today I boarded with four Americans who had had a very sick gal (the trots, poor thing) in their Oxalis caving party and funny, their guide had no issue slowing down for her, and nor did their party. It's the luck of the draw. It really is a crap shoot. The one I had yesterday set a nice quick but not NASCAR pace which kept me sweating and energized. Sometimes you get Chi, sometimes you get the gem I had yesterday, and you just never ever know.

You know, every day brings something new, and like I said, sometimes it's a very funny mirror, or an insight- or insult-you may not like. A story typically has as many versions as there are participants. And here's the rub, Sartoric. We all want to be the central hero in that story. If someone calls out some aspect of our behavior that doesn't track with our vision of our own perfection, then the claws come out. It's human nature to want to protect our version of the story. That's why there's no reason to take out the post. It's highly instructive, not only about Courtney's take, but of her way of attacking character, not taking responsibility for stranding four people, not just me, and all of us with loads facing a five mile hike. Once you do that, you're toast for a roast. Just as I am if I'm the dunce in someone else's story.

I'd like a drumroll here, for the first time in more than three weeks, the wicking Ex-Officio tanks have been taken out of their dungeon and fluffed out for WEAR, the zip off pants are zipped off, and the rather (how can anyone say this nicely) overworn polypro and woolen tops are on the floor for a good washing. When you wear polypro day and night to stay warm, it will keep you warm, with an unfortunate, inevitable side effect. I don't care how good your pit juice is. 24/7 wear just is too much for the duds. The guy who advised us pretenders to Kili to get this particular hooded top (which we all promptly went out and bought- it was everywhere in Moshi) also stated frankly it would stink. Guy's right. It does.

Thanks again for the suggestions. I am not sure yet what to do tomorrow. The air is cleaner today, the sun is brighter, and I am very hopeful that I had caught this city in the grip of a bad couple of days. Perhaps this time I can walk around and enjoy water puppets and the museums, and then I am going to take a cruise down the Mekong Delta and eat every single piece of papaya I see. And Mango.

One of the heavenly aspects of this hotel that I am really enjoying is that the a/c and the quality of the construction are buffering the incessant traffic noises from the busy streets. This is just the peaches rather than the pits, and if I have four more days in Saigon by Willy, this is going to be a right nice place to spend it.

And Sar, about those windmills. Having been thoroughly embarrassed (and grounded) by the Missing Passport Event, and parm me for grinning as I write this, I am going to stab myself with my own scissors if I make any such Grand Pronouncements again. Like I said, travel is the best source of humble pie I know, but if you are arch, possess no funny bone whatsoever, and cannot possibly see our own silliness, then don't get on a plane. It's a setup for the human comedy.
I am forever grateful for the sheep dip I regularly get in my own faux pas. There is great joy in laughter, and the more seriously I try to take myself the more there is to laugh at. And a propositon is not what I should end a sentence with.

The market down the street awaits someone who has burning dong in her pocket.

So funny, go forth and market !

Ah, lovely. I went upstairs to the hotel restaurant, and ordered their sauteed chicken and also the spinach with garlic. The serving girl told me I couldn't have both, I could only have one. Now that's odd. It seems to me that if a client wants to pay for chicken AND vegetables, and will eat them, then the restaurant makes money, the client is happy, right? Well imagine the look of consternation on her face when I told her in Vietnamese I didn't understand, and she frowned, patiently explained to me again that I could have this one OR that one, but not both. After three go rounds this was bordering on ridiculous and I was hungry after eating nothing but tangerines and bananas and pho for about six days so she finally got to the point. Ah. I have to PAY for them both. Oh you stupid American. Silly me. The prices are so low it's criminal anyway, $1.50 for a big steaming plate of delicious spinach. Two bucks for chicken (the bones are free). And that sauce- ginger- and rice. Oh yum. Just delicious. And the market, yes well the market.

The market is down the avenue about three blocks, across a very busy street, which means that once again I am adopting the "grab an old person" method for safety's sake, and that way the two of us benefit. Every street corner a very old man or woman or both are gazing into the onslaught of motorcycles and lifting a vague wave to say, hey guys, can I? which is tantamount to screaming HEY BACK OFF to a tsunami wave. I walk right to their side and present a tall wall, we start out and invariably we make it across. Worked today. The market was very busy for the upcoming Tet Holiday, everyone is selling and buying bright red and yellow you name its.

There were a number of fruit stands, and I tried to buy some tangerines. In this city neighborhood they are twice as expensive as the previous place I stayed and I won't pay it. I selected some from this one guy whose mangoes I'd already chosen. When he gave me the price for the mandarins I said no. But they were bagged and he'd seen the contents of my wallet. I told him what I'd pay but he wouldn't back off a dong. Well if you don't negotiate then you don't get the sale. He tried over and over, same price. No deal. Next stall I see the gastronomic love of my life, the dudu, papaya, and loving the gods above they are ripe. I grab three big heavy yellowing ones, fragrant and ready to go.

Now the gal weighs them for me, they are 20k dong a kilo. She says 59,000 vnd. Got it. No worries. Guy in back stands up and says "That's 20,000 a kilo." Yep, got it. Righto. He points to the papaya and says it again. I'm wondering if he's deaf. I said Toi hieu, but he waves three twenty dong notes at me like I'm either blind or deaf and restates his case. Yes. I know. I say toi hieu three more times. His wife is in the middle of a transaction with someone else right now. Is there something going on that I don't know about here? Is there a candid camera hidden behind the bananas? Guy kneels down and picks up a calculator. Now he's going to show me the numbers. FELLA I GOT THIS, IT'S 59,000 vnd. No worries mate! He starts to come down from where thye both sleep, armed with the calculator as if I have a disease that prevents me from understanding his repeated attempts to explain the price of his wife's fruit. At this point I'm giggling and his wife is starting to repeat my mantra of Toi hieu! Toi hieu! As I hand her my money. Finally he realizes that the transaction's been taken care of and he goes back to his berth.

I've learned from practice as a white women in the markets not to haul my wallet out and let people peer into it, as they will do, for if they see real funds in there, the sales pitch gets overwhelming. So I take out the dong when it's my turn, and not before.

And my wallet, this big ugly clumsy thing, sits under my shirt right where it could be misunderstood as a baby ridin' high, and it gets me many funny looks. And now, with shorts on, and Jock Tape (Rock Tape) strapped to my knees (thanks to my sports chiro, a huge help for hiking), there are both curious stares and occasionally some outbursts which I can't decipher. The tape is terrific for bum knees and sprains, you get it all over the sports stores, and some of them have hilarious designs like nuclear biohazard. I go through a lot of it in training and it is perfect for when you go whack on a trail. You're smokin' when you learn to do your own lower back. All the cyclists wear it now at their races- it's like a badge of honor...dude man I really blew out my knee...yah dude, I blew out my shoulder on a crash man...Years ago someone tried to get me into hang gliding, and I would not. The joke about hang gliding boogies is that nearly every other person is gimping around in a knee brace. Not the case with skydiving. Okay well if you make a really big mistake it doesn't matter, does it, but in jumping you have to screw up two parachutes to do that. With hang gliding all you need to do is stall out at 90 feet, and wham. Bad odds.

But I digress. The papaya, by the way, is like cutting fruit butter, the flesh is such a dark orange, and sweeeeeet, and just at that perfect point of ripeness. Grew up with them in Florida. they're lethal, they are so very good. And terrific for digestive systems. By the time they make it to land locked Denver, from starting out hard green, they aren't very good. So, this is a slice and another and another, of perfection. Mangoes and bananas are piled on my refrigerator, which is further stocked with cold yogurt. Life is very good.

I have one free day tomorrow and then Mekong Delta, and then my final day here. Winding down. Thinking about Tet gifts for my Vietnamese family in Denver. Last minute goodies. No airport souvenir stores. So now that I've got tomorrow to do some checking around for goodies, further suggestions would be welcomed. Got most of my things, art would be hard to transport. But places to check in Saigon?

Thanks again to all.

Crikey, jhubbel, that was a saga.

I will keep this one short.

My husband and his army colleagues fought in Vietnam, went back and built schools and clinics and orphanages, and paid to support Café Koto in Hanoi to train young orphans.

Cheers and happy travels,

Maree,

Maree,

And absolutely, I salute him for his service, dedication and his kindness to the Vietnamese. Not enough of us did the same, in my opinion, but at least some are coming back and learning, working, healing now.

One of the gifts of this trip mentioned a while back was the beginning of an understanding of the conditions for the fighting forces.Only the beginning. But that bit of empathy was so key for helping me to embrace my fellow soldiers and people like your husband. An unimaginable time. Thanks for sharing that. I admire him for his work.

Julia

It’s so wonderful to be able to report that Saigon turned out her prettiest face today, all cool breezes and lovely sunshine, nothing like the pollution and haze of four weeks ago. What a delight today has been. The cycles are still there, but the air and weather are a complete joy, so it’s a great chance to head down to Ritzy Town and find that little shop, Sapa, that Lonely Planet lists as a great place. What is it about tribal wear.


After a yummy omelet and by garsh the biggest and best cuppa joe I’ve had since landing, I headed off with the receptionist’s clear directions (and Lonely Planet’s map) in hand. Blocks flow by, and today it’s a good chance to see what the city fathers have done to keep the motorbike folks from driving on the sidewalks. Not only are there some sleepy guards, but there are some impressive metal devices that would most assuredly send you tip over teakettle should you attempt them at speed.


As you hike towards Ritz Row the streets become avenues become Boulevards, and pretty soon you start seeing Calvin Klein and his peers, and then there’s Dior and his peers. Now any smart women – a smart woman who eats lots of fruit, drinks lots of water and juice and exercises and suffers from what we laughingly refer to as TBS or tiny bladder syndrome- knows, such buildings cater to women who likes a nice loo. So you sidle into the Dior shop, check out the spring offerings (trust me not much) and try to stop from guffawing as a Very Serious Clerk walks behind you and very carefully repositions everything you have just touched precisely back where you might have moved it, as though touching such an august and Terrifically Overpriced item might have somehow offended it. After having done your duty, you then head to the second floor and find the gaudily gorgeous loo which is dedicated to Expensive Women.


One thing I have always adored about the USA and now, online outlets is that I can get the same Dior jacket- it you MUST have it, and I do have a couple- for about 95% off the appalling asking price. Why anyone in her right mind, or his, would purchase such a chunk of sewing at full price is beyond my ken. To those who can afford, my hat is off. But there it is. So you show interest, you take care of business, you saunter out like you own the place. And then you go do some real shopping.



This area is architecturally stunning, these lovely parks and cultured trees and bushes, the New Year’s decorations and Year of the Horse in lights everywhere, the one in 2014 often done in, of course, Pepsi cans. Everyone is also offering New Year’s discounts, real or not, but it’s part of the fun. The receptionist’s directions are just spot on and I find myself angling down this charming little side street which features a bunch of small themed shops far away from the overly grand designer names. Here is Sapa, with the familiar tribal weaves and goods displayed, I feel like I’m almost home. Two girls meet me at the door, I find a place to put things down and go wandering. As a stark contrast to the insanity of the tribal market up north here all is neat and quiet and tidy.



Here you can’t expect to find quite the same bargains as way up north, my guess is the rent is probably pretty high in this district. To balance that, some of their embroidered things are used, had a little love on ‘em, and didn’t match the pricing. I did find some skirts and another apron, and a ridiculously brilliant knock your eyeballs out bag that latched onto my arm and said without any mercy, “you’re taking me HOME, sister.” Well I dunno where I’m going to use it, and I am probably more tailored than this bag lends itself to, but what the hey. For $44 bucks, you really can’t go wrong. It’s just so beautiful in a kind of patchwork, butt ugly way it’s lovable, like a big hairy hound that walks into your life and you can’t fall out of love with.



The gal also led me to a bookshelf to sell me hard on some cards that featured pop up figures, all churches or rice workers or fairies or any sort of delicately cut, fold up miracles. At first I wasn’t intrigued until I started thinking hey, not for me, but for others, who would really appreciate the handwork. I picked out several- wonderful, only one dollar and given the price of our Hallmark greeting cards probably worth far more. As we checked out, the girl informed me that she herself had made them. Well damn, that makes a big difference, at least it does to me, when the artist is right in front of you- I will buy more because now it’s personal.


The gal and I negotiated a few minutes and came up with a most reasonable price, and now I had another problem. Bag weight. Remember what I said about mom’s girdle? We are now beyond both weight and capacity for that poor groaning backpack, and no amount of pushing, pulling, coaxing, cursing and repacking is going to make this work. It’s a massive cost to pay for overweight bags, United is a Grinch on this, so this means I have to find another on-board bag.


Retracing my steps I find one of those typical shops that features knock off North Face, Gucci and Prada and everybody else bags and started shopping. I found a Wilson cheapie, and Madam walks up and offers me my New Year’s discount. 300,000 dong. Okay, I open it up, stuff my purchases into it, it has plenty more room for the rest of my gear, we have a deal. This is what I get for not bringing the “I couldn’t leave it behind bag” which I scrapped due to weight. That’ll learn ya. It just needs to make the journey home, and after that it can go to Goodwill or St. Vincent’s.


Right now it’s 2 pm and I’m heading down the street to the market again, this time to buy some things for my wonderful Vietnamese family back home, who did so very much to help me be more at ease here with language skills and understanding more of the culture.


Clouds are starting to creep in so I’m heading out while the outing is still good. Sleep well all.

Apologies to all, that little shop is on Ton That Thiep street, and I failed to mention the other shop I ducked into whose name I have forgotten but begins with a J. Close to Pasteur street where you make a right. There was lovely lacquerware in the window and some very intriguing household stuff which I don't need but enough so that I had to go peek.

The very unintrusive girls kindly let me wander around, and the entire left hand side of the store was lined with (and forgive me, I do not know the proper name for this garment, it wasn't all the ao dai or the long tunic over pants, but the more Chinese style of long dress with the snap to the chin top. The ao dais were there too. The selection was lined up by every color of the rainbow and then by prints, and it was just stunning. Again, the problem. I don't wear stuff like this at home, and I won't, so while yeah I might fit into one, bringing one home isn't going to work out. I tried to find a short one, but the selection was poor and had worn spots. Ah sad. These gorgeous pieces were museum quality with stunning embroidery and eye-popping colors, soothing pastels, and every kind of material. The rest of this fine little store had just terrific lacquer ware of every kind, some quirky jewelry and eating utensils, and was one of those shops you're glad you found and are sad not to find something from which to bring home.

The hike home was faster since the way back was familiar, and the coming home trip had a gift. Friendly dog under a chair, and for its sweet look it got the Dreaded Butt Scrub and a whole lotta lovin' for as long as the thighs held up, about as long as the owners, who were watching, probably felt at ease with my messin' with their mutt. His cute little feet curled inward when I went after his ears, and I chuckled at my jet black fingertips as I walked away.

Hey Sartoric,
I was thinking while hiking again today, it’s a dangerous thing, thinking. I don’t know how often you travel, but these days I hurl myself to the wolves about three times a year for a month at a time or so. Lots of cultures, lots of blunders, lots of joy. If anything what travel has taught me is that about the only thing worth taking with you is a sense of humor. In my third book, which I’m calling WordFood Exchange, one of the points is this whole business about having to be right about whatever it is we have to be right about, and ultimately how useless that is. Sometimes it makes me wonder about the whole court system and people’s very leaky memories, which DNA has a way of changing many years later. Just as an example.

My coach sent me on this trip with some readings, one of which said that if someone calls you a fool, and he is a child, then there is no reason to be angry. If he calls you a fool and you have been a fool, then there still is no reason to be angry, because it is your work not to be a fool. Either way, there is no reason to be angry. This is just priceless. It speaks to how pretty much everyone comes to us as a teacher. And if you have indeed been a fool, then laugh, and let’s kindly not repeat. If you get angry at someone for pointing out your foolishness, you too are a child and a fool. I love my coach. My toes are crispy critters for how often he’s put them in the fire.

So we can stay home and never be challenged, or go out and make occasional fools of ourselves, and experience the full range of our humanity, what is good and not so good, what is wonderful and far less attractive, and deal with it. It’s like that example I gave in Hoi An of doing what I thought was polite, giving a “gidday” to an old woman which she naturally took as a buying signal, and she was furious as a wasp that it wasn’t. I didn’t mean to annoy her. But I did. There are far better examples on here. That’s why packing along an excellent sense of humor is the best traveling companion.

Yes JH agree a sense of humour is paramount.

I travel a bit. For the last 10 years or so we have tried to cover a lot of the world and also lesser visited parts of Australia.

My husband is a great guy and we travel well together, but I do all the planning and make the bookings.

We leave for Bangkok in less than one week. We are arriving Election Day, which might be fun given the current situation. Flghts on cheap and nasty airline were booked some time ago. We have some travel booked towards the end of our stay, but about 9 days free to roam before going down the Mekong River from Huay Xai to Luang Prabang in Laos.

Recently I've found out that the flight I've booked on Thai airlines from Luang Prabang to Bangkok has been cancelled by the airline. Sense of humour required here. Still not sure what we can do. He's supposed to be back at work the next day, and I have a flight booked to Myanmar.

Such is the drama or comedy of travel.

I really hope you enjoy the delta, We did in March 2011.

Well, you know that area well enough, I'm not a big fan of the buses. Oy. I really, truly hope you can find another option of the aerial kind. And to go during the election, with everything in such an uproar. I haven't checked to see if the king is still alive, it seems it would have been world news if he had passed away but I don't recall hearing anything of the sort. He's such an icon. You're pretty brave.


Looking so forward to the Mekong Delta. The weather is probably going to be a good bit hotter but this is what I packed for - the wicking stuff, shorts, that kind of thing. It sounds like such a great place. The guys that I met in Dong Hoi at the airport had, before doing the caves, spent time in the Mekong and couldn't have been more effusive. I'd gone on line and found kind of an off-beat tour company so we'll see how that goes. He was recommended by a TA expert in VN, so maybe he's a family member. Fine by me. Sometimes it's nice to go with someone like that rather than the big guys if you can get off the well worn trails.


So good to hear you're exploring Oz too, so many of the Aussies I met back when I lived there would go to Bali rather than see the fascinating parts of their own amazing country. Bill Bryson wrote a lovely book about Australia which I adored, with humor and love, and it brought back a million memories. The way he expressed the distances between one place and another in the Outback. The wonderfully twisted sense of humour. The sheer size of the country, which people really can't comprehend when they first come. "Well I'll just shuttle between Melbourne and Sydney, that's about two hours' drive, right?" The plethora of really wicked poisonous things in the ocean, the bush, the sand, in the toilets, the bog, the huge snakes in the garden, the road. An American friend of my mother's who'd moved to Brisbane sent us a photo of one of those enormous snakes that had been run over by a road train. It spanned the entire highway, and had tracks across two places in its body. Who cannot love such a place? Everything is at such a scale.


One of my ultralight instructors out of Geelong sent me a photo of an enormous black snake curled up right underneath a toilet seat cover. I mean, it really makes you think twice about ever sitting down again. We did our practice landings out in the low hills at a chicken farm which had outhouses. The outhouses were inhabited by a certain kind of brown spider, I can't recall the name but you know it, not a friend to us humanoids. We always knew when someone had found one. Or the other way around. I love Australia. What doesn't kill you there makes you a lot stronger.

Well, I do wish you luck with reconnoitering on that flight. Having diggled (I made that word up) my own flight and having to wait three days for another, I hope that's not your fate, given that hubby has work right away. But you're pros.

The flight/ transport issues willl be okay, today I have found some other options that will work. Hopefully, no diggling required. Thanks for the new word, always handy.

Snakes, I have no particular fear but grew up with them ever present. My mother (who is now 91 and still living independantly) used to kill the snakes with a garden spade, that's illegal now of course as they are a protected species. I have a million snake stories, wanna hear about the one that decided to live in our laundry (tightly curled underneath the washing machine) or the many that sought liquid refreshment from the only swimming pool in the immediate area? That was in our backyard, thanks Dad.

Many years later I drove over a snake on the way from Melbourne to Adelaide via the GOR, thought it was a shadow, but as it reared up in the death throw, I realised what had happened in the rear view mirror. I felt very sad that I'd killed a snake, but there's not a lot you can do at 100 kms per hour.

My sister, (it was her car) was worried that it might have joined us in the back seat. It didn't.

Were the spiders funnel webs ? The other killer spiders we have are red backs.

Hope you've had a fantastic day in the delta....

Funnel web!!!!Righteo that was it! I love snakes, I do. Most of the ones we grew up with were totally safe rodent eaters. We'd throw them into the bed and scare the poo out of my mother who liked to throw the covers back to wake us. No rattlers, just big fat milk or black snakes. In fact just today in the Delta there was a guy holding out a python for us to wrap around our necks and I was there in a flash, second in line, to put that heavy gorgeous thing around my scrawny neck like a big necklace. They are so amazing. I'd love to hear your snake stories. What's great about Oz is that you don't have to live in the OB to have these stories. They come slithering right up to you, right in your back yard.

BTW, Jungle Tours, the folks who put on today's tour for the Delta, is as touristy as it gets. A kind of cheesy talk to us by microphone and repeat my name three times and then sing kind of thing. I retreated to my Kindle for the very long bus drives but the occasional river bits were fun. We were promised an opportunity to row a boat but that didn't appear. We did get marched through many opportunities to spend money on souvenirs, and the only ones I bought were coconut candy for my Vietnamese friends back home. I don't know that they like it but I hope they appreciate a little something from home. Watching it being made was kinda cool.

Perhaps what I had hoped for was a little more indepth look at river life rather than being dragged from one shop to the next and walked by souvenir stand after souvenir stand. There was little education about the life, the people, the world of the Mekong Delta which was what I rather thought this tour was about. We drank honey tea and got the pitch for buy five get one free. I'd honestly have preferred to learn about the honey production, seen it, then tasted the tea, and heard about the medicinal properties. I still wouldn't have bought something likely to break and put sticky goo all over my backpack contents but still. It's nice to learn. My guess is that there are other, better tours available than the one I got which really is the tourist trip. That's okay. There are some interesting people along, French and Italian and German and Dutch and that's always fun.

Can Tho is dark, and the hotel is down a dark alley, so it's off to a fruit market and back immediately. I saw some mangoes had my name on 'em.

Just catching up with more of your report, and hugely enjoying it. The episode of being left behind brings back memories of a tour out to Uluru (Ayer's Rock) and the Olgas in the center of Australia. We hit the Olgas first and were given a time limit for hiking the site, and warned that if we were not back in time, the bus would leave. The guide explained that some had focused their trip around sunset at Uluru, and that we would make that deadline no matter what. When we reassembled, there were two people missing. We did indeed leave them - in the middle of the desert - miles from anywhere. I am assuming that the tour company notified the park authority, or radioed someone else to pick them up later, but I'll never know for sure. I and my three children were missed the tour bus leaving from the Alice Springs Post Office, also in the middle of nowhere, because we lost track of the time. We were fortunate that the lone remaining staff member could give us a lift back to town. I know these examples are different from yours, but I think one needs to be fully aware of consequences to not meeting deadlines. In your case, I should think your guide would have had a plan B. If you are still in the Delta, and have options, we spent time (not written about yet) at Jardin du Mekong. We were the only non-Vietnamese at the time. The nearby villages have real markets, not like the one in District 1 in Saigon. And if you have more time in Saigon, there are true markets, much cheaper but further out from the center. And finally try to see the AO show at the Opera House in HCMC. Super super super!

The one and only great sadness that I have is having spent four years in the great Oz and never seeing Ayers Rock. Your story reminds me of this failing. It does however underscore that sometimes there are deadlines and the guide has to meet them, and in our case we did, but our van was already gone by then. I think the fear of abandonment lurks deep inside us all, and especially when we're in a foreign land where we don't speak the language and it's terribly unfamilar, there are no facilities, no way to make a call, that kind of thing. When I spoke at length to our guide's manager, he had a good chuckle when he said that he himself had gone out with the guy and could hardly keep up. So his propensity to go way too fast was not just with our group. It was his habit, and it was indeed unnecessary, particularly if you know someone is fighting to keep up after a fall. It didn't help in our case that the other couple was hiding condescension behind what they called kindness which was, despite Courtney's strongly worded arguments, evident to me. That's what ended up making it unnecessarily unpleasant.

I appreciate the suggestions. We go back tonight and I have one more day, unscripted, and we'll see what I can do with it. Believe me this has been a magnificent trip all around. I can't be more grateful for all the introspection, insight, gorgeous scenery, beautiful people, general stumblings and everything else that happened. As in all travels the suggestions that have appeared on this thread have been so very useful. All of them.

Yesterday was our second day on the Jungle Tours trip, and it was far more educational, and in that regard, a lot more fun. We gathered the troops in the foyer of our simple hotel in Can Tho and walked to the boat dock, and our guide directed us to load ourselves into two motored boats. As we chugged towards the floating market, our first stop of the morning, he explained the reasoning behind the red backed white eyes that nearly every boat has on the bow: the tradition is that the boat owner wants to scare off the water spirits when the winds and waves come, so thence, big bad eyeballs. Suddenly you can't NOT see them on nearly all the boats.


I'm sure everyone on board had heard about the humidity of Mekong Delta- and the heat- which we simply didn't get. The winds were cool and pleasant and there was little, if any, real humidity to dampen the day. After about 45 minutes' chugging along our guide announced that we were approaching the Can Tho floating market, which we'd seen signs of already. Alongside our boat were small and large vessels carrying the current season's biggest crop, melons, along with onions and turnips and pineapples and every other conceivable vegetable and fruit from this very lush area. And from as far away as you could imagine. The six country long Mekong (Tibet to Vietnam, I'd had no clue) supports and feeds an incredible number of people and right here commerce culminates in this wonderful free for all. Just before Tet, there is a great proliferation of yellow carnations for longevity, and some of the boats are jammed full of them, and they appear absolutely everywhere- all over the country-but even more so here as the growers row them to market.


Here we see melons being tossed one by one up or down, pineapples being peeled, a boat selling bananas and cut pineapple sidles up to us, a boy about 7 shouting out his wares. And we buy them, too. The Mekong is in explosive activity, a delight for the eye, not at all what I had imagined in my mind's eye (which is precisely why I don't put much investment in what I think I'm going to see anymore). We chew on popsicles made of pineapple and finger bananas, and watch commerce, going on since 4 am, as people do their best to be done and on their way home for Tet as quickly as possible. The boat's designations like DT indicate what province they are from, like a Cambodian city, and just how far they need to travel to be home in time. Hence, the sense of urgency.

Having spent about an hour right in the midst of all this hectic activity, and stopping for fresh pineapple and a climb atop the boat to get bird's eye photographs of the river with all its residents and the hyperactivity, we headed on to the noodle factory.


Each stop along the river to see various factories seemed like a step back in time, the simplest of all processes to make a product, the use of every part of a plant to ensure recylcing and no waste. This was most assuredly the case with the rice noodles. We wound our way through a series of houses and alleys and bridge overpasses and stopped at a small outfit where there was much focused work afoot.


Under the roof, a woman was pouring rice flour onto two steaming platters, each then was covered for 30 sections with a metal cone. After thirty seconds the cone was lifted and a man would carefully roll the delicate, slightly yellow cooked rice film off and then, just as carefully, roll it flat into a series of four round "plates" onto bamboo. These would be stacked and later set out to dry in the sun. What heated the rice mixture were rice husks, the burned rice husks were used as fertilizer.


After the rice plates, as it were, were dry enough they were lightly treated with oil and pushed through a cutter, which produced thinly sliced noodles. Previously this was done with a big knife, so the machine that now does this is a huge advance.


We were offered deep fried noodles but some soul had slathered it with chilis and that was the end of it for me, so I dove into my backpack for a banana. God what a wimp.


What I so loved about this particular look into industry was the smooth, lyrical movement of the flow of work. Three people: someone tending the fire and the husks, the woman cooking the rice mixture, the man lifting and placing the cooked dough. The simple efficiency of these movements and the pleasant conversation among them, being tolerant of our presence and patient with our curiosity and questions. I used to pack thousands of eggs for my dad's chicken farm back in the sixties, and it took some time before I could find the right set up and economy of movement to make the work flow economic. I was about 10 at the time and I remember the pleasure it gave me to work out a system that shaved half an hour or more off the entire process. There was a flow and synthesis to this work that reminded me a little of that, but this was watching three people whose movements depended entirely on each others' timing. Like ballet. It was quite a pleasure to watch.


Our guide explained that the VN government hankered a bit after the riverfront property along the Mekong, but the challenge it faced was the number of people who lived there, worked there, and conducted commerce along it. No matter that they are poor. The question is where are you going to put river people if you move them? They all own boats in the same way that every Saigonian owns a motorcycle, or everyone in Sa Pa has a bike or good sandals. Each one of those residents would have to be compensated for what would be a very real loss not only of house and home but also of his/her livelihood. What's a riverman to do without the river? You can put up a pricey hotel but if you displace several hundred or thousand people to do so, you might ultimately be paying out a great deal more over time- and anger a great deal more. So they haven't done a thing, is my understanding, and life goes on. Guide didn't go into great detail on this.


We did see that they like to party, however. As we we were carried along towards the rice factory, we could hear stupendous noise emanating from one of the promontories on the river. As we drew closer we could make out that there was some sort of party going on. Along our side of the boat we took to waving, they waved back, and pretty soon the guys in the party started dancing. So did we. They were definitely having a good time. Karaoke, I think. Whatever they were drinking, I think my boat wanted some. We all took photos of each other and we waved until we could no longer see or hear them.


There was a "beach" of sorts along this particular tributary. Strewn with garbage, as much of the river was that I could see. It floated in the river too, the ubiquitous plastic bags, the styofoam containers, fruit. The shore was awash with trash. The houses and buildings looked to be mostly tin, many rusted, and you could easily tell which were shops and which were homes. One woman stood in a washbin and worked the day's clothing with her feet, soap up to her calves.


We arrived at a rice production facility and had the chance to see the heavy (50kg +) bags laid out, and see the different productions from that facility. The guide regaled us with rice history, including the famines, human life lost, cost of the Viet Nam/American war, to the current stats of Viet Nam's being the world's largest rice producer (I think coffee too, or at least those are the claims).

Hi JH

Good to hear that you enjoyed the second day on the delta. Did you see the tiny little skinned rats for sale in the market ? Yummy, I think not !

I saw a brick factory which was interesting. I was also impressed with the sympatico cooperation between workers and that there appeared to be little waste of any part of the plant, like using the rice husks for fuel.

Enjoy your last day in VN.

Jungle Travel was our tour operator, and I just wrote them up on TA. This was one of those really good lessons in going "cheep." I probably will steer clear of cheap again. What I will say and have said before in other long country threads is that there are fool guides, and that they are often given microphones, and when you are unlucky enough to get stuck on a bus or a boat with one you just sometimes want to shoot yourself and get it over with. Guy wants to sing karaoke, get you to practice words, get cutesy, it is the worst of low brow tourist horse manure. And there you are stuck with it.

So what you have to do, as I did, was concentrate on things like stepping aside to get wound up with a python, intently studying the scenery, or focusing hard on your Kindle when he won't. SHUT.UP. When he does divulge something interesting, which is rare, it's valuable. That's what I came for. But this turned out to be a cattle car tourist tour and that's precisely what you get for about fifty bucks, and that one is on me.

We did at least have some free time for lunch (on us of course) in Can Tho, and that allowed me to do some shopping on the pier which was adjacent to the restaurant. There were some cool things in there. There's a fireman who rents my house down in Durango, southwestern Colorado, and I always buy him an XXL T-shirt in country, and those are always available. It was time to find one. So here they were, and a better selection of embroidered dragons. I asked for a particular size, one girl didn't have them, shifted to another shop, the guy had them but wanted 100,000 dong. Then I realized, XXL Vietnamese sizing wasn't going to work on my buddy Paul. I go back to the girl for the XXXL and she sells it to me, no negotiation for 40,000 vnd. Whatta deal.

Encouraged, I wandered further. A few people on here had advised art, and one booth that I backed into featured something that I really liked. These pictures are sewn, scenes from Vietnamese life. Some are cartoonish, but others are really evocative and well done. The ones I liked best speak to rice production and the sewing takes up the whole frame. Not cheap, but I really like them. By the time the woman and I are done we have covered all her goods with these pictures and I suspect she thinks I'm going to buy her out. Nope, just two, but still, it's a 700,000 sale for her and she is very happy, as I am. This reverberates down the booths and no sooner do I wrap up with her than the neighbor has me in a death grip and is showing me pillow covers. Got some. T-shirts? Got one. Oh but...

I just can't recommend Jungle Travel. Other reviews on the site are much more damaging than mine. I rarely give one star because there's usually something out of what you do that you can appreciate, and there really were some good things. I'd had plenty of chances to book a more expensive, more exclusive Mekong Delta tour and I should have. Just a really good piece of learning for me. This outfit just caters to a different type of tourist.



Yesterday afternoon was one very long string of changing buses and long drives, and getting a taxi back to this charming hotel. My room was left alone as requested. Right now it's 10:30 on my very very very last day and I have some shopping to do. Coffee for my coffee lover Paul and a few others, a lacquer item or two, and food for the long trip.


Through my tall windows I can see bright sunshine, hear the beeps of motorcycles. I have twelve more hours here. And until about nine o'clock when my final taxi leave this da'ap lam country, I'm going to enjoy every single second of it. Sleep well all.

Da'ap lam: beautiful. Sorry.

I really forgot. Tet holiday. Wandered out on the street and while the traffic is still going strong, and the street vendors are out, the stores are largely shut down. Well then. Where's a girl with a buncha dong burning a hole in her pocket to go? I did score a face mask- and there's a reason for this. I was reasearching the Everest Base Camp hike and one of the very smart points that a guy from Outdoor magazine made was that there is a great deal of particulate matter that the wind throws in your face during the hike in springtime resulting in what they call the "Khombu Cough" which I probably misspelled. I bought one of the local motorcyclist's facemasks as a precaution against this, although part of me thinks that it will block the already thin thin air that you're struggling to breathe. But you can always take it off. Doesn't hurt to spend a dollar on it and take it along. Wouldn't it be cool if it turns out to be perfect?

You are perhaps on your way home, but like your write-up on buying a face mask. I travelled with a light weight scarf which was used alternately as a face guard or wipe-down tool. Ycch I agree, but it worked for me. Funniest face mask story we had was seeing a woman and her dog on a motorbike - each with a mask! Asked our friend about that and said it was probably more to protect the dog's nose against sunburn. Not so funny that they worry about sunburn or pollution, but not about the safety threat by carrying their pets or more often their children on motorbikes.

Hope you think twice before you decide to use the mask on an Everest Base Camp Hike.

Marija,

I am all ears. My research has all indicated that a face mask is a necessary part of the equipment. What I figure is that you can always bring one to have if you need it for the conditions, and if you struggle breathing through it, remove it. If you have experience, please tell. Dust was not a problem on Kili, we don't get that typically in the Rockies. It's a different condition. And after that rather ridiculous dustup about inadequate shoes with Oxalis I'm not going to let that kind of thing sideswipe me again.

The facemasks in Vietnam are of course cotton, and I tested them out for that very reason to see if they are challenging to breathe through. Some are, and I found one that is loose. Since I used a balaclava on Kilimanjaro on ascent night I've got some experience with hit and while they're not fun, they can be helpful. The one I got covers the lower face to keep out the dust as described by the Outside Magazine writer. He also used a buff, which he said was very hot and caused a lot of fogging. So I ordered a pack of the more standard dust masks. They are so very light they aren't going to be much in the pack. Classic case of better to have and not use than the other way around. The Julbos I've got are designed to limit the amount of fogging but some of it is just inevitable. What may be is that by the time I go- mid to late May- the dusty conditions may well be cleared up and by that time it's more a matter of cloud cover obscuring the gorgeous peaks. I will say this about gear, though, I just scored a terrific pair of Keens on ebay, and everything they say about them about not needing a break in period is ridiculously- true. Got 'em on right now. May not ever take them off again. I'm going to move this discussion over to that forum area, and close this off, as I am (ya!) home, it's snowing, I've been up since 1 am- god dontcha love jet lag, and the season's taped wild card games are playing in my living room as I take care of a month's worth of business. Again thank you to all for your excellent company and comments on this forum. You've been wonderful and that really does mean everyone.

Oh I forgot- attitudegirl, loved your story about the doggiewithfacemask. The issue I have, and there's no answer for it, is that there is no restraining device for anyone or anything carried as a passenger. So infant or puppy makes no difference, if the motorcycle comes to a nasty halt, they become projectiles. I saw that happen in a very sad way in the middle of an intersection when a drunk father, carrying his two very young boys on his motorcyle, ran out in front of a big tourbus in the middle of the road and got walloped. The boys were flown hard across the road, the motorbike was crushed, and the tour bus continued on its merry way. What troubled me the most was that the man clearly was more angry about the damage to his bike than the potential damage to his two offspring, who seemed to have made it through that grisly accident without too much road burn. This was not in a major city but in one of the isolated towns way in the far northwest, somewhere perhaps about 200 or more km SW of Sa pa. Lonely Planet makes a point about helmets, too, saying that if you are going to do VN with a motorbike, bring your own noggin gear. What they have there are eggshells and offer no protection at all. So you really do kinda take your life in your hands if you use one to get around. I didn't. I know it's an essential part of life and people there really truly are very adept with them- from very young- but mixing alcohol with any kind of transport doesn't work very well.

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