From Nha Trang to Mui Ne, with a 2 night stop through Da Lat, high up in the central highlands of Vietnam
Wednesday, 11 March 2015
Sunday, 8 March 2015
An afternoon in a temple with a bar girl
I am having a very humbling day here in Nha Trang, as I write these lines in a little notebook at a small temple on top of a hill overlooking the city. Tin and her cousins are taking me out for a meal and a prayer. I feel under dressed in my swimsuit (it's laundry day).
I met Tin last night while going home. She is a flyer girl / waitress in a bar in town. She handed me a flyer but I told her that I was going to bed. She asked me why, am I on a holiday after all? I told her I'm trying to get used to getting up early, because I am a teacher. She grabbed my wrist, her eyes getting bigger. "Can you help me? Lesson?" I answered "Sure, tomorrow, 10 am, I give you a lesson, you buy me a coffee". With a huge smile she shakes my hand and says, yes, thank you, see you tomorrow!
Today. Tin tells me she hopes to have a boyfriend either from Canada, Holland, Germany or Poland because men from these countries are always nice (Nha Trang is over-run by Russians, last night one man asked if he could buy her a beer and fuck her, she slapped him, he slapped her back and was kicked out of the bar). Vietnamese boyfriends drink everyday, she tells me, and hit their girlfriends when they're drunk, like it happened to her cousin who is with us. She is pretty, with a smoking body and delicate manners. I notice for the first time, what I mistook for a small birthmark under her right eye, is in fact a bruise concealed by make-up.
Tin is praying right now, on her knees, forehead resting on the back of her hands, on the floor. She is praying to a lady Buddha, perched on a lotus, on top of a globe, itself towering over a shrine and steps.
It is very quiet here, compared to the buzzing city centre. Little dogs are sleeping everywhere and cripples wait patiently for a hand out. An old woman with tiny legs, sitting on the ground, looks at me and says "Money" while holding in her hands small bills. I thank her and pretend to take the money, everyone laughs. I am left alone after that. A monk in brown robes, wearing glasses, is copying a text from a small book onto cardboard while serving people who want to buy water, fruit, incense. The smell of incense fills the air.
The small temple has no roof. It is built on top of a conic tower, you drive in circles around it to get to the top. There are small shrines at every cardinal points of the platform.
The monk is preparing for a ceremony, setting a pillow at the foot of the stairs. he also sets a small table and boxes of beer that appear very light, full of little holes.
He kneels on the pillow, in front of the statue where Tin was praying earlier, prepares his microphone, puts on his reading glasses.
A Lasapso, absolutely dirty, scratches himself on the shrine's steps, not too far away.
The monk rings a bell a few times and starts his prayer. Women kneel behind him for prayer.
At a certain point, he hits the bell 3 times and everyone bows to the ground, before he starts chanting.
Tin tells me she comes here to pray every day. I ask her what she prays for. As I thought, she is praying for a boyfriend, for a good man to come to her. She said she also prayed for me, that I will find work in Saigon and meet a beautiful woman.
Many people just arrived, probably from work, on their lunch break. The monk is still chanting.
Minutes later, a lot of the people who gave water bottles as offerings - set at the foot of the statue on a golden altar with rising golden dragons - are taking them back and drinking from them. I ask Tin why they take the water back. She takes her own water bottle and tells me "I tell the Buddha, I will drink this whole bottle of water that I gave you, to show you my devotion. When I finish it, please reward me with a good man".
The monk now dips a big yellow flower in a bowl of water, delicately, to then bless whatever is in the boxes of beer in front of him.
Tin is next to me, speaking with her cousin. She is crying. When they are done, I ask her why she is crying. She is crying but she is strong, she tells me. She meets lots of men at the bar, but none are nice to her. She had a westerner boyfriend, but she left him when he started convincing her that it was okay for him to sleep with other women. She had a Vietnamese boyfriend as well, but he was treating her like property. Another Vietnamese man proposed to her, for she is always smiling and he wants a happy wife. He gave her 10 million Dongs so she could buy pretty clothes. In the end, she turned him down, because he was 50, the same age as her father.
The other bar girls tell her she is stupid, because she will not fuck men for money. An American offered 5 million Dongs for her "just to come to his hotel room and sleep in his bed, nothing else". She did not take the offer. Most bar girls make 2 million Dongs a month. She doesn't care about money, she wants love, from a good man.
As we talk, I miss the opening of the beer boxes. The monk let out the blessed birds within. When this was done, he came barefeet to sit at our ceramic table and speak with the girls. His eyes are surrounded by smiling lines, his eyes appear completely honest. He smiles a lot. I think he is giving them advice. He looks at me often and I think he is asking questions about me.
After that, everyone went for a nap, while I retreated to my hotel room to plan the next few days. The day after, I would take Tin to the Ba Ho waterfalls where we would play a little bit in the cascades, watch a group of Vietnamese people drink beer and play music, and clandestinely look at a couple in their forties, cuddling in a pool of water, kissing. This is not a scene you see often, as people are very reserved here.
That night, Tin tells me I am a very good man, because I did not ask her for boom boom and offered to give her lessons instead. She tells me that I should stay in Nha Trang, that she will cook for me every day. She asks if I want kids. Jokingly, I say, I want 10. She answers, I will give you 20. I will start with a baby boy.
I tell her, you don't know me. I've made a few girls sad in my life, she should not give herself to me so easily. I am going to Saigon to work, and I might never come back to Nha Trang.
"I wait for you. 10 years. You will be 40, I will be 33. Then I give you a baby boy, and I cook for you"
"Don't wait for me. Live your life."
"Okay. Thank you for being honest."
If you take the time to get to know people, if you give your time to them, you are often rewarded with smiles and good memories. My stay in Nha Trang was no exception. Sometimes though, you get to be hit in the face full-force by the reality of their lives.
Keep your head up, Tin. Good things will come to you.
I met Tin last night while going home. She is a flyer girl / waitress in a bar in town. She handed me a flyer but I told her that I was going to bed. She asked me why, am I on a holiday after all? I told her I'm trying to get used to getting up early, because I am a teacher. She grabbed my wrist, her eyes getting bigger. "Can you help me? Lesson?" I answered "Sure, tomorrow, 10 am, I give you a lesson, you buy me a coffee". With a huge smile she shakes my hand and says, yes, thank you, see you tomorrow!
Today. Tin tells me she hopes to have a boyfriend either from Canada, Holland, Germany or Poland because men from these countries are always nice (Nha Trang is over-run by Russians, last night one man asked if he could buy her a beer and fuck her, she slapped him, he slapped her back and was kicked out of the bar). Vietnamese boyfriends drink everyday, she tells me, and hit their girlfriends when they're drunk, like it happened to her cousin who is with us. She is pretty, with a smoking body and delicate manners. I notice for the first time, what I mistook for a small birthmark under her right eye, is in fact a bruise concealed by make-up.
Tin is praying right now, on her knees, forehead resting on the back of her hands, on the floor. She is praying to a lady Buddha, perched on a lotus, on top of a globe, itself towering over a shrine and steps.
It is very quiet here, compared to the buzzing city centre. Little dogs are sleeping everywhere and cripples wait patiently for a hand out. An old woman with tiny legs, sitting on the ground, looks at me and says "Money" while holding in her hands small bills. I thank her and pretend to take the money, everyone laughs. I am left alone after that. A monk in brown robes, wearing glasses, is copying a text from a small book onto cardboard while serving people who want to buy water, fruit, incense. The smell of incense fills the air.
The small temple has no roof. It is built on top of a conic tower, you drive in circles around it to get to the top. There are small shrines at every cardinal points of the platform.
The monk is preparing for a ceremony, setting a pillow at the foot of the stairs. he also sets a small table and boxes of beer that appear very light, full of little holes.
He kneels on the pillow, in front of the statue where Tin was praying earlier, prepares his microphone, puts on his reading glasses.
A Lasapso, absolutely dirty, scratches himself on the shrine's steps, not too far away.
The monk rings a bell a few times and starts his prayer. Women kneel behind him for prayer.
At a certain point, he hits the bell 3 times and everyone bows to the ground, before he starts chanting.
Tin tells me she comes here to pray every day. I ask her what she prays for. As I thought, she is praying for a boyfriend, for a good man to come to her. She said she also prayed for me, that I will find work in Saigon and meet a beautiful woman.
Many people just arrived, probably from work, on their lunch break. The monk is still chanting.
Minutes later, a lot of the people who gave water bottles as offerings - set at the foot of the statue on a golden altar with rising golden dragons - are taking them back and drinking from them. I ask Tin why they take the water back. She takes her own water bottle and tells me "I tell the Buddha, I will drink this whole bottle of water that I gave you, to show you my devotion. When I finish it, please reward me with a good man".
The monk now dips a big yellow flower in a bowl of water, delicately, to then bless whatever is in the boxes of beer in front of him.
Tin is next to me, speaking with her cousin. She is crying. When they are done, I ask her why she is crying. She is crying but she is strong, she tells me. She meets lots of men at the bar, but none are nice to her. She had a westerner boyfriend, but she left him when he started convincing her that it was okay for him to sleep with other women. She had a Vietnamese boyfriend as well, but he was treating her like property. Another Vietnamese man proposed to her, for she is always smiling and he wants a happy wife. He gave her 10 million Dongs so she could buy pretty clothes. In the end, she turned him down, because he was 50, the same age as her father.
The other bar girls tell her she is stupid, because she will not fuck men for money. An American offered 5 million Dongs for her "just to come to his hotel room and sleep in his bed, nothing else". She did not take the offer. Most bar girls make 2 million Dongs a month. She doesn't care about money, she wants love, from a good man.
As we talk, I miss the opening of the beer boxes. The monk let out the blessed birds within. When this was done, he came barefeet to sit at our ceramic table and speak with the girls. His eyes are surrounded by smiling lines, his eyes appear completely honest. He smiles a lot. I think he is giving them advice. He looks at me often and I think he is asking questions about me.
After that, everyone went for a nap, while I retreated to my hotel room to plan the next few days. The day after, I would take Tin to the Ba Ho waterfalls where we would play a little bit in the cascades, watch a group of Vietnamese people drink beer and play music, and clandestinely look at a couple in their forties, cuddling in a pool of water, kissing. This is not a scene you see often, as people are very reserved here.
That night, Tin tells me I am a very good man, because I did not ask her for boom boom and offered to give her lessons instead. She tells me that I should stay in Nha Trang, that she will cook for me every day. She asks if I want kids. Jokingly, I say, I want 10. She answers, I will give you 20. I will start with a baby boy.
I tell her, you don't know me. I've made a few girls sad in my life, she should not give herself to me so easily. I am going to Saigon to work, and I might never come back to Nha Trang.
"I wait for you. 10 years. You will be 40, I will be 33. Then I give you a baby boy, and I cook for you"
"Don't wait for me. Live your life."
"Okay. Thank you for being honest."
If you take the time to get to know people, if you give your time to them, you are often rewarded with smiles and good memories. My stay in Nha Trang was no exception. Sometimes though, you get to be hit in the face full-force by the reality of their lives.
Keep your head up, Tin. Good things will come to you.
Wednesday, 4 March 2015
Un peu d'aventure, enfin
Je suis assis dans ma chambre sans fenêtre dans un petit hotel à Nha Trang, No Use For A Name dans les oreilles. La table est trop petite et croche, ça me fait mal au dos. Il fait chaud, mais tout va bien.
Ma route de Quang Ngai à Quy Nhon a été très satisfaisante. Pas les premières 4 heures, à dépasser des 18 roues avec 6 pouces d'espace entre les roues à ma gauche et la garnotte à ma droite. Pas quand l'autoroute A1 est en construction et c'est plein d'énorme trous que les autobus essayent d'éviter sans crier gare ou que (les trous) massacrent ma belle Lucie. Mais c'est que, à Xa Cat Hanh j'ai décidé de virer vers l'est pour aller explorer un peu, relaxer, voir du pays. C'est vers la côte. J'avais vu qu'une "grande" route était marquée sur Google Maps. Grâce à mon cellulaire et les internets, j'ai pas manqué le virage (une petite route à une voie en ciment).
Dès que j'ai fait ce virage je me suis senti immédiatement récompensé. De toutes petites maisons jonchaient chaque bord de la route. Des fois, des maisons à 3-4 étages qui abritent un petit café ou un karaoké. Des enfants jouent avec rien ou bien se promène en moto sur les genoux du grand-papa, énorme sourire aux lèvres. Les chiens semblent plus heureux ici, aussi.
Je ne sais pas si c'est parce qu'ils ont moins de voyageurs qui passent par là mais personne ne me remarquait et m'envoyait la main. D'habitude je suis "spotté" à 1 mile, avec ma vieille moto et ma carrure d'étranger.
Je regarde l'heure: 2pm. J'ai le temps. Il me reste 100km à franchir et il commence à faire noir vers 6pm. Je ralentis. Subitement, les maisons disparaissent pour des mètres et je suis frappé par la beauté du paysage qu'elles cachaient. À ma gauche, des champs de riz à n'en plus finir. Vert, si vert. Des fois, des sacs de plastiques accrochés après des bouts de bois sont arrangés pour ressembler à des humains. Leurs épouvantails! Couvert d'un chapeau conique, c'est très convainquant.
À ma droite, des champs de riz aussi, mais à environs 1 km des petites montagnes cernent le village. C'est tellement beau! Je ne suis pas capable de m'en empêcher, je débarque et me lance en mode photo. Cette fois-ci, les gens m'envoient la main.
La route devient de plus en plus petite, des fois ce n'est qu'un chemin de sable. De tout petits enfants se promènent. Je roule lentement. J'ai une pensée pour Don Det, mon coin de paradis au Laos.
Arrivé au bout d'un village j'aboutit devant un énorme champ de riz traversé au parfait milieu par une petite route. J'ai l'impression que je suis Moïse séparant l'eau. À ma gauche, des maisons au loin, et après, je m'imagine la mer. L'Océan avec un grand O. À droite, les charmantes petites montagnes. Je crois qu'il y a eu une récolte il n'y a pas si longtemps: au loin, des femmes sont affairées à refaire les terrains en carré pour planter le riz, les chevilles dans la boue. Je m'arrête juste avant les champs, devant la dernière maison, pour apprécier la vue (et prendre des photos). À ma droite, 1 homme est en train de réparer un tracteur sous l'ombre d'une toile en plastique. 2 autres hommes le regardent faire, sans un mot, en buvant du thé.
"Hey! You!"
Je me retourne. Un jeune homme et 4 filles me disent d'approcher à la façon Viet (lève ton bras bien haut comme pour pauser une question à l'école et fait des allos juste avec la main et le poignet, de haut en bas). Je rigole et vais les voir.
Surprise, on ne se comprend pas. Tout le monde rigole nerveusement. Une fille est affairée à faire un nouveau filet, ou un nouveau hamac. On m'offre de l'eau froide. Avec Google Translate sur mon téléphone, ils arrivent à me poser les questions habituelles. Je devrais juste avoir une petite carte à distribuer en Viet, c'est toujours les mêmes, dans le même ordre. I'm from Canada. I am not married. I am 30 years old. Yes, I love Vietnam. No thank you, no alcohol, I have a long way to drive still.
Un des hommes qui ne faisait rien de l'autre côté du chemin se lève lentement, traverse la rue et me pointe. Ensuite, il pointe la fille affairée au filet. Ensuite il me donne un Thumbs Up et un air accomplit. Et voilà, je me suis trouvé une femme! Tout le monde s'esclaffe. Je décline poliment.
Après quelques minutes je continue ma route enchanteresse. Après environs 30 minutes, le paysage change. Ça devient plus rocailleux. Des petites collines et de gros éclats de boulets partout, comme si un géant avait apprit que sa blonde le trompait, et avait frappé à grand coups de poings dans la planète pour se défouler.
Dans la gravelle. Je déteste conduire dans la gravelle. J'arrive devant une autre scène qui me force à descendre et m'arrêter. Jonché sur le flanc de la colline, un cimetière, un gros. Une famille est assise à l'ombre d'une des tombes (on dirait un sarcophage en céramique). Je ne sais pas si ils sont venus prier ou s'occuper des vaches qui broutent partout depuis que les champs de riz sont disparus. On m'invite encore à me joindre à eux. J'oblige.
Les petites madames m'adorent. Tout le monde rit. Les enfants rigolent. Un vieil homme tout bronzé avec quelques dents manquantes me part une jasette semi en Viet, semi en riant, et finalement pointe vers une fille qui à l'air beaucoup trop jeune. "You!" Et encore, thumbs up. Tout le monde se crampe de rire. La fille sourit mais recule. Elle a peur! C'est qui l'étranger qui se magasine une dulcinée dans un cimetière!
Je prends quelques photos et répond à leurs questions (Canada, pas marié, 30 ans) et reprend la route. Route qui maintenant longe l'océan. C'est majestueux. Je suis tellement content d'avoir prit ce détour!
J'arrive à Quy Nhon juste à la tombée de la nuit. Je trouve un petit hotel pas cher, mange une Phö, vais me promener sur le bord de la mer, et reste immobile devant une géante discothèque pendant quelques minutes (J'y vais-tu? Tout seul? Pourquoi pas? Che pas, c'est plate... Bah, tu sais que les Viets vont venir te voir pour jaser! Mais je vais surement finir par dépenser trop d'argent... Et pi je veux juste y aller pour rencontrer des filles et toutes manières c'est même pas un bec sur la joue avant une relation sérieuse... Mais c'est pas en restant dans ta chambre que tu vas en rencontrer! Ah pi merde, je suis pas ici pour rencontrer des filles. Ouin, va donc faire des push ups...) avant de retourner dans ma chambre écouter des films et essayer de mémoriser tout ce que j'ai vu aujourd'hui... Et faire des push ups.
Voici les photos, dites-moi si mes descriptions ont créé la bonne image dans votre imagination!
Ma route de Quang Ngai à Quy Nhon a été très satisfaisante. Pas les premières 4 heures, à dépasser des 18 roues avec 6 pouces d'espace entre les roues à ma gauche et la garnotte à ma droite. Pas quand l'autoroute A1 est en construction et c'est plein d'énorme trous que les autobus essayent d'éviter sans crier gare ou que (les trous) massacrent ma belle Lucie. Mais c'est que, à Xa Cat Hanh j'ai décidé de virer vers l'est pour aller explorer un peu, relaxer, voir du pays. C'est vers la côte. J'avais vu qu'une "grande" route était marquée sur Google Maps. Grâce à mon cellulaire et les internets, j'ai pas manqué le virage (une petite route à une voie en ciment).
Dès que j'ai fait ce virage je me suis senti immédiatement récompensé. De toutes petites maisons jonchaient chaque bord de la route. Des fois, des maisons à 3-4 étages qui abritent un petit café ou un karaoké. Des enfants jouent avec rien ou bien se promène en moto sur les genoux du grand-papa, énorme sourire aux lèvres. Les chiens semblent plus heureux ici, aussi.
Je ne sais pas si c'est parce qu'ils ont moins de voyageurs qui passent par là mais personne ne me remarquait et m'envoyait la main. D'habitude je suis "spotté" à 1 mile, avec ma vieille moto et ma carrure d'étranger.
Je regarde l'heure: 2pm. J'ai le temps. Il me reste 100km à franchir et il commence à faire noir vers 6pm. Je ralentis. Subitement, les maisons disparaissent pour des mètres et je suis frappé par la beauté du paysage qu'elles cachaient. À ma gauche, des champs de riz à n'en plus finir. Vert, si vert. Des fois, des sacs de plastiques accrochés après des bouts de bois sont arrangés pour ressembler à des humains. Leurs épouvantails! Couvert d'un chapeau conique, c'est très convainquant.
À ma droite, des champs de riz aussi, mais à environs 1 km des petites montagnes cernent le village. C'est tellement beau! Je ne suis pas capable de m'en empêcher, je débarque et me lance en mode photo. Cette fois-ci, les gens m'envoient la main.
La route devient de plus en plus petite, des fois ce n'est qu'un chemin de sable. De tout petits enfants se promènent. Je roule lentement. J'ai une pensée pour Don Det, mon coin de paradis au Laos.
Arrivé au bout d'un village j'aboutit devant un énorme champ de riz traversé au parfait milieu par une petite route. J'ai l'impression que je suis Moïse séparant l'eau. À ma gauche, des maisons au loin, et après, je m'imagine la mer. L'Océan avec un grand O. À droite, les charmantes petites montagnes. Je crois qu'il y a eu une récolte il n'y a pas si longtemps: au loin, des femmes sont affairées à refaire les terrains en carré pour planter le riz, les chevilles dans la boue. Je m'arrête juste avant les champs, devant la dernière maison, pour apprécier la vue (et prendre des photos). À ma droite, 1 homme est en train de réparer un tracteur sous l'ombre d'une toile en plastique. 2 autres hommes le regardent faire, sans un mot, en buvant du thé.
"Hey! You!"
Je me retourne. Un jeune homme et 4 filles me disent d'approcher à la façon Viet (lève ton bras bien haut comme pour pauser une question à l'école et fait des allos juste avec la main et le poignet, de haut en bas). Je rigole et vais les voir.
Surprise, on ne se comprend pas. Tout le monde rigole nerveusement. Une fille est affairée à faire un nouveau filet, ou un nouveau hamac. On m'offre de l'eau froide. Avec Google Translate sur mon téléphone, ils arrivent à me poser les questions habituelles. Je devrais juste avoir une petite carte à distribuer en Viet, c'est toujours les mêmes, dans le même ordre. I'm from Canada. I am not married. I am 30 years old. Yes, I love Vietnam. No thank you, no alcohol, I have a long way to drive still.
Un des hommes qui ne faisait rien de l'autre côté du chemin se lève lentement, traverse la rue et me pointe. Ensuite, il pointe la fille affairée au filet. Ensuite il me donne un Thumbs Up et un air accomplit. Et voilà, je me suis trouvé une femme! Tout le monde s'esclaffe. Je décline poliment.
Après quelques minutes je continue ma route enchanteresse. Après environs 30 minutes, le paysage change. Ça devient plus rocailleux. Des petites collines et de gros éclats de boulets partout, comme si un géant avait apprit que sa blonde le trompait, et avait frappé à grand coups de poings dans la planète pour se défouler.
Dans la gravelle. Je déteste conduire dans la gravelle. J'arrive devant une autre scène qui me force à descendre et m'arrêter. Jonché sur le flanc de la colline, un cimetière, un gros. Une famille est assise à l'ombre d'une des tombes (on dirait un sarcophage en céramique). Je ne sais pas si ils sont venus prier ou s'occuper des vaches qui broutent partout depuis que les champs de riz sont disparus. On m'invite encore à me joindre à eux. J'oblige.
Les petites madames m'adorent. Tout le monde rit. Les enfants rigolent. Un vieil homme tout bronzé avec quelques dents manquantes me part une jasette semi en Viet, semi en riant, et finalement pointe vers une fille qui à l'air beaucoup trop jeune. "You!" Et encore, thumbs up. Tout le monde se crampe de rire. La fille sourit mais recule. Elle a peur! C'est qui l'étranger qui se magasine une dulcinée dans un cimetière!
Je prends quelques photos et répond à leurs questions (Canada, pas marié, 30 ans) et reprend la route. Route qui maintenant longe l'océan. C'est majestueux. Je suis tellement content d'avoir prit ce détour!
J'arrive à Quy Nhon juste à la tombée de la nuit. Je trouve un petit hotel pas cher, mange une Phö, vais me promener sur le bord de la mer, et reste immobile devant une géante discothèque pendant quelques minutes (J'y vais-tu? Tout seul? Pourquoi pas? Che pas, c'est plate... Bah, tu sais que les Viets vont venir te voir pour jaser! Mais je vais surement finir par dépenser trop d'argent... Et pi je veux juste y aller pour rencontrer des filles et toutes manières c'est même pas un bec sur la joue avant une relation sérieuse... Mais c'est pas en restant dans ta chambre que tu vas en rencontrer! Ah pi merde, je suis pas ici pour rencontrer des filles. Ouin, va donc faire des push ups...) avant de retourner dans ma chambre écouter des films et essayer de mémoriser tout ce que j'ai vu aujourd'hui... Et faire des push ups.
Voici les photos, dites-moi si mes descriptions ont créé la bonne image dans votre imagination!
(Cliquez pour agrandir l'image)
Première journée, de Da Nang à Quang Ngai en shorts. Pas l'idée du siècle!
Lucie et moi, jour 2!
Mon repas 3 fois par jour quand je suis sur la route.
Chaque ville a sa variation, alors on ne s'en fatigue pas
Enfin hors de l'autoroute A1
Traveller porn
Irrigations?
Pendant ma pause-Phö, le lendemain.
Petit bonhomme n'avait pas d'eau, je lui ai ammené le bol.
Un nouvel ami!
Le jour suivant, entre Quang Ngai et Quy Nhon
Scène classique
Hier j'ai rencontré une jeune Viet qui voulait pratique son anglais.
Aujourd'hui elle m'a amené à son temple.
Petit chien qui se cache du soleil.
Encole plus de cadeaux! Voici mon youtube channel avec quelques vidéos de ma journée: Clique icitte
Y'en a 4, visite mon channel pour voir le reste!
Petit truc, baissez votre son, y'a beaucoup de vent!
Sunday, 1 March 2015
De Da Nang à Quang Ngai
Ah lala, ce que j'étais rendu comfortable!
1 mois passé à Da Nang dans un petit appart à étudier, manger et boire de la bière, ensuite 3 semaines à voyager avec mon père, à coucher dans de beaux hotels et être gâté...
Ma buddha belly est revenue, pour commencer. Je l'avais perdu après mon petit empoisonement qui m'a fait chier (littéralement) pendant 2 jours de temps, mais ça n'a pas prit de temps que c'est revenu.
J'ai sur-estimé la vitesse à laquelle je me déplace en moto... Aujourd'hui, après près de 2 mois sans faire de moto-marathon, je n'ai parcouru que la moitié de la distance dont je visais. Je la joue "safe". À 2pm, j'étais seulement à la moitié du chemin. J'étais exactement où je pensais être, à cette heure, mais j'étais beaucoup plus brûlé (fatigué, et coup-de-soleillé) que prévu, et donc j'ai décidé de me trouver un petit hotel pas cher et aller relaxer.
Après tout, j'ai pas d'horaire.
Je suis à Quang Ngai en ce moment, une ptite ville sur le bord d'une grosse rivière. En ce moment ladite rivière est couverte de sable, mais j'imagine que pendant la saison des pluies ça doit devenir assez rock n roll. La seule attraction est un musée qui parle d'un massacre qui s'est passé ici, mais c'est Dimanche alors c'est fermé.
Très bien. Je ne peux pas rester au soleil, et y'a rien à voir? Repos dans ma chambre sans remords.
Vers 4pm je suis allé boire un bon petit café et vers 8pm je suis allé à la recherche d'une bonne bouffe. Un de mes trucs préférés au Vietnam c'est que on dirait que chaque ville à sa propre sorte de nouilles, et c'est toujours absolument délicieux. Ici, c'était la Hu Tien, pour 1$.
En revenant je suis allé m'acheter une chemise pour proteger mes bras. Les 3 filles qui travaillaient là étaient absolument ravies de me servir et n'ont pas poussé la vente du tout. Un peu plus loin sur le chemin, des petits enfants me disent Hello. Des petits vieux fixent mes tattoos, un chien mange des restants.
Ce soir, relax, petit work-out et petit film, et de retour sur la route à 9am, juste après l'heure de pointe des motos.
J'estime que ça devrait me prendre 5 heures me rendre à ma prochaine escale. 5 heures de gros camions à dépasser, d'idiots qui roulent en sense inverse à anticiper, de champs de riz à croiser. Je pense aller me perdre pendant 2 heures en m'éloignant de l'autoroute pour aller découvrir la côte un peu... j'ai le temps.
En espérant que je ne brûle pas dans le cou demain!
Pour une raison, mes mains sont immunisées aux coups de soleils. Elle deviennent brune comme du cuir mais jamais rouge. Nice!
1 mois passé à Da Nang dans un petit appart à étudier, manger et boire de la bière, ensuite 3 semaines à voyager avec mon père, à coucher dans de beaux hotels et être gâté...
Ma buddha belly est revenue, pour commencer. Je l'avais perdu après mon petit empoisonement qui m'a fait chier (littéralement) pendant 2 jours de temps, mais ça n'a pas prit de temps que c'est revenu.
J'ai sur-estimé la vitesse à laquelle je me déplace en moto... Aujourd'hui, après près de 2 mois sans faire de moto-marathon, je n'ai parcouru que la moitié de la distance dont je visais. Je la joue "safe". À 2pm, j'étais seulement à la moitié du chemin. J'étais exactement où je pensais être, à cette heure, mais j'étais beaucoup plus brûlé (fatigué, et coup-de-soleillé) que prévu, et donc j'ai décidé de me trouver un petit hotel pas cher et aller relaxer.
Après tout, j'ai pas d'horaire.
Je suis à Quang Ngai en ce moment, une ptite ville sur le bord d'une grosse rivière. En ce moment ladite rivière est couverte de sable, mais j'imagine que pendant la saison des pluies ça doit devenir assez rock n roll. La seule attraction est un musée qui parle d'un massacre qui s'est passé ici, mais c'est Dimanche alors c'est fermé.
Très bien. Je ne peux pas rester au soleil, et y'a rien à voir? Repos dans ma chambre sans remords.
Vers 4pm je suis allé boire un bon petit café et vers 8pm je suis allé à la recherche d'une bonne bouffe. Un de mes trucs préférés au Vietnam c'est que on dirait que chaque ville à sa propre sorte de nouilles, et c'est toujours absolument délicieux. Ici, c'était la Hu Tien, pour 1$.
En revenant je suis allé m'acheter une chemise pour proteger mes bras. Les 3 filles qui travaillaient là étaient absolument ravies de me servir et n'ont pas poussé la vente du tout. Un peu plus loin sur le chemin, des petits enfants me disent Hello. Des petits vieux fixent mes tattoos, un chien mange des restants.
Ce soir, relax, petit work-out et petit film, et de retour sur la route à 9am, juste après l'heure de pointe des motos.
J'estime que ça devrait me prendre 5 heures me rendre à ma prochaine escale. 5 heures de gros camions à dépasser, d'idiots qui roulent en sense inverse à anticiper, de champs de riz à croiser. Je pense aller me perdre pendant 2 heures en m'éloignant de l'autoroute pour aller découvrir la côte un peu... j'ai le temps.
En espérant que je ne brûle pas dans le cou demain!
Pour une raison, mes mains sont immunisées aux coups de soleils. Elle deviennent brune comme du cuir mais jamais rouge. Nice!
Wednesday, 25 February 2015
Danang
Danang, la ville où j'ai passé le plus de temps au Vietnam. C'est au centre du pays, sur le bord de la mer. La ville est divisée en deux. Sur le bord de la mer, ce sont de gros hotels entourés de restaurants pas de murs, il y a juste un toît et plein de petites chaises et tables en plastique. Partout sur le bord du trottoir, de gros bacs plein d'eau pour garder la bouffe de mer fraiche. Des crevettes, des escargots, du poisson.
Ensuite il ya de petits hotels si mince qu'il y a seulement une seule chambre par étage, sur 7 étages. Des fois il n'y a rien autour et on se demande comment ça tient. Ajoutez de petits restos de Pho installés sous une toile orange et quelques palmiers, et vous avez Danang sur le côté de la mer.
Il parait que 5 ans passé, il n'y avait absolument rien, seulement de petites maisons et c'était encore très "old-school". SI vous regardez bien la nuit, vous remarquerez que presque tout les hotels sont complètement vides.
En s'éloignant de la mer on croise une rivière qui sépare la ville en deux. Il y a 5-6 ponts pour traverser, tous uniques. Mon préféré, le Dragon Bridge, est un pont dont la structure est construite comme un dragon jaune qui zig-zag de haut en bas tout le long du pont. C'est super beau! La nuit, il change de couleur, de jaune à vert à bleu, et des lumières blanches descendent du sommet de son dos, comme le reflet d'écailles. Samedi à 9pm, plein de gens se rassemblent pour voir le dragon cracher du feu. C'est plein de familles et de vendeurs de ballons flottants, des copies de Spider-Man, de Gangnam style, de Angry Birds. Le plus drôle, c'est qu'après avoir craché du feu, le dragon crache de l'eau... BEAUCOUP d'eau. C'est hilarant voir tout les gens se sauver comme si Godzilla attaquait, pour pas être mouillés.
De l'autre côté de la rivière, la ville me fait penser un peu à l'Avenue Mont-Royal. Il y a beaucoup d'arbres, plein de petits cafés remplis de petits viets qui jasent et jouent aux cartes. Y'a pas trop de grands buildings, sauf sur le bord de la rivière où il y a quelques hotels de plus et des restos à saveur de voyageur et où on paye 50$ pour un repas au lieu de 2$.
J'aime pas trop mme promener pendant l'heure de pointe (imaginez 5 scooters par auto normalement, c'est tassé, c'est tout croche, ça klaxonne) mais c'est là qu'on voit ma scène préférée: les grands-papas qui ramènent les petits de l'école. Imaginez, sur une petite moto, un Vietnamien agé, la cigarette aux lèvres. Il porte son habit du dimanche. Il s'est surement battu contre les Américains. Assis devant lui sur le banc, les petites mains sur le guidon, le visage insouciant, un enfant de 5 ans te regarde, les yeux tout grands. Woa! Un blanc!
Le soir, les cafés sont remplis d'étudiants au lieu d'hommes retraités. En passant devant les bars on peut les entendre crier MOT HAI BA YO! (1-2-3-GO!), leur version de "Santé", alors qu'ils se donnent en compétition, qui peut boire le plus de bières. C'est pas rare voir 2 gars transporter leur ami complètement torché.
Je vais m'ennuyer de cette ville, où il fait bon vivre et personne ne t'achale pour acheter leur cossins fait en papier.
Ensuite il ya de petits hotels si mince qu'il y a seulement une seule chambre par étage, sur 7 étages. Des fois il n'y a rien autour et on se demande comment ça tient. Ajoutez de petits restos de Pho installés sous une toile orange et quelques palmiers, et vous avez Danang sur le côté de la mer.
Il parait que 5 ans passé, il n'y avait absolument rien, seulement de petites maisons et c'était encore très "old-school". SI vous regardez bien la nuit, vous remarquerez que presque tout les hotels sont complètement vides.
En s'éloignant de la mer on croise une rivière qui sépare la ville en deux. Il y a 5-6 ponts pour traverser, tous uniques. Mon préféré, le Dragon Bridge, est un pont dont la structure est construite comme un dragon jaune qui zig-zag de haut en bas tout le long du pont. C'est super beau! La nuit, il change de couleur, de jaune à vert à bleu, et des lumières blanches descendent du sommet de son dos, comme le reflet d'écailles. Samedi à 9pm, plein de gens se rassemblent pour voir le dragon cracher du feu. C'est plein de familles et de vendeurs de ballons flottants, des copies de Spider-Man, de Gangnam style, de Angry Birds. Le plus drôle, c'est qu'après avoir craché du feu, le dragon crache de l'eau... BEAUCOUP d'eau. C'est hilarant voir tout les gens se sauver comme si Godzilla attaquait, pour pas être mouillés.
De l'autre côté de la rivière, la ville me fait penser un peu à l'Avenue Mont-Royal. Il y a beaucoup d'arbres, plein de petits cafés remplis de petits viets qui jasent et jouent aux cartes. Y'a pas trop de grands buildings, sauf sur le bord de la rivière où il y a quelques hotels de plus et des restos à saveur de voyageur et où on paye 50$ pour un repas au lieu de 2$.
J'aime pas trop mme promener pendant l'heure de pointe (imaginez 5 scooters par auto normalement, c'est tassé, c'est tout croche, ça klaxonne) mais c'est là qu'on voit ma scène préférée: les grands-papas qui ramènent les petits de l'école. Imaginez, sur une petite moto, un Vietnamien agé, la cigarette aux lèvres. Il porte son habit du dimanche. Il s'est surement battu contre les Américains. Assis devant lui sur le banc, les petites mains sur le guidon, le visage insouciant, un enfant de 5 ans te regarde, les yeux tout grands. Woa! Un blanc!
Le soir, les cafés sont remplis d'étudiants au lieu d'hommes retraités. En passant devant les bars on peut les entendre crier MOT HAI BA YO! (1-2-3-GO!), leur version de "Santé", alors qu'ils se donnent en compétition, qui peut boire le plus de bières. C'est pas rare voir 2 gars transporter leur ami complètement torché.
Je vais m'ennuyer de cette ville, où il fait bon vivre et personne ne t'achale pour acheter leur cossins fait en papier.
Tuesday, 24 February 2015
Être loin
Dans 2
jours, ça va faire 6 mois que je suis parti.
Je suis
maintenant parti plus longtemps que la dernière fois. Dans 1 autre mois, j’aurai
accumulé 1 an de présence en sol asiatique.
Mon père
est parti hier, après être passé 3 semaines beaucoup trop courtes avec moi.
Belle surprise à l’aéroport de Da Nang : son vol n’existait pas.
Je dois
avouer que mon voyage commence à faire sentir son poids. Je suis à une
intersection assez intéressante… Entre être un voyageur et un immigrant (mon
sac est trop gros et lourd mais je n’ai pas de maison) et je suis en train de
devenir un vieux grincheux… Je me sens seul mais je n’ai pas la patience pour
commencer de nouvelles amitiés. Presque tout le monde que je rencontre me tape
sur les nerfs après quelques minutes… Suis-je en train de devenir un de ces
misérables anciens punks complètement asociales et détachés de la réalité que
je trouvais si insignifiant jadis?
Le nouvel
an lunaire (nouvel an chinois pour le reste de l’Asie, mais le Vietnam l’appelle
comme ça car ils détestent les chinois) vient de se terminer, et comme à noël
chez nous, tout est fermé, pour plus d’une semaine. En ce moment, je suis en
train de décider si je prends un vol pas si cher d’ici à Saigon où j’irai
travailler, ou si je continue ma route en moto.
Lucy en a
mangé toute une durant ma première escapade, avec la pluie, la pire chose pour
son petit moteur sans protection. J’ai 2 jours à attendre ici, le temps que mon
mécano recommence à travailler. Je suis passé chez lui plus tôt, il était fermé
mais m’a invité à boire du vin fait maison accompagné de fish jerky, aussi fait
maison, super bon, et je ne suis pas tombé aveugle.
Ma petite
Lucy boite, ou plutôt son pneu d’en avant, est un peu croche, alors quand je
vais vite (30-40 km/h, je sais pas, mon truc à mesurer la vitesse est brisé) j’ai
l’impression d’être sur un petit cheval, pas l’idéal pour faire de la longue
distance. Le mecano m’a donné un prix : pour 20$, il me pose de nouvelles
suspensions avant et répare mon pneu. J’achète!
Alors en
attendant je prépare ma descente… Moins évident, je suis passé d’un sac de 12kg
et un sac à dos presque vide à un sac bourré de 16kg, un sac à dos rempli et un
autre petit sac avec pas un mais deux laptops… Ils n’annoncent pas de pluie
pour quelques mois, mais des fois dans les montagnes c’est un autre climat. J’ai
un peu plus à perdre si je ne planifie pas bien, disons.
Ça fait
longtemps que j’ai écrit! J’ai perdu l’envie on dirait. Peut-être parce que j’ai
perdu l’impression que j’écris pour moi et me soucie trop de ce que vous
pensez, vous, mes 6 lecteurs. Ridicule!
En Janvier,
il faisait 15c ici à Da Nang. Je me suis loué un petit appartement à 2 pièces d’où,
tous les soirs de 7pm à 11pm j’entendais le karaoké d’en face. J’avais ma
petite routine : mon banh-mi à 7 :30 AM en me rendant à l’école,
cours toute la journée, le soir je mangeais à un resto choisi au hasard un plat choisi au hasard avant
de retourner à mon petit appart faire des devoirs.
Je connais
un peu plus la culture vietnamienne. Je ne drague plus les filles, ça ne vaut
pas la peine. Ou bien elles ne comprennent rien (normal, je parle pas Viet) ou
bien elles se font supplier pour ne rien donner en retour (‘J’ai quelque chose’
30 minutes après l’heure convenue pour la rencontre est très commun) ou bien c’est
le mariage qui entre en jeu immédiatement (bon moyen de défense contre ces
blancs si achalant).
Ensuite,
tout le monde semble mentir ici. Sans arrêt. À propos de tout. Souvent pour se
rendre intéressant. Si vous demandez des directions à quelqu’un, attendez-vous
à avoir à les redemander dans trois minutes. Ils ne sont pas capable de dire ‘I
don’t know’. Très frustrant pour quelqu’un qui considère être honnête son
principe le plus important.
Un autre
exemple : je cherchais à importer du café, avant d’apprendre que c’est
illégal au Canada car leur procédé n’est pas considéré salubre (une arnaque des
gros vendeurs?). Un homme me dit qu’il a une famille qui fait pousser le
meilleur café du Vietnam (il y aurait au moins 50 sortes de café au pays) et qu’il
va m’y amener. Bien sûr je ne crois pas qu’il ai ‘le meilleur’ mais c’est un
début. Après quelques bières qu’il paye, il accepte de m’amener à la
plantation, pas si loin de la ville dans les montagnes. Il m’amène au marché de
la ville et me suggère d’acheter du insta-coffee… Best in Vietnam! T’avais si
besoin d’attention? J’ai perdu 3 heures de ma vie.
Mais bon,
la vie continue, chaque jour j’apprends quelque chose de nouveau… que ce soit
vrai ou non. J’essaie un nouveau plat chaque semaine, si c’est pas tous les
deux jour. Si tout va bien, la semaine prochaine je suis de retour sur la
route, comme je l’aime, à explorer le reste du pays. Au menu : petites
routes tranquilles au milieu de champs de riz, plages abandonnées, recherche d'emplois et
kite-surfing… C’est le temps de charger la GoPro!
A plus!
En train de planifier mon prochain mois
Tuesday, 23 December 2014
Travellers
So, my dear folks, here's the moment you've been waiting for.
Because let's face it, everyone loves a good trash-talkin'. Some shit-talkin'. Some dirt-layin' sonovagun who can tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!
It's not that bad, of course. If it was horrible, no one would travel and your facebook feed wouldn't be occasionally submerged by posts like "Why I travel", "Why travel ROOLZ GUYZ", "What I learned during my amazing travels", "Travel frees the soul, is the school of life, OMG iz SO GOOD".
I consciously leave most of the annoyances, negativity and other insects of that family out of my posts to make it a pleasant and uplifting reading experience (but then again, when I look at the blog stats, the most popular entries are the sad ones).
My biggest pet peeve, I would say, are other travellers. While away, no matter if you're on the road for 6 weeks or 6 months, you will meet a diversity of characters richer than a Tolkien novel, as diverse as the inhabitants of the lands of Westeros, and sometimes just as ludicrous as, well, any spoof of said literature.
The order of this list follows my train of thoughts, and nothing else. Literally whatever comes to mind goes first, and then second, and then well you know how lists go.
First!
The Traveller Fashion
Yes, my dear drinkers of knowledge, there is such a thing.(try Google-ing it too!) To put things in perspective: you leave home with a bag weighting under the 12 kg. limit to avoid airline penalties and so you pack light. That means leaving a few shirts behind because you'd rather pack a book - and anyways there's shirts where you're going (probably) and it's a nice souvenir too.
So! If you're like me, you just landed in Thailand and are walking among the unorthodox mess that is Koh San road. It's fucking hot. So you think, ''Hey, I'll get me some tank-tops, it's like 4 dollars each and I can probably get a deal if I buy more than one''. Little do you know, you've just taken your irrevocable first step into Traveller Fashion (add echo).
Douchebag / laidback / fuck yeah vacation look:
Local beer tops. Tubing in Laos tops. Muay Thai tops. Tribal turtle tops. Elephant pattern pants. Swimsuit all the time.
Cheap flip-flops, or if you went all out, those with the fake grass so you feel like you're playing mini-golf bare-foot all the time.
Fake Ray-bans should complete the look.
It's what I wear, I totally get it when people silently eye me dơwn in hostels. With my tattoos hanging out I can look like a total dick.
I'm going Into the Wild! look:
Picture African safari pictures of olde. Black and white photograph , and the subject is some old white dude with a sweet curly mustache and a hunting rifle; indigenous men in the background, out of focus, carry his crap. Now picture how he is dressed. Yes, exactly like that!
Some olive, savannah-colored cargo shorts and when he sits they go up to the middle of his thighs.
A matching button-down shirt with those nifty straps on the sleeves so you can tight them up even more, you know, so you don't get caught in the heavy bush.
Maybe some sleeveless army-green mesh shirt with lots of pockets worn on top of that shirt.
To complete the look, my favorite: trekking sandals. I love those!
I've never worn any but every time I see a pair of them on some sweaty feet I'm like "Damn, that's luxury right thurr".
It's like a Jeep for your feet.
So yeah, some people dress like that, usually in the range of 35 to 45 but sometimes you see a kid, like 19, sportin' the look.
I'm a free soul look:
This one puzzles me. I don't know where it comes from. Who decided collectively for all the hippies and off-the-grid survivors, think-outside-the-box, I'm-saving-Gaia-by-eating-only-plants that this look was the official one? And if you're so original, why do you dress all the same?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging: I come from the punk scene, where everyone says they're marginal, but everyone follows a rigid uniform code.
Anyways. Long hair for both male and female. Bandanas are welcome, tied around the forehead to support all that hair and those revolutionary ideas.
Tie-dye shirts are not uncommon, but usually the tribal turtle shirt is sported, or maybe some loose cotton shirt (looks fucking comfortable, not gonna lie) or straight up their clothes from home.
Since they don't burden themselves with artifacts of the material world, they can pack more clothes and still be under 12 kg, I guess.
The elephant print pants are an absolute must, on guys and girls alike. Very popular are also those pants where you look like you have 3-inches high legs, where that part that usually holds your butt is by your ankles (you make me think of Obelix).
Shoes, sandals, anything for your feet is optional. They go bare-feet wherever, in a complete disregard of local cultures. They can probably walk on Legos, their sole is so tough and caked with shit.
Also, dreads.
I don't give a fuck look:
My favorite, and what I went for thís time. Basically what you wear at home, fuck it. T-shirt and jeans are good for nearly every occasion, anyways.
Special mention to the guy wearing his american football jersey.
Not very negative, as you can see, just some observations. Judgmental as fuck, actually.
Next logical item on the list (I lied! There is an order!)
Personalities:
I hate to judge based on looks, to think that humans can be so easily categorized, that we're nothing more than some straight-out-of-the-box, pre-made characters for some Higher Power's sunday Role-Playing game sesh, so I will not attach their personality to their looks.
And here starts the bitching, friends.
I think it's because I'm laidback and can actually listen to people when they are talking, but I meet a lot of:
Know-it-all(z):
Armed with their cellphone and roaming data package, they always know the best spot to eat, the cheapest guesthouse, the next temple.
They stop you from walking spontaneously into a Wat on the corner of the street because there's a bigger, better one just 2 kms away.
If you answer ''I don't know'' to questions like ''Where are you going next'', better grab some pen and paper, this guy knows where you're going next!
For people like me who prefer to see as you go, who are not too stressed about paying $1-2 more for a dorm because the cheapest one in town is full, it's fucking annoying.
Granted, sometimes I would have missed really cool things if it wasn't for a random person suggesting what I should do next, of course.
But being figuratively taken by the hand by some random stranger and dragged (or followed) around town can be quite the mood-killer.
Their mouth hands out unwelcomed, basic knowledge like their minds are the sharpest. They don't listen to you when you speak, will interupt you or repeat exactly what you just said in different words to seem like they thought about it first.
They annoy me.
Lonely Planet Zombies:
Their weapon of choice: the latest edition of the traveller's bible. The books are pretty useful, of course, but some people are treating it as a holy book, the one that contains all the knowledge and that will show you the path to a perfect voyage.
First of all, these books were written by people, like you and me. So, it follows their preferences and taste, most of the time.
Second, when I say zombies, I mean it. Some people quite literally leave their brains at the guesthouse and wander around town, nose in the pages, not even looking around to absorb whatever it is that they came for to absorb. I've seen people stop in the middle of the street in front of incoming traffic to look at a map.
There's only so much the authors can cram in there! You're bound to miss out if you think you've done everything in a town because you did the 5 suggested activites.
Also, and this is from experience, their cultural Do's and Don't' miss the nails more often than they hit it, at least for ASEA.
I'm not saying they're useless, I personally use Frommer's Rough Guide when I'm about to cross borders to get up to speed on the upcoming country. I'm just saying, once in a while, leave the book on your dorm bed and go explore. Get lost. There's no instructions on how to get invited to 4am, drunken karaoke with the locals.
Ze Bros:
They can be the life of the party, or they can be the death of the soul.
Usually super cut, and I suspect they carry a wax-a-chest kit with them.
They say stuff like ''I'll never go to X town, it's way too touristy'' (actually everyone says that) but the only time they leave the confines of their guesthouse it's to go to the bar.
They're loud, they command attention, they're big, they're having so much fun.
If you look closely, you can see a faint glimmer of jealousy in the eye of everyone they are annoying. ''How can they be so free! Is it because they're so cut? Muscles bring freedom?''
Sometimes followed by one smaller, bearded, beer-gutted dude.
They treat the locals like Disney World mascots, don't bother to learn ''Hi'' in whatever local dialect, and will just talk louder and LOUDER if the waiter doesn't understand their order. ''Pizza. Pizza! PIZZA. PIZZA!!!''
Well folks, there's plenty more but I don't like to be this bitchy for this long and I am also quite lazy all of a sudden. I hope I could get a few laughs out of you.
I let the inner geek out more than usual. Deal with it!
I hate being a salesman but I do love attention so if you ẹnjoyed this, go ahead and like the Biere de Route facebook page, share your stories! I want to hear them! Also share the page! Tell your friends!
There's an Instagram page as well, Bierederoute. I got a new phone and the camera's real nice so I'm posting regularly.
Peace out mafakas!
Because let's face it, everyone loves a good trash-talkin'. Some shit-talkin'. Some dirt-layin' sonovagun who can tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!
It's not that bad, of course. If it was horrible, no one would travel and your facebook feed wouldn't be occasionally submerged by posts like "Why I travel", "Why travel ROOLZ GUYZ", "What I learned during my amazing travels", "Travel frees the soul, is the school of life, OMG iz SO GOOD".
I consciously leave most of the annoyances, negativity and other insects of that family out of my posts to make it a pleasant and uplifting reading experience (but then again, when I look at the blog stats, the most popular entries are the sad ones).
My biggest pet peeve, I would say, are other travellers. While away, no matter if you're on the road for 6 weeks or 6 months, you will meet a diversity of characters richer than a Tolkien novel, as diverse as the inhabitants of the lands of Westeros, and sometimes just as ludicrous as, well, any spoof of said literature.
The order of this list follows my train of thoughts, and nothing else. Literally whatever comes to mind goes first, and then second, and then well you know how lists go.
First!
The Traveller Fashion
Yes, my dear drinkers of knowledge, there is such a thing.(try Google-ing it too!) To put things in perspective: you leave home with a bag weighting under the 12 kg. limit to avoid airline penalties and so you pack light. That means leaving a few shirts behind because you'd rather pack a book - and anyways there's shirts where you're going (probably) and it's a nice souvenir too.
So! If you're like me, you just landed in Thailand and are walking among the unorthodox mess that is Koh San road. It's fucking hot. So you think, ''Hey, I'll get me some tank-tops, it's like 4 dollars each and I can probably get a deal if I buy more than one''. Little do you know, you've just taken your irrevocable first step into Traveller Fashion (add echo).
Douchebag / laidback / fuck yeah vacation look:
Local beer tops. Tubing in Laos tops. Muay Thai tops. Tribal turtle tops. Elephant pattern pants. Swimsuit all the time.
Cheap flip-flops, or if you went all out, those with the fake grass so you feel like you're playing mini-golf bare-foot all the time.
Fake Ray-bans should complete the look.
It's what I wear, I totally get it when people silently eye me dơwn in hostels. With my tattoos hanging out I can look like a total dick.
I'm going Into the Wild! look:
Picture African safari pictures of olde. Black and white photograph , and the subject is some old white dude with a sweet curly mustache and a hunting rifle; indigenous men in the background, out of focus, carry his crap. Now picture how he is dressed. Yes, exactly like that!
Some olive, savannah-colored cargo shorts and when he sits they go up to the middle of his thighs.
A matching button-down shirt with those nifty straps on the sleeves so you can tight them up even more, you know, so you don't get caught in the heavy bush.
Maybe some sleeveless army-green mesh shirt with lots of pockets worn on top of that shirt.
To complete the look, my favorite: trekking sandals. I love those!
I've never worn any but every time I see a pair of them on some sweaty feet I'm like "Damn, that's luxury right thurr".
It's like a Jeep for your feet.
So yeah, some people dress like that, usually in the range of 35 to 45 but sometimes you see a kid, like 19, sportin' the look.
I'm a free soul look:
This one puzzles me. I don't know where it comes from. Who decided collectively for all the hippies and off-the-grid survivors, think-outside-the-box, I'm-saving-Gaia-by-eating-only-plants that this look was the official one? And if you're so original, why do you dress all the same?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging: I come from the punk scene, where everyone says they're marginal, but everyone follows a rigid uniform code.
Anyways. Long hair for both male and female. Bandanas are welcome, tied around the forehead to support all that hair and those revolutionary ideas.
Tie-dye shirts are not uncommon, but usually the tribal turtle shirt is sported, or maybe some loose cotton shirt (looks fucking comfortable, not gonna lie) or straight up their clothes from home.
Since they don't burden themselves with artifacts of the material world, they can pack more clothes and still be under 12 kg, I guess.
The elephant print pants are an absolute must, on guys and girls alike. Very popular are also those pants where you look like you have 3-inches high legs, where that part that usually holds your butt is by your ankles (you make me think of Obelix).
Shoes, sandals, anything for your feet is optional. They go bare-feet wherever, in a complete disregard of local cultures. They can probably walk on Legos, their sole is so tough and caked with shit.
Also, dreads.
I don't give a fuck look:
My favorite, and what I went for thís time. Basically what you wear at home, fuck it. T-shirt and jeans are good for nearly every occasion, anyways.
Special mention to the guy wearing his american football jersey.
Not very negative, as you can see, just some observations. Judgmental as fuck, actually.
Next logical item on the list (I lied! There is an order!)
Personalities:
I hate to judge based on looks, to think that humans can be so easily categorized, that we're nothing more than some straight-out-of-the-box, pre-made characters for some Higher Power's sunday Role-Playing game sesh, so I will not attach their personality to their looks.
And here starts the bitching, friends.
I think it's because I'm laidback and can actually listen to people when they are talking, but I meet a lot of:
Know-it-all(z):
Armed with their cellphone and roaming data package, they always know the best spot to eat, the cheapest guesthouse, the next temple.
They stop you from walking spontaneously into a Wat on the corner of the street because there's a bigger, better one just 2 kms away.
If you answer ''I don't know'' to questions like ''Where are you going next'', better grab some pen and paper, this guy knows where you're going next!
For people like me who prefer to see as you go, who are not too stressed about paying $1-2 more for a dorm because the cheapest one in town is full, it's fucking annoying.
Granted, sometimes I would have missed really cool things if it wasn't for a random person suggesting what I should do next, of course.
But being figuratively taken by the hand by some random stranger and dragged (or followed) around town can be quite the mood-killer.
Their mouth hands out unwelcomed, basic knowledge like their minds are the sharpest. They don't listen to you when you speak, will interupt you or repeat exactly what you just said in different words to seem like they thought about it first.
They annoy me.
Lonely Planet Zombies:
Their weapon of choice: the latest edition of the traveller's bible. The books are pretty useful, of course, but some people are treating it as a holy book, the one that contains all the knowledge and that will show you the path to a perfect voyage.
First of all, these books were written by people, like you and me. So, it follows their preferences and taste, most of the time.
Second, when I say zombies, I mean it. Some people quite literally leave their brains at the guesthouse and wander around town, nose in the pages, not even looking around to absorb whatever it is that they came for to absorb. I've seen people stop in the middle of the street in front of incoming traffic to look at a map.
There's only so much the authors can cram in there! You're bound to miss out if you think you've done everything in a town because you did the 5 suggested activites.
Also, and this is from experience, their cultural Do's and Don't' miss the nails more often than they hit it, at least for ASEA.
I'm not saying they're useless, I personally use Frommer's Rough Guide when I'm about to cross borders to get up to speed on the upcoming country. I'm just saying, once in a while, leave the book on your dorm bed and go explore. Get lost. There's no instructions on how to get invited to 4am, drunken karaoke with the locals.
Ze Bros:
They can be the life of the party, or they can be the death of the soul.
Usually super cut, and I suspect they carry a wax-a-chest kit with them.
They say stuff like ''I'll never go to X town, it's way too touristy'' (actually everyone says that) but the only time they leave the confines of their guesthouse it's to go to the bar.
They're loud, they command attention, they're big, they're having so much fun.
If you look closely, you can see a faint glimmer of jealousy in the eye of everyone they are annoying. ''How can they be so free! Is it because they're so cut? Muscles bring freedom?''
Sometimes followed by one smaller, bearded, beer-gutted dude.
They treat the locals like Disney World mascots, don't bother to learn ''Hi'' in whatever local dialect, and will just talk louder and LOUDER if the waiter doesn't understand their order. ''Pizza. Pizza! PIZZA. PIZZA!!!''
Well folks, there's plenty more but I don't like to be this bitchy for this long and I am also quite lazy all of a sudden. I hope I could get a few laughs out of you.
I let the inner geek out more than usual. Deal with it!
I hate being a salesman but I do love attention so if you ẹnjoyed this, go ahead and like the Biere de Route facebook page, share your stories! I want to hear them! Also share the page! Tell your friends!
There's an Instagram page as well, Bierederoute. I got a new phone and the camera's real nice so I'm posting regularly.
Peace out mafakas!
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!
JOYEUX NOEL A TOUS!
Saturday, 20 December 2014
I'm okay u guyz
I would like to start by saying to everyone: I'm doing okay! I'm not depressed or anything, just turning my cosmic sight inwards, like hơw Captain Marvel (not the Shazam! one) did some decades ago.
I did not discover that I had cancer like he did, however.
If you look back at how this blog started, it used to be personnal as fuck. I kind of stepped away fron that for a while, because sometimes I met people at parties who would go "I love your stuff! I read everything!" And of course I appreciate the dedication, but I felt too much like an open book, and so I put up the natural force field of protection and write more about my travels around the world, and not those of the mind, of the heart.
So yeah, that last post was a little outburst of bottled-up thoughts let loose. But I'm fine, really.
The follow-up was a plethora of messages from friends, some of which opened the door to very meaningful conversations, for which I am very grateful.
On to other things.
I am sitting at a little wooden table in a restaurant in Hue, Vietnam, the ancient capital of the country, housing the "Purple Forbidden City".
I came down here to give some love to my girl, Lucy, my motorbike. She's been waiting patiently for over a month.
I am in a period of transition, for in about 3 weeks I will stop being a backpacker and turn into a sedentary foreigner.
A student, of all things.
My backpack is filled to capacity, since my needs have changed. It's too cold for my light trekking shoes, shorts and tank-tops. I had to obtain new shoes, jeans and shirts, even a light jacket.
My mindset is adapting as well. I spent 4 days in Hanoi and haven't visited a single attraction. My time was spent shopping for clothes and a cellphone.
The rest of the time I would simply read a book in a small café or wander aimlessly, sort of like what I do back home during my free time.
One night I was approached by 2 university teachers looking to practice their english. They invited me for some street food and even drove me to a cellphone store. Mighty generous of them.
The next day a Vietnamese lady who studied in Holland more than 15 years ago offered to buy me a coffee so we could talk and she could refresh her language skills.
It's been quite interesting, going for food with strangers but this time, my companions are not other travelers. I have actually grown quite anti-social towards them, to my own surprise.
I also want to mention that for good times' sake I rarely mention anything negative about my travels, painting a very Disney-esque picture of the whole thing.
I will shed some light on the whole affaire soon, like Dick Tracy exploring under the cover of darkness a clandestine warehouse down on the waterfront.
But not right now, the last post was heavy enough.
It's Christmas very soon. I hope everybody is doing well.
Hugs and ball-punching,
Ho ho ho
Ha ha
Ho hee
Ha~
(Joker style)
I did not discover that I had cancer like he did, however.
If you look back at how this blog started, it used to be personnal as fuck. I kind of stepped away fron that for a while, because sometimes I met people at parties who would go "I love your stuff! I read everything!" And of course I appreciate the dedication, but I felt too much like an open book, and so I put up the natural force field of protection and write more about my travels around the world, and not those of the mind, of the heart.
So yeah, that last post was a little outburst of bottled-up thoughts let loose. But I'm fine, really.
The follow-up was a plethora of messages from friends, some of which opened the door to very meaningful conversations, for which I am very grateful.
On to other things.
I am sitting at a little wooden table in a restaurant in Hue, Vietnam, the ancient capital of the country, housing the "Purple Forbidden City".
I came down here to give some love to my girl, Lucy, my motorbike. She's been waiting patiently for over a month.
I am in a period of transition, for in about 3 weeks I will stop being a backpacker and turn into a sedentary foreigner.
A student, of all things.
My backpack is filled to capacity, since my needs have changed. It's too cold for my light trekking shoes, shorts and tank-tops. I had to obtain new shoes, jeans and shirts, even a light jacket.
My mindset is adapting as well. I spent 4 days in Hanoi and haven't visited a single attraction. My time was spent shopping for clothes and a cellphone.
The rest of the time I would simply read a book in a small café or wander aimlessly, sort of like what I do back home during my free time.
One night I was approached by 2 university teachers looking to practice their english. They invited me for some street food and even drove me to a cellphone store. Mighty generous of them.
The next day a Vietnamese lady who studied in Holland more than 15 years ago offered to buy me a coffee so we could talk and she could refresh her language skills.
It's been quite interesting, going for food with strangers but this time, my companions are not other travelers. I have actually grown quite anti-social towards them, to my own surprise.
I also want to mention that for good times' sake I rarely mention anything negative about my travels, painting a very Disney-esque picture of the whole thing.
I will shed some light on the whole affaire soon, like Dick Tracy exploring under the cover of darkness a clandestine warehouse down on the waterfront.
But not right now, the last post was heavy enough.
It's Christmas very soon. I hope everybody is doing well.
Hugs and ball-punching,
Ho ho ho
Ha ha
Ho hee
Ha~
(Joker style)
Monday, 15 December 2014
Back to Hanoi
Well, it is always a culture shock to leave Don Det.
When you're at home, where every day connects effortlessly into the next, like riding a subway train from one end of the lane to the other and your only stops are small inconveniences in your life... Go to doctor station, holiday station, my SO just dumped me station - it's hard to miagine that 3 weeks can seem like a lifetime. That in just 3 weeks your way of thinking, your way of acting, walking, eating, talking, being, can change so much - or reveal itself so much.
Don Det was even better this time around. I think it's because I came back. When you're a local there - as I was for 3 months 2 years ago - you tend to stop investing so much in friendships and the like with travelers because let's face it, after a while, continuously saying goodbye, hope to see you again one day, it was great, well, it takes it's toll. So you tuck your shirt's sleeve over your heart and maintain a degree of separation.
Since I came back though, I showed the residents that I'm not just a backpacker anymore. I belong here. I feel it, and I think they feel it too. The last night, hosting ex-pats and Lao peeps alike, sitting under the stars on nothing but a traditional carpet, drinking Lao-Lao out of one glass for the whole group, I could feel it. People care. I care too. The feeling is amazing.
A lot of people came to my good-bye BBQ before I left Montreal and I am very grateful for it. However, there is a certain group of people, let's call them The Inner Circle, the boys that I've known since I moved back to Montreal when I was 14... Well only 2-3 of them showed up. During a short moment of quietness between two board games, Phil looked at me with a mild expression of concern and asked: "Etienne, where are all the boys?". I shrugged my shoulders in a two-sided body language of "I don't know" and "I don't care".
Truth is, of course I care, but like when I was on Don Det, I can't let it get to me, or I'll just get sad and I don't like being sad.
I understand that everyone's got their own life to live - and that's why I was able to leave again, maybe this time for ever. I have my own life to live as well, I hope you understand, is what I am trying to say.
The bonds I have forged with Ken, Jon, Adam, Phil, Manni, Phone's family, Sit and everyone are as important to me as if I had known them my whole life.
So, leaving Don Det after 3 weeks of waking up naturally in my wooden bungalow, to slowly go eat breakfast with my Lao family (sticky rice and spicy stuff), then walking around talking to people, helping dig foundations or build a bamboo fence or preparing a BBQ. To sit down on a bench and just talk about life with Phil while he paints his new Burger Kong sign, or watch South Park at Adam's until the kids show up and want to play. To read a book until Ken's kid is dumped on my lap - here, your turn to take care of him - and finding failproof ways of making him laugh. To never worry about money, to never see a car, to go to sleep when I'm tired not because I have to...
I know it's not the real life, it's the traveler's life, but it's so easy to get used to it.
If Don Det was a woman, she would be the country girl, dressed in a Lao traditional dress, with long black hair and her skin mildly tanned, walking slowly here and there in flip-flops and a reserved air, slightly frowning but easy to laughter. We would go for a short walk through the rice fields at night to star-gaze, then find someone to take a shot of Lao-Lao with, never talking about kids, or money. When it was time to say good-bye, there would be a long heart-felt embrace, followed by a quick "When will I see you again", a short squeeze of the hand and a pat on the butt, and a wave good-bye.
Simple, contempt.
Last time I left her, it was to take a 28-hour bus straight to Bangkok.
This time, it was for Vientiane, and then to Hanoi.
And if Hanoi was also a woman, she would welcome me back with a short but strong hug, kiss on the cheeks, grabbing my hand and urging me to drop my bags off before we go for a drink and street food, dodging kids in rollerblades and ladies selling donuts. Last time I saw her she was wearing heels and very short shorts showing off her amazing legs and butt, with a huge beautiful smile and teasing eyes. This time around she traded the shorts for tight jeans and a light winter jacket, but she still grabbed me by the hand and dragged me out for beers. I was reluctant though, still thinking about Don Det, about the quietness, how slow everything is, how hot it is, how we don't need to be talking about anything, drinking in the silence, slowly swinging in a hammock.
And so I set my 3rd beer down and tell her, hey, sorry, I'm kind of tired, I need to sleep a little bit more, but we can get back in a day or two if you'd like.
We have much to talk about however, and the quiet walks to nowhere in particular are replaced with discussions over tea, about history, culture, food, traveling, girls, money. She has much to share and the days go by quick.
Don Det and Hanoi would sometimes ask about Canada, that elusive woman from home, the one that raised me and reluctantly let me go, that couldn't be there to say goodbye because she was too busy. That woman who rarely keeps in contact, only to ask "Where are you now? When are you coming back?" but rarely asks "How are you doing?". That woman so diverse, so stressful and yet so happy, who wishes I was back so that all the pieces of her jigsaw would be in their proper place, never really realizing that I never fitted completely in the first place, that I longed to break free.
I am the monopoly die you lost somewhere, that you never think about until you open the box, about to play, and notice that I am gone.
You complain a little bit, but quickly make do without, and I go on, rolling but never quite coming to a stop.
When you're at home, where every day connects effortlessly into the next, like riding a subway train from one end of the lane to the other and your only stops are small inconveniences in your life... Go to doctor station, holiday station, my SO just dumped me station - it's hard to miagine that 3 weeks can seem like a lifetime. That in just 3 weeks your way of thinking, your way of acting, walking, eating, talking, being, can change so much - or reveal itself so much.
Don Det was even better this time around. I think it's because I came back. When you're a local there - as I was for 3 months 2 years ago - you tend to stop investing so much in friendships and the like with travelers because let's face it, after a while, continuously saying goodbye, hope to see you again one day, it was great, well, it takes it's toll. So you tuck your shirt's sleeve over your heart and maintain a degree of separation.
Since I came back though, I showed the residents that I'm not just a backpacker anymore. I belong here. I feel it, and I think they feel it too. The last night, hosting ex-pats and Lao peeps alike, sitting under the stars on nothing but a traditional carpet, drinking Lao-Lao out of one glass for the whole group, I could feel it. People care. I care too. The feeling is amazing.
A lot of people came to my good-bye BBQ before I left Montreal and I am very grateful for it. However, there is a certain group of people, let's call them The Inner Circle, the boys that I've known since I moved back to Montreal when I was 14... Well only 2-3 of them showed up. During a short moment of quietness between two board games, Phil looked at me with a mild expression of concern and asked: "Etienne, where are all the boys?". I shrugged my shoulders in a two-sided body language of "I don't know" and "I don't care".
Truth is, of course I care, but like when I was on Don Det, I can't let it get to me, or I'll just get sad and I don't like being sad.
I understand that everyone's got their own life to live - and that's why I was able to leave again, maybe this time for ever. I have my own life to live as well, I hope you understand, is what I am trying to say.
The bonds I have forged with Ken, Jon, Adam, Phil, Manni, Phone's family, Sit and everyone are as important to me as if I had known them my whole life.
So, leaving Don Det after 3 weeks of waking up naturally in my wooden bungalow, to slowly go eat breakfast with my Lao family (sticky rice and spicy stuff), then walking around talking to people, helping dig foundations or build a bamboo fence or preparing a BBQ. To sit down on a bench and just talk about life with Phil while he paints his new Burger Kong sign, or watch South Park at Adam's until the kids show up and want to play. To read a book until Ken's kid is dumped on my lap - here, your turn to take care of him - and finding failproof ways of making him laugh. To never worry about money, to never see a car, to go to sleep when I'm tired not because I have to...
I know it's not the real life, it's the traveler's life, but it's so easy to get used to it.
If Don Det was a woman, she would be the country girl, dressed in a Lao traditional dress, with long black hair and her skin mildly tanned, walking slowly here and there in flip-flops and a reserved air, slightly frowning but easy to laughter. We would go for a short walk through the rice fields at night to star-gaze, then find someone to take a shot of Lao-Lao with, never talking about kids, or money. When it was time to say good-bye, there would be a long heart-felt embrace, followed by a quick "When will I see you again", a short squeeze of the hand and a pat on the butt, and a wave good-bye.
Simple, contempt.
Last time I left her, it was to take a 28-hour bus straight to Bangkok.
This time, it was for Vientiane, and then to Hanoi.
And if Hanoi was also a woman, she would welcome me back with a short but strong hug, kiss on the cheeks, grabbing my hand and urging me to drop my bags off before we go for a drink and street food, dodging kids in rollerblades and ladies selling donuts. Last time I saw her she was wearing heels and very short shorts showing off her amazing legs and butt, with a huge beautiful smile and teasing eyes. This time around she traded the shorts for tight jeans and a light winter jacket, but she still grabbed me by the hand and dragged me out for beers. I was reluctant though, still thinking about Don Det, about the quietness, how slow everything is, how hot it is, how we don't need to be talking about anything, drinking in the silence, slowly swinging in a hammock.
And so I set my 3rd beer down and tell her, hey, sorry, I'm kind of tired, I need to sleep a little bit more, but we can get back in a day or two if you'd like.
We have much to talk about however, and the quiet walks to nowhere in particular are replaced with discussions over tea, about history, culture, food, traveling, girls, money. She has much to share and the days go by quick.
Don Det and Hanoi would sometimes ask about Canada, that elusive woman from home, the one that raised me and reluctantly let me go, that couldn't be there to say goodbye because she was too busy. That woman who rarely keeps in contact, only to ask "Where are you now? When are you coming back?" but rarely asks "How are you doing?". That woman so diverse, so stressful and yet so happy, who wishes I was back so that all the pieces of her jigsaw would be in their proper place, never really realizing that I never fitted completely in the first place, that I longed to break free.
I am the monopoly die you lost somewhere, that you never think about until you open the box, about to play, and notice that I am gone.
You complain a little bit, but quickly make do without, and I go on, rolling but never quite coming to a stop.
Wednesday, 3 December 2014
Sabaidee! Pai Sai?
Today I'm splurging.
And by splurging I mean using an actual computer to do actual planning for the next 2 months while eating a giant bacon burrito. I ordered the ham one first because in Laos ham is slang for penis and sometimes they can't help themselves but smile when they hear it.
I've been meaning to try and describe Don Det to friends through text but it is quite impossible. You just have to get here.
The meaning of the term "Time slows down" was probably born here. I should say... Here, it's swinging in a hammock, listening to someone's ukulele.
Imagine a place, so hot you don't want to move and neither do the locals. You find a quiet little restaurant overlooking the Mekong river (named Namkhong here, Nam means water) where you sit on a small mattress and eat on tables just inches off the floor. You get up only to turn the fan on. When the meal is done, you push your plate back and lay down on the floor and promptly fall asleep for 2 hours.
On Don Det, it is considered extremely rude to wake someone up from a nap. I fucking love it.
My first day back, as soon as I step on this holy soil I see Manni, 4-year resident and party animal. It is his tradition to greet the newcomers freshly off the boats. Next to him is Alex, a guy who was on Don Det at the same time as me last time I was here, 2 years ago. He was back to say hello too, turns out he came back exactly at the same time as me.
Amazeballs.
Another Manni tradition is to get the returning Don Det family members absolutely plastered. So after I set my bags down at One More Bar, give Ken a giant hug, say hi to my Lao family and distribute my meager gifts I head to Happy Bar where a giant joint is waiting.
It's about noon. By 4pm I am sleeping off the excess booze and herb on said small mattress in One More Bar. I wake up to eat something and have a good, hearty talk with Ken about everything. I missed this place so much.
At one point, Noua passed by on a bicycle. Noua is the neighbor's kid. She's witty, always laughing and always running everywhere - quite extraordinary for a Lao person - and last time it was our little game that I'd try to catch her every time she'd walk by. So, I'm sitting by the "road" talking and she passes by. I see her and my mouth lets out a "Oh!" sound. She turns her head. Recognizes me right away, even after a 2 year absence and a giant beard missing. I start running after her. She's laughing so hard she can't pedal anymore. Such a good moment.
The next 2 days were spent getting acclimated - meaning napping all day - and just going around saying hi to all the residents of this amazing island. They don't remember who I am usually, but after I explain that I shaved or show them a picture of last time, their face lightens up and we share an immense smile.
Papao, another of the neighbor's kids, the one who isn't afraid of anything and has a kind of crazy strut and look in his eye, can't remember me. "Pei, tell him I'm the one that used to throw him so hard into the river". She translates. His eyes and smile become enormous, he throws himself in my arms.
There was Sun's 1st birthday party. Adam's boy. Adam is married to Pei. They live behind Ken's house. We're sitting in One More Bar chatting when the father of the family quietly struts by. Tells Ken, without ever slowing down or even looking at him, "We're having beer". Ken laughs. It's inevitable, everyone's getting hammered tonight.
Driving at night to a Lao party in a rice field on Ken's battered scooter. Suddenly, in the middle of the road, a snake about 5 feet long. Black with yellow stripes. Good girth too. I call him Lucic. "Woooooiiiii!" Ken goes and avoids the snake (his brakes are out). "Fuck, Etienne, I lose my mind I so scared. This snake, number 1 danger in Lao. He bite, you die in minute". Quite the adrenaline rush.
A few days later, we're all sharing beers. Rachid tells me, he had the scare of his life, he was walking in the dark, quite high, and almost stepped on this black and yellow snake. But it was dead. Ken is laughing so hard. His new friend and ultimate badass, Sit, had crossed the snake one night and killed it. He doesn't even remember how, he says, it was just instincts. As a joke, he lay the snake in the middle of the road to scare people.
There's a few differences on the island since the last time. I'm here during low season, it's much more quiet. We still get rain almost every day. I guess as a direct result, I see more wildlife. I've seen about 6 snakes in 2 weeks, last time in 3 months I saw only one. More locals and ex-pats talk to me, I guess because I've returned, shown my interest in the place. I've even let the word out that I'm looking to settle down here one day to see what happens. Result: "Eh-Tee-Enn! I speak with my friend. He has daughter. If you have money, you can marry her no problem!" "Is she pretty?" "I didn't see".
In a place with not much to do and small population, gossip is an important activity. You have to be careful. Anything you say will travel. You can lose face that way. Or make new friends.
I've picked up a few more words and am starting to be able to create sentences. I've realized that every single time you go walking, people ask you where you're going. Pai Sai? Go where? You don't even have to reply, it's just a way to start the conversation. Most people just point ahead with their chin and smile. When you walk back, they ask you where you were. Every. Single. Time.
I don't know how to describe Don Det. How about, a place where you go to rent a bungalow for one day, help the family write a sign down for their restaurant. All of a sudden, you're part of the crew. You get to eat Pho for free. You get to sit down with them on the floor and watch Thai tv, drinking beer with Papa or cuddle with the daughter, depending on your sex. Next thing you know, your visa is running out. It's been a month.
A place where hammocks are only outnumbered by smiles, where locals and foreigners mingle naturally, where time is quietly napping in the shade and no one will wake it up.
I love you, Don Det.
And by splurging I mean using an actual computer to do actual planning for the next 2 months while eating a giant bacon burrito. I ordered the ham one first because in Laos ham is slang for penis and sometimes they can't help themselves but smile when they hear it.
I've been meaning to try and describe Don Det to friends through text but it is quite impossible. You just have to get here.
The meaning of the term "Time slows down" was probably born here. I should say... Here, it's swinging in a hammock, listening to someone's ukulele.
Imagine a place, so hot you don't want to move and neither do the locals. You find a quiet little restaurant overlooking the Mekong river (named Namkhong here, Nam means water) where you sit on a small mattress and eat on tables just inches off the floor. You get up only to turn the fan on. When the meal is done, you push your plate back and lay down on the floor and promptly fall asleep for 2 hours.
On Don Det, it is considered extremely rude to wake someone up from a nap. I fucking love it.
My first day back, as soon as I step on this holy soil I see Manni, 4-year resident and party animal. It is his tradition to greet the newcomers freshly off the boats. Next to him is Alex, a guy who was on Don Det at the same time as me last time I was here, 2 years ago. He was back to say hello too, turns out he came back exactly at the same time as me.
Amazeballs.
Another Manni tradition is to get the returning Don Det family members absolutely plastered. So after I set my bags down at One More Bar, give Ken a giant hug, say hi to my Lao family and distribute my meager gifts I head to Happy Bar where a giant joint is waiting.
It's about noon. By 4pm I am sleeping off the excess booze and herb on said small mattress in One More Bar. I wake up to eat something and have a good, hearty talk with Ken about everything. I missed this place so much.
At one point, Noua passed by on a bicycle. Noua is the neighbor's kid. She's witty, always laughing and always running everywhere - quite extraordinary for a Lao person - and last time it was our little game that I'd try to catch her every time she'd walk by. So, I'm sitting by the "road" talking and she passes by. I see her and my mouth lets out a "Oh!" sound. She turns her head. Recognizes me right away, even after a 2 year absence and a giant beard missing. I start running after her. She's laughing so hard she can't pedal anymore. Such a good moment.
The next 2 days were spent getting acclimated - meaning napping all day - and just going around saying hi to all the residents of this amazing island. They don't remember who I am usually, but after I explain that I shaved or show them a picture of last time, their face lightens up and we share an immense smile.
Papao, another of the neighbor's kids, the one who isn't afraid of anything and has a kind of crazy strut and look in his eye, can't remember me. "Pei, tell him I'm the one that used to throw him so hard into the river". She translates. His eyes and smile become enormous, he throws himself in my arms.
There was Sun's 1st birthday party. Adam's boy. Adam is married to Pei. They live behind Ken's house. We're sitting in One More Bar chatting when the father of the family quietly struts by. Tells Ken, without ever slowing down or even looking at him, "We're having beer". Ken laughs. It's inevitable, everyone's getting hammered tonight.
Driving at night to a Lao party in a rice field on Ken's battered scooter. Suddenly, in the middle of the road, a snake about 5 feet long. Black with yellow stripes. Good girth too. I call him Lucic. "Woooooiiiii!" Ken goes and avoids the snake (his brakes are out). "Fuck, Etienne, I lose my mind I so scared. This snake, number 1 danger in Lao. He bite, you die in minute". Quite the adrenaline rush.
A few days later, we're all sharing beers. Rachid tells me, he had the scare of his life, he was walking in the dark, quite high, and almost stepped on this black and yellow snake. But it was dead. Ken is laughing so hard. His new friend and ultimate badass, Sit, had crossed the snake one night and killed it. He doesn't even remember how, he says, it was just instincts. As a joke, he lay the snake in the middle of the road to scare people.
There's a few differences on the island since the last time. I'm here during low season, it's much more quiet. We still get rain almost every day. I guess as a direct result, I see more wildlife. I've seen about 6 snakes in 2 weeks, last time in 3 months I saw only one. More locals and ex-pats talk to me, I guess because I've returned, shown my interest in the place. I've even let the word out that I'm looking to settle down here one day to see what happens. Result: "Eh-Tee-Enn! I speak with my friend. He has daughter. If you have money, you can marry her no problem!" "Is she pretty?" "I didn't see".
In a place with not much to do and small population, gossip is an important activity. You have to be careful. Anything you say will travel. You can lose face that way. Or make new friends.
I've picked up a few more words and am starting to be able to create sentences. I've realized that every single time you go walking, people ask you where you're going. Pai Sai? Go where? You don't even have to reply, it's just a way to start the conversation. Most people just point ahead with their chin and smile. When you walk back, they ask you where you were. Every. Single. Time.
I don't know how to describe Don Det. How about, a place where you go to rent a bungalow for one day, help the family write a sign down for their restaurant. All of a sudden, you're part of the crew. You get to eat Pho for free. You get to sit down with them on the floor and watch Thai tv, drinking beer with Papa or cuddle with the daughter, depending on your sex. Next thing you know, your visa is running out. It's been a month.
A place where hammocks are only outnumbered by smiles, where locals and foreigners mingle naturally, where time is quietly napping in the shade and no one will wake it up.
I love you, Don Det.
Saturday, 15 November 2014
Pluie
Cher Jocelyn,
j'allais te demander si tout va bien mais je ne t'ai jamais entendu te plaindre.
Je vais ecrire en anglais car j'ai pas les accents sur le clavier de l'hotel.
Turns out I didn´t check the weather correctly when planning my trip. I've been getting rain for the past week. If I were to push south I would get nice weather, however, but my visa ends in 3 days.
Lucy can't seem to get better. Every time I bring her to the motorbike doctor, they fix a problem but a new one appears. Last time, my motor would simply shut down, even while riding in 4th gear. The mechanic cleaned the engine and over-charged me. Now, the button for the starter is almost disconnected. My front wheel is bented. The welding on my bag rack just gave up, I have to tie my backpack sideways and it's harder to ride cities that way since everyone drives inches from you.
I decided to leave her at the hotel for a month, for a small fee they will keep an eye on her. I will take a bus to Laos and enjoy a little bit of peace of mind and pick her up on the way back.
Leaving Hanoi with her was amazing, however. We drove to a little beach town during tourism low season and had a good swim, coconuts, and a night drive just watching bored teenagers ride around and shoot the shit.
From there, quiet and short rides through small villages. Every time we'd stop for Pho, the whole village would come by and sit, staring at us and smiling. The kids are the ones who know English and they would practice their textbook sentences with us.
After a few days I decided to go to Pu Mat national park that I had spotted in my road atlas. A quick search online told me that the only thing to do was hike and see waterfalls and that sounded pretty good. Riding the main road towards it, I went passed the small backstreet that takes you inside the park. Stopping for directions in a tiny restaurant (2 tables, a cooler), a small Viet man lets me know through hand gestures that he needs to be going there. Before I can understand, he's sitting on my bike with a huge smile.
Needless to say, it was pretty cramped for the both of us AND my backpack and daybag, but we managed. After another 30 minutes of riding a tiny paved road through even smaller villages I reached a dammed river where 3 restaurants were waiting for customers, built on floating rafts. I asked to go see the waterfall but it was too expensive - you need to rent the whole boat so it gets cheaper with a group - so I just sat with a beer, pondering what to do. Shortly after, a group of young Vietnamese showed up to do the boat tour so I got in with them and enjoyed beautiful scenery of jungle canopy and local people riding on bamboo rafts.
After a quick swim in the river we went back to the restaurant where a young and pretty Vietnamese girl was waiting for me. She owned one of the restaurants and could speak English very well so we started chatting. Within a minute she offered to come with me on my trip before we went back together to Canada. I explained Canadian winter and the fact that people are not nice like the Vietnamese there and she changed her mind. Seeing that it was getting dark, I asked for a place to sleep but there were no hostels of any kind in the area.
I then asked if I could sleep in the restaurant, I would give them some money. The whole family got excited - apparently I was the first ever foreigner to ask such a thing here - and they opened more beers. I spent the night joking with them. They cooked the best fish I have ever eaten, I learned how to suck snails out of their shells and drank rice wine with the men. We then went for coffee and billard and came back to the restaurant where I was shown my bed. A matress and several bedsheets were laid out on the floor but I would be sharing it with the drunk of the family who tried to spoon me all night. I didn't sleep much.
The next morning we jumped off the dam and I made everyone sad when I announced that I had to keep going. It was one of the best days of this trip.
I made it to Phong Nha the next day and had a beer at Easy Tiger Hostel. That's where I saw the most westerners I had seen in a week, all grouped together. I stayed 3 nights in this little town, visiting amazing caves, playing board games, trying grilled pork belly. I met a german guy who was looking for a partner to ride the western branch of the Ho Chi Minh trail - a 200km segment up in the mountains with no gas station and only one village - and I jumped on the offer. It was easily the best drive I have ever taken of my life. Not a soul for hours, delicious curves, ridiculously amazing views. We stopped A LOT to take pictures, and every time we just stared at each other with giant smiles, WHAT the actual FUCK coming out of our mouths a lot.
During a pee and smoke break, we watch a big monkey, black with a white mane and red legs, jump up and down a tree and skillfully swoop around. It was beautiful to watch.
The trail took us about 7 hours to complete and it was pure bliss. Beautiful, not a pothole, not a truck.
The next day we visited, in the same day, an ancient american base and and ancient Viet Cong tunnel system. Impressive stuff.
In Hue we visited the Forbidden Purple City, not as grand as the one in Beijing but more charming. We also visited the tombs and mausoleums of ancient egocentric Nguyen emperors and then I got absolutely hammered in a small bar.
Last week all I did was hang around in Da Nang, the 3rd biggest city in Vietnam. Beautiful, lots of trees, tonnes of tailors, and a beach. I found a good ex-pat bar. I had an interview to get into an Intesol college the next morning so I took it easy in my room, watching HBO and eating Springles all night. The next morning I went for a drive around town and got proper dress pants and a button shirt and cleaned my trekking shoes with a toothbrush to look presentable. The interview went really well.
I spent a few days in Hoi An in this barbaric hostel, hoping to make friends and meet some girls but it turns out that I hated almost everyone I ran into. I got obliterated in another small bar, speaking with the Vietnamese girl working there.
I made it back up to Da Nang after 2 miserable nights and went back to the Ex-Pat bar where I met my first Quebecer, Yves de l'Outaouais. He's been working in Da Nang for a few months and he took me to another, slightly classier bar where the waitresses had a pretty good sense of humour. I closed the bar with them and they then invited me for some street food.
When it was time to leave, 3 young Vietnamese guys invited me over for a beer and I joined them, curious about where this was going. It was 1am. After a whole crate of beer they took me to a Karaoke place. Turns out I can read Vietnamese pretty well and can even sing it, judging by their screams of hapiness. Around 5am, they all took their shirts off and started grinding me - even after showing me pictures of their girlfriends - and after a few minutes of respectfully pushing them back I had to leave, drunk and angry. They had puzzled looks on their faces.
Came back up to Hue to cross over to Laos. The rain just relaxed a little bit. I'm gonna go for a walk, wearing a swimming suit and a poncho.
I miss my friends and family.
Have a good day everyone.
j'allais te demander si tout va bien mais je ne t'ai jamais entendu te plaindre.
Je vais ecrire en anglais car j'ai pas les accents sur le clavier de l'hotel.
Turns out I didn´t check the weather correctly when planning my trip. I've been getting rain for the past week. If I were to push south I would get nice weather, however, but my visa ends in 3 days.
Lucy can't seem to get better. Every time I bring her to the motorbike doctor, they fix a problem but a new one appears. Last time, my motor would simply shut down, even while riding in 4th gear. The mechanic cleaned the engine and over-charged me. Now, the button for the starter is almost disconnected. My front wheel is bented. The welding on my bag rack just gave up, I have to tie my backpack sideways and it's harder to ride cities that way since everyone drives inches from you.
I decided to leave her at the hotel for a month, for a small fee they will keep an eye on her. I will take a bus to Laos and enjoy a little bit of peace of mind and pick her up on the way back.
Leaving Hanoi with her was amazing, however. We drove to a little beach town during tourism low season and had a good swim, coconuts, and a night drive just watching bored teenagers ride around and shoot the shit.
From there, quiet and short rides through small villages. Every time we'd stop for Pho, the whole village would come by and sit, staring at us and smiling. The kids are the ones who know English and they would practice their textbook sentences with us.
After a few days I decided to go to Pu Mat national park that I had spotted in my road atlas. A quick search online told me that the only thing to do was hike and see waterfalls and that sounded pretty good. Riding the main road towards it, I went passed the small backstreet that takes you inside the park. Stopping for directions in a tiny restaurant (2 tables, a cooler), a small Viet man lets me know through hand gestures that he needs to be going there. Before I can understand, he's sitting on my bike with a huge smile.
Needless to say, it was pretty cramped for the both of us AND my backpack and daybag, but we managed. After another 30 minutes of riding a tiny paved road through even smaller villages I reached a dammed river where 3 restaurants were waiting for customers, built on floating rafts. I asked to go see the waterfall but it was too expensive - you need to rent the whole boat so it gets cheaper with a group - so I just sat with a beer, pondering what to do. Shortly after, a group of young Vietnamese showed up to do the boat tour so I got in with them and enjoyed beautiful scenery of jungle canopy and local people riding on bamboo rafts.
After a quick swim in the river we went back to the restaurant where a young and pretty Vietnamese girl was waiting for me. She owned one of the restaurants and could speak English very well so we started chatting. Within a minute she offered to come with me on my trip before we went back together to Canada. I explained Canadian winter and the fact that people are not nice like the Vietnamese there and she changed her mind. Seeing that it was getting dark, I asked for a place to sleep but there were no hostels of any kind in the area.
I then asked if I could sleep in the restaurant, I would give them some money. The whole family got excited - apparently I was the first ever foreigner to ask such a thing here - and they opened more beers. I spent the night joking with them. They cooked the best fish I have ever eaten, I learned how to suck snails out of their shells and drank rice wine with the men. We then went for coffee and billard and came back to the restaurant where I was shown my bed. A matress and several bedsheets were laid out on the floor but I would be sharing it with the drunk of the family who tried to spoon me all night. I didn't sleep much.
The next morning we jumped off the dam and I made everyone sad when I announced that I had to keep going. It was one of the best days of this trip.
I made it to Phong Nha the next day and had a beer at Easy Tiger Hostel. That's where I saw the most westerners I had seen in a week, all grouped together. I stayed 3 nights in this little town, visiting amazing caves, playing board games, trying grilled pork belly. I met a german guy who was looking for a partner to ride the western branch of the Ho Chi Minh trail - a 200km segment up in the mountains with no gas station and only one village - and I jumped on the offer. It was easily the best drive I have ever taken of my life. Not a soul for hours, delicious curves, ridiculously amazing views. We stopped A LOT to take pictures, and every time we just stared at each other with giant smiles, WHAT the actual FUCK coming out of our mouths a lot.
During a pee and smoke break, we watch a big monkey, black with a white mane and red legs, jump up and down a tree and skillfully swoop around. It was beautiful to watch.
The trail took us about 7 hours to complete and it was pure bliss. Beautiful, not a pothole, not a truck.
The next day we visited, in the same day, an ancient american base and and ancient Viet Cong tunnel system. Impressive stuff.
In Hue we visited the Forbidden Purple City, not as grand as the one in Beijing but more charming. We also visited the tombs and mausoleums of ancient egocentric Nguyen emperors and then I got absolutely hammered in a small bar.
Last week all I did was hang around in Da Nang, the 3rd biggest city in Vietnam. Beautiful, lots of trees, tonnes of tailors, and a beach. I found a good ex-pat bar. I had an interview to get into an Intesol college the next morning so I took it easy in my room, watching HBO and eating Springles all night. The next morning I went for a drive around town and got proper dress pants and a button shirt and cleaned my trekking shoes with a toothbrush to look presentable. The interview went really well.
I spent a few days in Hoi An in this barbaric hostel, hoping to make friends and meet some girls but it turns out that I hated almost everyone I ran into. I got obliterated in another small bar, speaking with the Vietnamese girl working there.
I made it back up to Da Nang after 2 miserable nights and went back to the Ex-Pat bar where I met my first Quebecer, Yves de l'Outaouais. He's been working in Da Nang for a few months and he took me to another, slightly classier bar where the waitresses had a pretty good sense of humour. I closed the bar with them and they then invited me for some street food.
When it was time to leave, 3 young Vietnamese guys invited me over for a beer and I joined them, curious about where this was going. It was 1am. After a whole crate of beer they took me to a Karaoke place. Turns out I can read Vietnamese pretty well and can even sing it, judging by their screams of hapiness. Around 5am, they all took their shirts off and started grinding me - even after showing me pictures of their girlfriends - and after a few minutes of respectfully pushing them back I had to leave, drunk and angry. They had puzzled looks on their faces.
Came back up to Hue to cross over to Laos. The rain just relaxed a little bit. I'm gonna go for a walk, wearing a swimming suit and a poncho.
I miss my friends and family.
Have a good day everyone.
Monday, 10 November 2014
Travel tips and stuff
Today, so far, is pretty good. I woke up at 8am, got on my battered bike and drove around beautiful Da Nang looking for clothing stores. By 10am, $25 later, I was sitting under an orange tarp on a street corner, gulping down a $1 Pho, wearing a new dress shirt and black dress pants.
The reason for this attire, you ask? At 11:30 I was walking in the office of iCan, an INTESOL training school set up here by Canadians. Starting January 5th I will be learning how to teach English as a second language.
Just like my brother, now that I think about it.
The blog being at an all-time low in readers, it's hard to stay focused and dedicated, but today's a(nother) "chill-out" day, so being back to basics, it has returned to being my personal journal of sorts.
First of all, a little inventory update.
I lost, and bought, and forgot at hostels, about 5 towels now. 2 weeks ago however I found an awesome travel towel.
I have NOT used my solar charger. It's been demoted to my bag of rubbish, with the playing cards and beer opener for Ken.
Yesterday I forgot my sweet swimsuit in Hue. I suspect it was stolen, I had left it to dry in the dorm, I would have seen it when leaving.
I went through 4 of them in the last trip so I'm not at all surprised.
Apart from that, gadget wise all that was added was a fake Beatspill speaker, cheap razor that can't hold a charge and a usb key that won't work. All bought in China.
Also got a few extra shirts from Ben in Leeds, and shower flip flops I wear everywhere.
Now, for some travel tips...
Before you leave, think about your entertainment. Times have a-changed, every hostel had Wi-Fi and that means everyone's staring at their luminous screen.
In a tiny place in China, a lady teases: "You came all the way to Asia to play games on your tablet?" (I'm addicted to Jetpack Joyride). I simply extended my arm and moved it in a 180 degree arc, pointing at everyone. They were all on their tablets or phones, including her.
My best move so far was to bring a board game. I chose Carcassonne. It's easy to learn but hard to master and when you leave the small point counting board at home it fits in a small Tupperware. I've played about 20 games already.
Do not underestimate the awesomeness of a camera. You see so many things in so many days, the pictures help remember. Also, if you have a good one, you get better pictures, therefore people will more easily listen to your adventures you so desperately want to talk to them about when you're back home.
Don't be so fucking cheap, dammit. I saw a man spend 300,000 Dongs on a meal and then give shit to a lady for trying to sell him a chocolate bar 5,000 more (25 cents) than the last city. It's embarrassing.
More driving tips:
I realized that my last tips were more about country side driving, after watching a fellow traveler cause so many near-misses and not even being aware of them.
All around tips: don't be cheap. Okay, you bought the bike $200 and you will sell it in a month at a loss so you want to limit your spending. But how much is your life worth? Go and fix that front break, don't wait until you almost hit a cow and shit your pants.
Be gentle with her. Give her a name. "Treat her line a woman", was what Tanja told me. I'm not very nice to girls though, but when learning the clutch I got what she was saying... listen to her. Treat her well. Spoil her. Give her an oil change every few days. It's your life on the line.
Splurge, dammit. I just got a new helmet for 350,000 Dongs with visor and ears protection and I regret not doing it earlier.
City driving guide.
Eyes looking ahead. Big time. Don't worry about your sides or what's behind you. The Vietnamese are excellent at anticipating, as long as you drive responsibly and somewhat like them.
The right part of your line, again, is the buffer zone for window shoppers, texters, kids on bikes, people driving the wrong way. The part on the left is for people who drive fast and they can be ridiculously close to each other. I avoid it.
Don't do smooth large loops to dodge people and things. Try to drive as straight as possible. Again, there's people really close to you and they don't expect you to do that.
Intersections are awesome, because they are so chaotic. There's no stop signs. Some people go on the red light. Cars and trucks don't slow down. Just slow down (sometimes to a crawl) and assess the situation. People will avoid you.
Honking doesn't mean "fuck you" like home. It means "I'm here, watch out". Don't be afraid to use it.
If you see someone coming up on a side street to merge, give them some space. They will not look or stop. It's your job to give them the room they need. Serve slowly and lightly to your left and everything will be fine
The reason for this attire, you ask? At 11:30 I was walking in the office of iCan, an INTESOL training school set up here by Canadians. Starting January 5th I will be learning how to teach English as a second language.
Just like my brother, now that I think about it.
The blog being at an all-time low in readers, it's hard to stay focused and dedicated, but today's a(nother) "chill-out" day, so being back to basics, it has returned to being my personal journal of sorts.
First of all, a little inventory update.
I lost, and bought, and forgot at hostels, about 5 towels now. 2 weeks ago however I found an awesome travel towel.
I have NOT used my solar charger. It's been demoted to my bag of rubbish, with the playing cards and beer opener for Ken.
Yesterday I forgot my sweet swimsuit in Hue. I suspect it was stolen, I had left it to dry in the dorm, I would have seen it when leaving.
I went through 4 of them in the last trip so I'm not at all surprised.
Apart from that, gadget wise all that was added was a fake Beatspill speaker, cheap razor that can't hold a charge and a usb key that won't work. All bought in China.
Also got a few extra shirts from Ben in Leeds, and shower flip flops I wear everywhere.
Now, for some travel tips...
Before you leave, think about your entertainment. Times have a-changed, every hostel had Wi-Fi and that means everyone's staring at their luminous screen.
In a tiny place in China, a lady teases: "You came all the way to Asia to play games on your tablet?" (I'm addicted to Jetpack Joyride). I simply extended my arm and moved it in a 180 degree arc, pointing at everyone. They were all on their tablets or phones, including her.
My best move so far was to bring a board game. I chose Carcassonne. It's easy to learn but hard to master and when you leave the small point counting board at home it fits in a small Tupperware. I've played about 20 games already.
Do not underestimate the awesomeness of a camera. You see so many things in so many days, the pictures help remember. Also, if you have a good one, you get better pictures, therefore people will more easily listen to your adventures you so desperately want to talk to them about when you're back home.
Don't be so fucking cheap, dammit. I saw a man spend 300,000 Dongs on a meal and then give shit to a lady for trying to sell him a chocolate bar 5,000 more (25 cents) than the last city. It's embarrassing.
More driving tips:
I realized that my last tips were more about country side driving, after watching a fellow traveler cause so many near-misses and not even being aware of them.
All around tips: don't be cheap. Okay, you bought the bike $200 and you will sell it in a month at a loss so you want to limit your spending. But how much is your life worth? Go and fix that front break, don't wait until you almost hit a cow and shit your pants.
Be gentle with her. Give her a name. "Treat her line a woman", was what Tanja told me. I'm not very nice to girls though, but when learning the clutch I got what she was saying... listen to her. Treat her well. Spoil her. Give her an oil change every few days. It's your life on the line.
Splurge, dammit. I just got a new helmet for 350,000 Dongs with visor and ears protection and I regret not doing it earlier.
City driving guide.
Eyes looking ahead. Big time. Don't worry about your sides or what's behind you. The Vietnamese are excellent at anticipating, as long as you drive responsibly and somewhat like them.
The right part of your line, again, is the buffer zone for window shoppers, texters, kids on bikes, people driving the wrong way. The part on the left is for people who drive fast and they can be ridiculously close to each other. I avoid it.
Don't do smooth large loops to dodge people and things. Try to drive as straight as possible. Again, there's people really close to you and they don't expect you to do that.
Intersections are awesome, because they are so chaotic. There's no stop signs. Some people go on the red light. Cars and trucks don't slow down. Just slow down (sometimes to a crawl) and assess the situation. People will avoid you.
Honking doesn't mean "fuck you" like home. It means "I'm here, watch out". Don't be afraid to use it.
If you see someone coming up on a side street to merge, give them some space. They will not look or stop. It's your job to give them the room they need. Serve slowly and lightly to your left and everything will be fine
Saturday, 8 November 2014
Vietnam Greetings
I'm sitting at the public computer in this nice little hostel in Hue, Vietnam. A light but steady rain is washing the streets but the sun is strong enough to pierce the clouds and illuminate the land. I'm waiting for the weather to improve so I can get on Lucky Lucy, my Honda Win. She will take me to Da Nang in the south where tomorrow I have an interview to be accepted in a college ran by Canadians.
They will train me to become a teacher so that I can work, here in Vietnam. If everything goes well, I'll be putting my bags down for a while and get a more in-depth look at this amazing culture.
I've been in Vietnam for 3 weeks now, all of it has been great.
Right from the start, crossing the land border (a small bridge over a river) from China to Vietnam, I've had a huge weight lifted off my shoulders and been walking around, contempt.
First of all, everybody is warm. So warm. The locals are not tired at all of tourists. They stare at my tattoos a lot but if I smile at them, they smile back, 99% of the time. And what beautiful smiles.
No one is shitting in the streets, or spitting in the bus, or shouting at me for no fucking reason. This was a reality the second I stepped on Vietnam soil. Just a small river separates China from Vietnam and yet, the difference is stunning.
The food is delicious, not that spicy, and if you stick to street vendors you can get away with spending $10 a day for your three meals. A beer is usually $1. Not 2% Chinese stuff either. I've had a few hangovers already.
Around the middle of the country, near Hue, the coast with sunny warm beaches is just 50km away from wet and cloudy mountains. Diversity at such a close range.
My first night in Vietnam was spent on a sleeper train, traveling with Claudio the Italian basketball coach. After Nilkanth, he's my second favorite person that I traveled with on this trip. We shared a booth on the train with an Irish guy who froze when he heard The Pogues softly playing on my speaker. We shared some beers and stories.
We arrived in Hanoi at 5am, groggy, sleepy. There I would get my first Vietnam lesson: money is fucking confusing. 20,000 Dongs roughly equals $1. Our cab costs us 150,000 and as we all try to pay the driver at the same time, he starts moving money around, trying to confuse us as to who paid what amount and he is slightly successful. At the end of the transaction I overpaid by 30,000 Dongs and realized as he was driving away. I get very angry, until I realize that I only lost $1,50 in the transaction. Second lesson of Vietnam: count your change. Third lesson: everything's cheap.
We check in our hotel where the receptionist is sleeping in a small folder bed behind the counter. He tells us to put our bags down and go sleep in the common area, we're too early to check in. We gladly comply and sleep until 10am, after which we get to our rooms, drop our bags, have a little shower and workout, and go explore.
We get some cheap food and promptly get lost in the Old Quarters, the backpackers area, where every street has a commerce specialty. We see food street, bar street, metal street, bike repair street, clothes street. We see scooters everywhere, people just sitting around waiting, little dogs, birds in cages chirping away in the front of little stores, street vendors, cooked dog.
It's Friday, and when the sun goes down around 6pm, all the little bars and restaurants put small plastic stools out and the streets get clogged with beer drinkers, both westerners and locals. We quickly find out about Beer Hoi (tap beer), rumored to be brewed in a day but I don't know how this is possible. We sit next to the keg because, well, one mug is 5,000 Dong (25 cents), the beer is cold and the air is warm. After a few hours our duo of travelers has evolved into a full group of 10 people, some backpacking, some on holiday, some ex-pats. As we sit and talk and laugh, the street sounds of scooters, laughter, talking and dog barking lets in something different: the beautiful melody of 2 violins backed up by flute. Meters from us, 3 beautiful girls in black dresses are playing a free show. I am in love with Vietnam.
At midnight, the police shows up and closes everything. The tightly packed crowd quickly disappears but we are approached by club promoters. They take us to what looks like a fancy building, and on the 5th floor a dark club with loud music and a dance floor swallows us whole. We drink and dance until 5am.
We have to take a bus to Ha Long bay at 8am. It was rough.
We got packed in a small gray bus expertly navigating the small crowded streets. In the back, 5 Australian bros are talking loudly and laughing. They carry a huge boombox. Everyone else on the bus is quiet. I secretly hope that they are not on our boat tour, for I feel like taking it easy tonight.
We spent 2 nights in Ha Long Bay. The first night we spent drinking more Beer Hoi on the roof of the boat with other travelers. The bros were on a different tour so we got to relax. We had the crew turn off all the lights of the boat so we could just lay down and look at the stars while trading travel stories and everyone was nice. The next day we spent on Cat Ba island, where I meet a very dysfunctional couple of a 60-year old Vietnam millionaire woman who bathes topless, and a 30-year old scruffy-looking Brit. Weird conversations ensued.
I ended up getting pretty sick from swimming in the dirty bay where our bungalow was. I was afraid of Dengue but I just got mild fever and a cough that stuck with me for 2 weeks, until I resolved to spitting out the yellow shit that was coming up. I stayed a total of 8 days in Hanoi, relaxing, trying out the food, walking around, looking at INTESOL schools and streaming hockey very early in the morning, from the hotel lobby computers. I absolutely loved Hanoi and wouldn't mind working there for a while.
Buying my motorbike, that I paid $230 for - helmet, rack and bungee cords included - I ran into a German couple I met on mount Hua Shan in China, a month earlier. They're also buying a bike (that I later learned we should have paid $50 for) and we decide to travel south together, for safety's sake.
We left the next day on the first step to an amazing journey.
Cheers guys
They will train me to become a teacher so that I can work, here in Vietnam. If everything goes well, I'll be putting my bags down for a while and get a more in-depth look at this amazing culture.
I've been in Vietnam for 3 weeks now, all of it has been great.
Right from the start, crossing the land border (a small bridge over a river) from China to Vietnam, I've had a huge weight lifted off my shoulders and been walking around, contempt.
First of all, everybody is warm. So warm. The locals are not tired at all of tourists. They stare at my tattoos a lot but if I smile at them, they smile back, 99% of the time. And what beautiful smiles.
No one is shitting in the streets, or spitting in the bus, or shouting at me for no fucking reason. This was a reality the second I stepped on Vietnam soil. Just a small river separates China from Vietnam and yet, the difference is stunning.
The food is delicious, not that spicy, and if you stick to street vendors you can get away with spending $10 a day for your three meals. A beer is usually $1. Not 2% Chinese stuff either. I've had a few hangovers already.
Around the middle of the country, near Hue, the coast with sunny warm beaches is just 50km away from wet and cloudy mountains. Diversity at such a close range.
My first night in Vietnam was spent on a sleeper train, traveling with Claudio the Italian basketball coach. After Nilkanth, he's my second favorite person that I traveled with on this trip. We shared a booth on the train with an Irish guy who froze when he heard The Pogues softly playing on my speaker. We shared some beers and stories.
We arrived in Hanoi at 5am, groggy, sleepy. There I would get my first Vietnam lesson: money is fucking confusing. 20,000 Dongs roughly equals $1. Our cab costs us 150,000 and as we all try to pay the driver at the same time, he starts moving money around, trying to confuse us as to who paid what amount and he is slightly successful. At the end of the transaction I overpaid by 30,000 Dongs and realized as he was driving away. I get very angry, until I realize that I only lost $1,50 in the transaction. Second lesson of Vietnam: count your change. Third lesson: everything's cheap.
We check in our hotel where the receptionist is sleeping in a small folder bed behind the counter. He tells us to put our bags down and go sleep in the common area, we're too early to check in. We gladly comply and sleep until 10am, after which we get to our rooms, drop our bags, have a little shower and workout, and go explore.
We get some cheap food and promptly get lost in the Old Quarters, the backpackers area, where every street has a commerce specialty. We see food street, bar street, metal street, bike repair street, clothes street. We see scooters everywhere, people just sitting around waiting, little dogs, birds in cages chirping away in the front of little stores, street vendors, cooked dog.
It's Friday, and when the sun goes down around 6pm, all the little bars and restaurants put small plastic stools out and the streets get clogged with beer drinkers, both westerners and locals. We quickly find out about Beer Hoi (tap beer), rumored to be brewed in a day but I don't know how this is possible. We sit next to the keg because, well, one mug is 5,000 Dong (25 cents), the beer is cold and the air is warm. After a few hours our duo of travelers has evolved into a full group of 10 people, some backpacking, some on holiday, some ex-pats. As we sit and talk and laugh, the street sounds of scooters, laughter, talking and dog barking lets in something different: the beautiful melody of 2 violins backed up by flute. Meters from us, 3 beautiful girls in black dresses are playing a free show. I am in love with Vietnam.
At midnight, the police shows up and closes everything. The tightly packed crowd quickly disappears but we are approached by club promoters. They take us to what looks like a fancy building, and on the 5th floor a dark club with loud music and a dance floor swallows us whole. We drink and dance until 5am.
We have to take a bus to Ha Long bay at 8am. It was rough.
We got packed in a small gray bus expertly navigating the small crowded streets. In the back, 5 Australian bros are talking loudly and laughing. They carry a huge boombox. Everyone else on the bus is quiet. I secretly hope that they are not on our boat tour, for I feel like taking it easy tonight.
We spent 2 nights in Ha Long Bay. The first night we spent drinking more Beer Hoi on the roof of the boat with other travelers. The bros were on a different tour so we got to relax. We had the crew turn off all the lights of the boat so we could just lay down and look at the stars while trading travel stories and everyone was nice. The next day we spent on Cat Ba island, where I meet a very dysfunctional couple of a 60-year old Vietnam millionaire woman who bathes topless, and a 30-year old scruffy-looking Brit. Weird conversations ensued.
I ended up getting pretty sick from swimming in the dirty bay where our bungalow was. I was afraid of Dengue but I just got mild fever and a cough that stuck with me for 2 weeks, until I resolved to spitting out the yellow shit that was coming up. I stayed a total of 8 days in Hanoi, relaxing, trying out the food, walking around, looking at INTESOL schools and streaming hockey very early in the morning, from the hotel lobby computers. I absolutely loved Hanoi and wouldn't mind working there for a while.
Buying my motorbike, that I paid $230 for - helmet, rack and bungee cords included - I ran into a German couple I met on mount Hua Shan in China, a month earlier. They're also buying a bike (that I later learned we should have paid $50 for) and we decide to travel south together, for safety's sake.
We left the next day on the first step to an amazing journey.
Cheers guys
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