Martin and Laura ham it up in Kazbegi, Georgia.
Laura and Martin may be Irish, but in a few weeks time, they’ll be taking up their Australia work–travel visas that will allow them to enjoy an Aussie lifestyle for the next 12 months. I’m guessing they’ll find it pleasant enough that they’ll do the three months of rural or seasonal work that’s required for them to extend their visa to 24 months.
They already have a good foot in the door. Laura’s sister lives in O’Connell in New South Wales and has an ‘in’ with a country property, so these two may be put to work before truck-lag wears off. They’ll also be busy helping with the big St Patrick’s Day event her sister has introduced in O’Connell. We may just have to go up there too.
Martin, who loves DJ-ing in pubs and clubs in Ireland, left his job in a record store in Kerry to come on this overland. He’s sure been an asset on the cooking front. He’s in a cook group with Poor John and me, and he’s done plenty of the heavy lifting and almost all of the potato peeling. On our cook group days, Lu can’t resist calling him Paddy while she hands him the peeler.
Laura, who is originally from Dublin, also left a job in Kerry. She was working at the Institute of Technology, Tralee, before starting the overland. However, after listening to her sing at the recent karaoke night we had in Saigon, I reckon she could give up any day job and go on stage. She belted out a flawless rendition of Elvis’ Fever. I thought it was the song of the night.
We hope they’ll find time in their busy work–travel days to pop down to Canberra for a visit.
Biting—a warfare tactic.
We spent yesterday at Angkor Wat in central Cambodia. This magnificent complex of temples is rightly considered the 8th Wonder of the World and I’ll be writing blog entries on the four main temples we visited.
But I couldn’t resist sharing two images from the bas relief galleries that flank the walls of Angkor Wat itself.
Frankly, I had no idea biting was such an effective and common tactic in warfare, but old art doesn’t lie.
These walls were filled with images of monkeys biting men, men biting men, monkeys biting tigers, tigers biting men, tiger biting elephants. Virtually everyone was having a chomp out of someone.
Of course, all this vividly reminded me our own biter. But I won’t name names—the perpetrator has outgrown this habit, although is sometimes seen gnashing teeth.
Doing laundry near the South China Sea.
I’ve already mentioned how much I hate doing handwashing, but it becomes a fact of life on an overland trip. I’ve been pretty lucky since Central Asia and been able to get someone else to do my laundry for next to nothing. So far, the best bargain has been $1.25 for two kilos. The best job cost me an extravagant $3 and the work was done by an actual washing machine in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan.
A few weeks ago, I saw this woman doing her laundry in the river running alongside Hoi An, Vietnam. Bless her heart! She’s probably only ever done her laundry this way. That said, I wasn’t so moved that I went down and helped her.
A plate of white roses. Yum!
I couldn’t resist ordering white rose for dinner in Hoi An, in central Vietnam. In fact, there were so many things, that I couldn’t resist ordering us a mini degustation.
For those who aren’t familiar with the term, it describes a tasting experience. At its finest, a degustation will involve sampling small portions of a chef’s signature dishes in one sitting. Usually there are eight or more courses, and such a meal is often accompanied by a wine degustation. Poor John and I did a full-blown degustation on our 25th wedding anniversary. That one cost an absolute bomb and we enjoyed every mouthful. As a bonus, we had the pleasure of eating in the restaurant’s kitchen so we could watch each dish being made and have the process explained. We even scored a few tastes of extra items.
Our recent pig-out—in a riverside cafe—was not nearly so flash, but we had six dishes and thoroughly enjoyed them all. But the real standouts were the white rose dumplings and cao lao soup—both traditional Hoi An recipes.
A bowl of cao lao. Yum, yum!
The dumplings are filled with minced prawns or pork, and shaped to look like white roses. Cao lao is made of noodles, pork, greens, bean sprouts, broth and deep-fried croutons/crackers (see Sesame rice crackers in the Vietnam category). I’ve read that the best cao lao is made with noodles that have been soaked in a mixture of lye and water from the Ba Le well. I don’t know if we had the authentic version, but whatever we had was fabulous. I ordered it again the next day. 🙂
We also had a duck salad, prawns on sugar cane skewers, calamari patties and a fruit platter. Sorry, but I didn’t get good pictures of all the dishes.
Vietnamese coffee.
We arrived in Vietnam at sparrow’s fart, after spending the night sleeping on the floor at the border with Laos (see Yes, there’s a motorcycle under all that stuff in the Vietnam category).
Breakfast was our first stop. Poor John and I ordered two black coffees and two bowls of noodles. Imagine our surprise when glasses of thick black liquid arrived, accompanied by glasses of ice. Each drink glass held about 1/4 cup of ‘coffee’ and was topped by a metal drip filter.
Once all the dripping was done, I tasted gingerly. It was alcohol, very much like Tia Maria. A few of our group had ordered beers, so maybe they thought we’d ordered coffee liqueur.
Straightaway, I warned Poor John not to drink any. He has had to abstain after a nasty and clingy bout of hepatitis some years ago.
So being a trooper, I drank his and mine. Burp!
Well it wasn’t Tia Maria, and it was’t alcohol.
Madame Cuc's version—not quite as strong as some.
This was our introduction to Vietnamese coffee. It’s made with finely ground Vietnamese-grown dark roast coffee, and often flavoured with chicory. We should have poured the coffee over the ice, plus we should have had it with an equal amount of sweetened condensed milk. But we didn’t know that at the time.
It’s not my favourite way of having coffee, although Madame Cuc’s Hotel in Saigon did a great version. She served it hot and not quite as strong as most of the cups we had.
And speaking of strong—those two shots I had at breakfast near the border didn’t make me tipsy, but they sure gave me a caffeine buzz.
My bed is the one with the mosquito net down.
Poor John got into trouble this morning with the owner of our hostel in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.
Let me set the scene—the whole scene.
We’ve stayed in a lot of very basic accommodation on this trip, and this backpackers’ place certainly lived up to that description. The foyer/ground floor was long and narrow with a few disintegrating cane tables and chairs. All other furniture was wobbly, with bricks under some legs to level out surfaces. The paint was peeling. Six fans, with wires running all over the place, provided a bit of air movement. About 10 thin mattresses, stacked on their sides, were toward the back of the room. The women’s toilet was not working, so we had to use the men’s. A kitchen was just beyond the toilets.
Our group was allocated three rooms in two buildings, so we had six to a room. The beds were foam mattresses on the floor or in a small frame with bamboo slats instead of springs. My two thin mattresses weren’t enough to protect me from an extra bamboo slat that ran head to toe down the middle of my mattress support. Each bed came with its own mosquito net, an electric fan and a towel (mine smelt very sour).
Our floor had three rooms and only one bathroom (with the cold-water-only shower positioned almost over the toilet). Our room had no door, but we were given keys to small metal lockers on the floor below, so we could lock away our valuables. Laundry cost $1 a kilo (great bargain) and you weighed it on a big scale on the reception counter.
We stayed three nights and I got a kick out of the way that every time a newcomer arrived, the owner explained that the air conditioning had just been sent out to be repaired. I thought air-con could be fixed on site. 🙂
Now none of this basic-ness really concerned us. On a budget trip, you get what you get. I was thrilled to have my own mosquito net and fan. The only thing that made me crazy was the fact there was no where to hang your clothes while you had a shower. That was a first.
My not-so-springy mattress support. I think mine may have been put on upside down.
So leading up to this morning.
For the last two days, Poor John has been about the first person to appear in the foyer—about 5:45. Both days he ordered a cup of coffee from a young woman. I have to give the place credit for making decent coffee. This morning most of our group gathered in our building because our bus to Angkor Wat was leaving early. As usual Poor John was first on the scene. The young woman wasn’t around so he popped into the kitchen and ordered coffee and toast.
About 15 minutes later the owner, who by this time had started taking breakfast orders, arrived at our table and gruffly asked Poor John if he was the one who had placed an order ‘IN THE KITCHEN?’ Well yes, he had. ‘Now why in the world would you do that? You wouldn’t do something like that in a hotel!’
And that’s when I nearly choked. In a hotel?! Since when did this fellow think this place was even remotely like a hotel?
Poor John resisted being a smart ass, so didn’t tell the fellow that in the two hotels we’d stayed in most recently, he’d had to go to the kitchen to order breakfast, because it was the only way to get anyone’s attention.
Any chance of crossing the road. Er...probably not.
A few days ago, the truck people had a karaoke night. Needless to say, we had a few beers—or more than a few beers. I sang Africa by Toto. My score was 98, so I must have done okay.
At one stage, Martin sat down beside me and said very seriously, ‘I owe you a huge apology. Plus, I’ve had to eat my words’.
Okay, I was interested and perplexed. As far as I knew, he couldn’t possibly owe me an apology for anything.
But then he explained. Due to a few karaoke beers, I can’t remember the exact words, but here’s the gist of the conversation.
Martin: Peggy, when I read on the blog that you’d been hit by a motorbike in Hanoi, I thought ‘how in the world did that happen?’. (Bless his heart, Martin was oh-so diplomatic, but I’m sure he really thought ‘how did that silly old broad get clobbered by a bike’, or some Irish version of that).
Peggy: That’s okay, Martin. I’ve wondered, too. In fact, I’m still trying to figure out how it happened.
Martin: We’d been at the beach and smaller towns. The traffic wasn’t too bad. But then we got to Saigon and I took one look at all the motorbikes and had to eat my words. So I take it all back. I’m surprised more of us haven’t been hit. So my sincerest apologies for doubting you.
Peggy: Aw shucks. Thanks Martin. Now I don’t feel quite so stupid.
Coming at me from both directions. At least Saigon bikers stop at a red light. When the lights change—actually before they changes— the charge is on.
And it’s true. The more people I talk to, the more I realise that I’m not a completely silly old broad. What a relief.
Also don’t forget to pick a number before 29 February 2012.
A dinner companion—not a menu item.
A few people in our group are wary of eating local food. Fair enough. I understand that.
After all, you can never be quite sure what ingredients are in a dish or how clean the kitchen and cooking equipment are. I’ve eaten lots of mystery meals that have been tasty but unidentifiable. Just today, Poor John and I shared a dish with an unrecognisable item in it. It was chocolate colour and jelly consistency. Any ideas?
But I’ve been lucky, and for a few decades I have not been sick from the food I’ve eaten.
When travelling, Poor John and I figure the hole-in-the-wall restaurants and street stalls are excellent choices. Heck, they start over each day with fresh ingredients and a clean pan or two. Think of it this way—if you buy something that is cooked in front of you, at least you can be certain it hasn’t hung around for hours in the sun and heat.
Since we’ve hit Southeast Asia, a few people seem to be worried that cat or dog will turn up in their meal. We’ve tried to reassure them that cat and dog are considered delicacies and would be seriously expensive—street food costs a $1 or so.
It doesn't take a lot of kitchen to make great food.
We added the chillies.
The other night in Hanoi, we stopped at a little place that was a cross between a hole-in-the-wall and a street stall. Soon after we were seated, the owner’s cat popped out from under the stairs and came to greet us. Although cat was nowhere on the menu, the cat’s antics could make you wonder.
We ordered a delicious beef noodle soup that we chose by pointing to a bowl in front of another fellow. It was that international hand-signal conversation that says ‘we’ll have what he’s having’. We pointe, gave a thumbs up and looked quizzical, and he replied with a smile, nod and a reassuring thumbs up.
And in case I forget to mention it somewhere, I have to learn the Southeast Asian recipes for chicken and beef stocks. Their broths are sensational and SO clear.
See those two fellows down there in the chicken yard? They're already discussing topics for tomorrow's conversation with their friends.
We stayed at Green Field, a lovely little hotel in Hoi An in central Vietnam. It has a wonderful homey feel and the women at reception are so welcoming and attentive.
I found it most amusing at 11 each night when they changed from their traditional Vietnamese clothes into their pyjamas, but continued to serve at reception. That’s when you really felt at home. I was always tempted to run up and put on my jammies and come back to the foyer to use the internet, but I didn’t.
Each morning at 5:10, I could be forgiven for thinking we were staying on a farm. Our room, 314, overlooked the neighbour’s backyard, complete with chickens and roosters.
Those two roosters had friends all over town. They had loud discussions for at least 30 minutes each morning, that were interrupted only by a couple of dogs who kept barking, ‘Shut up all of you.’ There was absolutely no chance of us oversleeping—even if we wanted to. But that never really matters as Poor John is always up at ‘sparrow’s fart’.
On our last morning in Hoi An, the dog barking ended abruptly with a big yowl from a cat—and then silence. Talk about a cliffhanger ending!
For more information about Green Field, see http://www.greenfieldhotel.com/en/
An all-in-one bathroom—with the seat up!
Never in a million years did I think I’d ever say it. No male I’ve ever known thought they’d hear me say it. Certainly my family never thought they’d hear me say it. Poor John can’t believe his luck!
Of course, I’m talking about the toilet seat.
Every guy who has ever crossed my doorstep learns quick-smart that the main house rule is ‘Put the toilet seat down’. The lid is optional, but there are no exceptions for the seat.
I grew up in a household of sisters. My dad cooperated. We have two daughters. Poor John cooperates (almost always). The male exchange students have learned to cooperate—although some have been slower than others.
But for months now we have been in the lands of all-in-one bathrooms. That means the toilet, sink and shower are all bunched together. The shower is often curtain-less and located only 12 inches either side of the toilet.
Girls, are you beginning to get the picture? Have a shower with the seat down and the seat is soaked. Have a shower with the seat and lid down and both are soaked.
But if the seat and lid stay up, it means the next time I need to sit, I don’t get a wet bum.
So fellas and gals, just for this little while, for the rest of this road trip, please remember to leave the seat up. I promise to do the same for you.
Where to next? 