Indochina – Cambodia – Siem Reap and Angkor Wat

Posted on November 21, 2014 by therealchrisparkle

All too soon, an early morning start saw us leaving behind the welcoming warmth of the Raffles in Phnom Penh to take an Angkor Air flight to Siem Reap. Most people have heard of Angkor Wat, which is the major tourist attraction here – indeed in Cambodia, indeed in south east Asia, and probably in the top ten of the world’s greatest sights – but I certainly hadn’t heard of its brash little neighbour Siem Reap before. Well I can tell you it’s a complete gem of a place.

Its name, rather belligerently, means “the defeat of Siam”, so you might expect it to be a warrior environment where, when the local lads get lairy, one says “Who you calling Siamese”, and it ends up with a head-butt and a trip to A&E. But of course not; this is Cambodia, one of the most relaxed, laid back and forgiving nations on this planet. The streets of Siem Reap are paved, perhaps not with gold, but with lovely restaurants and bars, entertaining boutiques, fashion bargains, and top quality hotels, of which the Raffles Grand Hotel d’Angkor, is surely one of the finest. It also happened to be where we were lucky enough to be staying. Elegant, refined, with some stunning art works, and the most beautiful pool beside which we enjoyed a fantastic lunch. There was only one other couple there during lunchtime, and it felt very relaxing, extremely exclusive and enormously privileged.

Chiefly though, Siem Reap serves as the gateway to Angkor Wat and the other Angkor temples. They belong to the classic period of Khmer art and civilisation and were created by a succession of Khmer kings who presided over an empire that dominated the region from 800 AD to 1430 AD. From the 15th century, the temples were more or less abandoned and forgotten by the world, although occasionally visited by travellers including the French naturalist Henri Mouhot who is attributed with their re-discovery in 1861. Today the area attracts a good 2 million visitors a year, and tourism is second only to the textile industry in the country’s economy.

Our trip to the entire site was split over two days. On the first afternoon we explored some of the smaller, outer, sites, whilst saving the Main Attraction for the next day. Our first destination was the temple of Preah Khan, built between 1180 and 1215 as King Jayavarman VII’s temporary capital whilst Angkor Thom (of which more later) was being restored. Not only a temple, it also served as a monastery and religious college, and the complex extends over approximately 2 square miles. Originally dedicated to Buddha, it was later vandalised by Hindu rulers who removed the Buddhist images and replaced them with Hindu carvings. There’s a marvellous welcome into the site – you walk through an arch overseen by three faces, looking ahead and to the left and right. Once in, like with all these temples, you just wander round and take in the history and the exquisite carvings, and imagine what it would have looked like at the height of its power. Outstanding sights include the engraved line of dancers in the appropriately named Hall of Dancers, and the extraordinary tree roots that have formed around the buildings, showing how, over time, nature dominates what man has created. They are amazing to see.

After that, we visited Ta Som. This small temple has been the subject of extensive renovation work, and when you see how one fig tree has completely strangled the stonework at one entrance, it’s not difficult to understand why it was so necessary. The temple was built by King Jayavarman VII at the end of the 12th century and was dedicated to his father Dharanindravarman II – these old Khmer kings were a bit of a mouthful. It’s one of the lesser visited temples, and we were lucky to see it.

Our final port of call was to Banteay Srei, home to some of the best preserved sculptures of all the Angkor temples. Constructed between AD 967 and 1000, the name means Citadel of Beauty, and what makes it stand out is the use of pink sandstone. Unlike most other monuments in the area, it was never a royal temple, and there are hardly any plain surfaces without some elaborate decoration. The main central sanctuary was dedicated to Shiva, and everywhere you find beautiful carvings which are a testament to the skill of the artisans and builders who created it. It’s a stunning sight and, extraordinarily, wasn’t discovered until 1914. Our guide was very keen that we should see this place, but, unfortunately, we had spent quite a lot of time at Prean Khan, and so by the time we arrived – it was closed! But, as I pointed out earlier, this is Cambodia; so our guide simply forced open the gate even though it was locked (not very securely, obviously), and we sneakily wandered around by ourselves as dusk turned to darkness. I must be honest and say that our illicit entry gave it an extra thrill; and to know that we were the only people there made it feel extra special. The guide shone his torch, and also we used our torch apps on the iPhones to help us find our way around. The moving lights of course had an unfortunate consequence, and it wasn’t long before a security guard suddenly appeared to see what was going on. But this is Cambodia; and once our guide had slipped him a few quid there was no problem. I’m not normally one to advocate an illegal act – but this was well worth the trespassing.

Our journey back to the hotel was exciting, as it was now night-time, and we were driving through these small villages (although on relatively good roads), with no light other than that coming from the houses alongside the road. Despite its being pitch black, the area was full of activity – workers, families, children, sitting outside the houses, walking along the streets, engaging in animated conversation, preparing outdoor meals – all human life was there. It was as though the darkness had brought them to life like a colony of bushbabies.

Back at the hotel, it was time to consider our evening meal. Having had a flashy (and expensive) dinner the night before in Phnom Penh, we thought we’d simply hit the streets of Siem Reap and (hopefully) find a good restaurant. One of our intrepid co-travellers had heard of Square 24, so booked it for all of us and it was excellent. We’d thoroughly recommend it – atmospheric, vibrant, and delicious. As in Laos, the local cuisine is delicate, tasty and rewarding – lovely, harmonised flavours instead of all those clashing ingredients you get in Vietnam.

The next day we were up early for The Big One – Angkor Wat. Of all the great sights in the world we have seen, this is one of the few that actually delivers more than you could possibly hope for – it’s a hugely satisfying place to spend a day, and in fact you could come back day after day after day and still have loads more to take in. Most visitors just have the one day to sample it though, so if that’s you, make the most of your time and see as much as you can of this amazing place.

We think of Angkor Wat as being the entire complex, but in fact it is only one (albeit the largest) of the individual temples on the site. Arriving there is a beautiful experience, as you walk up a wide footway over the charming stretch of water surrounding it. You wouldn’t want to do it at night, or if you’ve had one over the eight as there’s nothing to stop you from falling in the moat. Angkor Wat’s five great towers beckon you as you walk across this causeway, their reflections in the water teasing you forward. You share the walk with hundreds of other tourists, not to mention quite a few monks on a day out too, but the site is so vast that it rarely feels overcrowded.

On arrival you are confronted with a miraculous gallery of bas-reliefs, depicting scenes from the Hindu epic, the Mahabharata. The mass of intricately carved figures of warriors overwhelms you, as you identify soldiers, chariots and animals in a higgledy-piggledy scrum of combat. The blend of images seems to go on forever; you could easily spend an hour just observing the figures and following the stories carved out on the walls. Once you tear yourself away from this sight, you just wander around the complex, marvelling at the structures and the sheer magnitude of the entire place. It was dedicated to the Hindu God Vishnu, so there are Hindu carvings everywhere. The Central Sanctuary towers over the whole place, giving the impression of a massive “temple-mountain”. Steep staircases take you up (and down) and you can walk around the galleries and admire the views both inside and out.

Leaving from the back end of the complex, we made our way to Ta Prohm, which was a wealthy Buddhist monastery built around the year 1200, but is now most famous (perhaps somewhat sadly) for being the background for scenes in Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. The way the jungle has encroached on the buildings, and how the tree roots have strangled the structures is extraordinary to see. It’s a slow walk around, as everyone stops for photographs of themselves with roots – very entertaining though.

From Ta Prohm we headed towards Angkor Thom, which means “The Great City”, and it’s a stunning sight, made up of many different elements. We found the Terrace of the Elephants, a 300 metre long structure decorated with almost life-sized elephants in procession. They look really cute. We strolled around the Bayon, a temple with no fewer than 54 towers, some with mysteriously smiling faces, as well as military and other carvings. The number of individual buildings, temples, palaces and terraces in the whole complex blows your mind. We probably only saw a fraction of it, but it will remain as one of the most memorable days we’ve ever had.

We started the visit early, so even after all this time, we weren’t too late for lunch. We went to Sala Bai, yet another restaurant designed to give training and a career to street children, and, as always with these places, it was excellent. From there we returned to the hotel for some afternoon chilling, where we were confronted by the most enormous Easter Egg (it was Easter Monday) – that would have taken some eating. Later on we headed out for a night on Siem Reap town, where we strolled up and down the evocatively named “Pub Street”, ending up at the Red Piano for dinner. As the website says, “drugs and prostitution are strictly forbidden – also the perfect spot for your afternoon coffee and snack”, so you know it’s a classy joint. Actually it was huge fun – not Cordon Bleu perhaps but good for a laugh. The music they played, you may be interested to know, included Free’s All Right Now, Dire Strait’s Walk of Life, and a French song we really like, Philippe Cataldo’s Les Divas du Dancing (Google it).

The next day was our flight home, but it didn’t leave until 4pm so we had time for another trip around town in the morning, visiting the Old Market, the souvenir shops and fashion boutiques, and laughing at the signs outside the Fish Foot Pedicure establishments. “Our hungry fish are waiting for your dead skin!” “If our fish cannot make you happy we’ll not charge”. Big promises there. We ended up at a lovely wine bar/restaurant where we treated ourselves to a final bottle of Cambodian red wine (it probably wasn’t Cambodian) and I had a great big pizza. Sorry to say I can’t remember the name, but it was on the corner by the Old Market – you can’t miss it.

And that was the end of our Indochinese Odyssey. Three weeks of extraordinary sights and meeting super people; the gentle relaxation of Laos, the gritty vibrancy of Vietnam, and the indomitable spirit of Cambodia. A great trip, and one I’d recommend to anyone.

Indochina – Cambodia – Phnom Penh

Posted on November 20, 2014 by therealchrisparkle

Meanwhile, back in Indochina…. a few weeks ago, gentle reader, I left you playing Hunt the Gecko all night in our hotel room in Chau Doc, not really the best preparation for our triumphal entry into Cambodia the next day. Nevertheless, we emerged from our sleep, ready to take in our final Vietnamese morning, and the exciting prospect of a four hour speedboat trip up the Mekong, into Cambodia, and on to Phnom Penh. What a stylish way to go from country to country! The boat belongs to the Victoria Hotel and they use it for day trips to the Cambodian capital as well as for proper international travel. There was plenty of room for us intrepid five to relax, stretch out and take in the beautiful scenery.

There was no particular problem at the border crossing, although it was a slow process. Fortunately the hotel provided a guide who explained precisely all the forms we would have to complete, which booths to stand at, which fees to pay, and so on. We were expecting quite a major border post, considering it’s an international boundary on one of the world’s biggest rivers; instead, it was like a couple of garden sheds and a Portakabin, surrounded by a few obligatory shrines and a mangy dog. Bureaucracy took its usual unhurried pace, and, about an hour later, with ID’s confirmed and dongs exchanged for riels, we were back on the river. The rest of the journey was uneventful with nothing to do but observe river life, until, as often seems to happen on the Mekong, the boat broke down. The Captain and the guide weren’t the remotest bit concerned though – I got the impression this happened all the time. The Captain did whatever is the naval equivalent of getting under the bonnet and wiggling a few connections, and off we went again. The Captain returned, somewhat smug at his engineering prowess, to his steering wheel. However, in doing so, he accidentally kicked over a bucket of iced water that had been keeping soft drinks cold for us so that the water went cascading all over the inside of the boat, splashing up the sides of our legs and ruining any delicate shoes that might have been worn. With a hundred sorries imparted to a few discomfited Brits, the Captain wasn’t looking so smug any more.

Arriving anywhere from sea is an exciting view – we’ve been on cruises that have called at Valletta and Venice, for example, and nothing can prepare you for the exhilaration of seeing these places from the water, as the land gets closer. Well, arriving at Phnom Penh from the Mekong is a similarly amazing sight to behold. From some distance you get the promise of all these gilded temples with their pointy roofs and elaborate finials shaped like the “nagas” of Buddhist mythology, although they remind me more of birds of prey talons, or those very ornate fingernails Thai dancers have. The initial sensation is one of elegance, a treasury of history, a place where time has stood still so that these extraordinarily beautiful buildings can co-exist with recent functional architecture in a modern frenetic city. You can’t wait to get off the boat and explore the city.

But first we checked into our hotel – and how fantastic it is. We were at the Raffles Hotel le Royal, and it’s probably the second most beautiful hotel I’ve ever stayed in (want to know which is the most beautiful? It’s the Oberoi Amarvilas in Agra). The bedrooms and the public rooms are immaculate, and they really get the service right too, being the perfect blend of friendliness and politeness. The Elephant Bar is a wonderful place to unwind at the end of an evening, the poolside terrace is exquisite, and the main restaurant simply fab – as we would discover the next evening.

After lunch it was time to head back into town and meet our guide, Phaly (I think that’s how you spell it – pronounced Polly). She was an extraordinary person with a very personal understanding of the sorrowful history of Cambodia over the last forty years. We would learn more about that, and her own experiences, the next day. Meanwhile, on a happier note, our afternoon was spent visiting the Royal Palace, whose intricate spires and quirky shaped temples had welcomed us at a distance on the boat that morning. You would think that the Royal Palace might be centuries old, but actually it only dates from the mid-nineteenth century, and is the official residence of Cambodia’s reigning monarch, King Sihamoni. There are many buildings that make up the whole Palace complex, including the Throne Hall, the Pavilion of Napoleon III, the Dancing Pavilion and the Royal Treasury. As you would expect, they are adorned with stunning decorations and it’s all landscaped to immaculate smartness; there’s hardly a leaf out of place. One of the halls has a rather bizarre costume exhibition; not that you wouldn’t expect an exhibition of costume in a place like this, but some of the models made it look as though they’ve been transported from a tatty 1980s boutique that’s having a hard time shifting some old stock. Alongside the Royal Palace you can also find the Silver Pagoda, with its stupa that holds the ashes of the current King’s grandparents, its Equestrian Statue of King Norodom dressed as Napoleon III, and its Buddhist temple.

We then moved on to Wat Phnom, a very lively and happening temple built in 1373 to house some early Buddhist statues; now it’s a market and a meeting place as well as a place of worship. It’s very colourfully decorated, verging on the gaudy more than the tasteful. Very prevalent in Cambodia are the people near to temples selling caged birds – the idea is you buy a bird and then set it free – it gives you good Karma. One of our group decided to buy one of these wretched animals trapped in its tiny cage; she paid over her money and received the little cage, which she then opened – shook a little – and the bird just dropped dead out of it onto the floor. I’m sure that didn’t do anyone’s Karma rating any good at all. Whilst I was trying to stifle a smile remembering Monty Python’s Norwegian Blue, our fellow intrepid traveller just marched straight back to the bird seller and demanded a fresh one. It all seemed very strange to me. The new bird flew away and Karma was restored. Outside Wat Phnom there is a big garden clock, set in the lawn adjacent to the temple. It still works – although I doubt it’s been there since 1373.

And that concluded our afternoon sightseeing. Like all Asian cities Phnom Penh’s roads are a battlefield between car, cyclist and pedestrian, although it wasn’t as terrifying as Vietnam. We safely made our way back to Raffles for afternoon tea and a nap, before returning into town to try the FCC for dinner. That’s the Foreign Correspondents Club to you and me. It’s somewhere people rave about, but to be honest, we couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. My pizza was cold, and Mrs Chrisparkle discovered she had a big ugly black thing walking over her hand at one point, at which she let out a shriek, some good old Anglo-Saxonisms, and the big ugly black thing fled for its life.

The next morning we all went for a leisurely walk around Phnom Penh’s old historic centre, to observe its fascinating mix of Khmer and French colonial architecture. We drove past the Medical University and the main railway station, which reminded me a little of the old Hoover building in Perivale. We saw Telecom Cambodia and the Children’s Hospital, where the streets were thronging with parents and children anxiously going in and out for appointments, then happily chatting about diagnoses and medications. We saw what once was an imposing elegant building but with its façade damaged, its paint peeling from the surface, overrun with vegetation and surrounded by a collapsing corrugated iron fence – this was right in the heart of the city. Apparently it once was a very grand hotel, but once it had been attacked and had fallen into disrepair, it’s just been left to rot. We saw the Main Post Office, stately, as they often are; and a fruit and veg market, glistening with goodies and not as stomach turning as some markets can be. We visited the modern market hall, circular in design, with entrances north, south, east and west; and with outside rows of stalls lining the four entrance paths – it must look very elegant from the air. We took in the National Museum, with its four pavilions housing the most striking statuary – a beautiful building in itself and there are some amazing exhibits there.

After all that edification, it was definitely time for lunch. It was yet another of these youth projects, Friends, and their Romdeng restaurant. It was possibly the most impressive of all these restaurants, that aim to train former street children, give them a career and also provide a splendid culinary experience. The food and service was great, and if it’s still on the menu, the chocolate and banana spring roll with strawberry sauce is To Die For.

Wherever you go in Phnom Penh, you cannot escape memories of the Pol Pot regime. These beautiful, kind, gentle people were subjected to the most brutal and cruel subjugation that virtually eradicated an entire generation. It’s very striking in Cambodia that you see many people aged around 25 or younger, and many 55 or older; but disturbingly few in between. They simply didn’t survive. Those that remain have few assets, as their property was seized or destroyed – our guide Phaly told us that she works to maintain the rest of the family and all eight of them sleep in one room. Her parents were killed when she was young and as a result, she doesn’t actually know her birthdate or age. Things one takes for granted in the west are precious commodities in Cambodia. Yet they don’t appear to resent the past, they seem to accept it in a very Buddhist way, and overall it’s a very peaceful, welcoming place, much more similar to Laos than to Vietnam.

Thus, having spent the morning taking in the sights and sounds of modern Phnom Penh, and the beauty of its archaeological and artistic heritage in the National Museum, it was time to turn to sadder things. The Tuol Seng Museum of Genocide is situated in a former school in the centre of the city, that was used as a prison by Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge and has been left as a reminder future generations. It’s a harrowing and haunting experience, but essential to understand the true nature of what went on and to admire the indomitable spirit of the victims. Outside you see a sign with the prison rules – designed to intimidate and bully the victims into acceptance of their fate. Inside, on top of the spartan beds in each cell lie instruments of torture; on some of the walls you see pictures of people who spent their last days in those cells; the white and yellow floor tiles are blackened with the spilled blood of the murdered. When you hear what actually happened it chills you to the bone. Pol Pot’s terrorists, who gathered together all the intellectuals, the professionals, the teachers, the doctors – everyone except the farmers by the sound of it – and tortured and despatched them, were mere boys aged 12 to 16, encouraged to let loose their bloodlust on the terrified population. It’s extraordinary to think that this sector of the community – one that under ordinary circumstances society educates, assists and nurtures – should turn on its fellow citizens in such a barbaric way.

For me the most memorable exhibits in the Genocide museum were the galleries of photographs of some of the people imprisoned and who knew they were going to lose their lives. The majority looked – unsurprisingly – devastated, broken and desperately sad. A few looked furious, arrogant, proud and determined not to give in. That spirit of defiance was awe-inspiring. Illustrations on the walls showed the torture methods they used and looked positively medieval in their cruelty.

Out of all the thousands that passed through its gates, only seven people survived the prison experience. On the day we were there, one of them, Chum Mey, now into his eighties, was giving a talk to a group of students, as well as selling copies of his book, Survivor. It was an honour to meet him, but I also felt a distinct degree of discomfort at freely wandering round the prison where he had suffered such appalling hardship. He seemed very happy to meet tourists though.

In for a penny, in for a pound. Once we’d been well and truly humbled by our visit to the Genocide museum, it was time to visit the Killing Fields. It’s an appropriate end to the day, as you’re following the route of those prisoners who were shipped off from the Tuol Seng to be sent the five miles out of town to the deceptively peaceful setting of the former orchard at Choeung Ek, to be killed. It’s an extraordinary place to visit – for so many reasons. At its centre is a memorial pavilion, built in 1988, with glass panels around, and inside you can see approximately 8,000 skulls of victims found at the site. It is gruesome – but it’s also strangely dignified and noble.

There is a sequence of tourists signs denoting the places where the trucks, bringing in the victims, would stop, and from where they would be led away for immediate execution; but when the numbers got too many, it became impossible to kill them all quickly enough so they needed a detention spot where the victims could await their death – and there is a tourist sign indicating that spot too. There is a sign marking where the Executioners’ office was; and finally the Chemical Substances Storage room sign shows where they used to keep DDT and other such chemicals which would be scattered over the corpses to obliterate the smell and also to kill off any people who had accidentally survived their executions.

What affected me most was the frequent sight of bones and clothing just peeping out of the surface of the ground. Although there was an exhumation of the mass graves in 1980, there hasn’t been the time or resources to perform a thorough clearing of the site, and no doubt everywhere you walk is only millimetres above a burial site. There’s a display cabinet showing some rags of victims’ clothes that came to the surface during rain whilst they were exhuming the mass graves. It’s a particularly pitiful sight, just to see the ordinary, everyday items that people were wearing on their most extraordinary of death days. The Khmer Rouge didn’t like to waste valuable bullets on these people if possible, so they were frequently bludgeoned to death by using blunted hoes; and some trees on the site provide branches with very sharp jagged edges that were used as tools for decapitation. There’s another tree – The Killing Tree – against which babies were flung by their ankles. I think I’ve gone into enough detail.

It’s so incongruous that such a ghastly place is a tourist destination, but, like Auschwitz, it’s somewhere you have to go and bear witness to the atrocities committed by man on man, in the hope that it might prevent it from happening again. We both felt that the Killing Fields were actually more upsetting than Auschwitz. Auschwitz is a site of enormous dignity and reverence. The Killing Fields had an ice cream stall, souvenir shop and a children’s playground nearby. There were ladies walking round selling pashminas. I guess life goes on.

I can’t imagine anywhere more welcoming than the Raffles after such a harrowing afternoon. The juxtaposition of present day luxury and 1970s genocide is surreal. However, you can’t change the past and can only live fully in the present and look to the future. So for dinner that night we ate at the Raffles Restaurant Le Royal which was hideously expensive but a real celebration of enjoying life.

Indochina – Vietnam – Ho Chi Minh City and the Mekong Delta

Posted on October 6, 2014 by therealchrisparkle

We arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon, hereafter referred to as HCMC) quite late in the evening and were met by our guide Hai. From the moment we met him, till the moment he left us in the southern Vietnamese town of Chau Doc, we barely understood a word he said. All our other guides in Indochina, although they were local, had good, understandable, English accents. Sadly, not Hai. I’m sure he had lots of interesting observations and he was a very nice man but his voice was just like that of Kim Jong-il in South Park.

Our hotel for our two nights in HCMC was the Caravelle, and ever so swanky it is too. Built in 1959, it was a communications hub during the Vietnam War and was also home to the Australian and New Zealand embassies. Very sweetly they had left a chocolate dessert in our bedroom with “Happy Wedding Anniversary” written in dark chocolate on a while chocolate slab. So kind. It still wasn’t our anniversary yet, but at least it was easier to manage (and tastier) than the huge bouquet Mrs Chrisparkle was given in Hué. After unpacking, we went for a walk around the block, but for simplicity’s sake, that night we ate in the hotel’s restaurant and for the life of me I can’t remember anything about it. Must have been ok, then.

The next morning we were all bound for our first excursion of the day, to the Cu Chi Tunnels. Cu Chi is about 25 miles out of HCMC, and is famous for its network of tunnels built by the Viet Cong, where they hid from American forces during the war. This intricate network has tiny entrance holes, many invisible as they are covered over by leaves and other natural vegetation. The majority of them were far too small for me to squeeze into, although Mrs C has more of a Viet Cong physique and was able to slide in and out of a few trapdoors. The advice to visitors includes forbidding them to enter the tunnels if they are of “old age (70 years or more)” (a bit cheeky) or “visitors got drunk on alcohol or beer”. Clearly Vietnamese beer doesn’t count as alcohol.

Not only does the area have this network of tunnels, it’s also littered with mantraps, and it’s also an area that was heavily mined, so you have to be careful where you walk, and keep alert. There are some contraptions that if you step on them the surface swings down – the earth effectively gives way – and spears the unfortunate person on grisly looking spikes. This was not a nice war. There are also displays of a captured American tank, some cluster bombs, an underground camp hospital, and waxwork models of prisoners. It’s a sobering, serious place; fascinating to visit, but you come away horrified at the miseries that war puts everyone through. On a more mundane level, I’ve never seen this before – but they have an ingenious way of making sure the Gents’ urinals are kept clean: each bowl is filled as far as possible with hundreds of gin-and-tonic-sized blocks of ice. Gentlemen will understand when I say it made for an entertaining, potentially artistic and sometimes unpredictable visit to the loo.

After the visit, we returned to HCMC, stopping briefly to admire a forest full of seemingly identical rubber trees, planted at regular intervals. Hai showed us the incisions made in the tree bark and how the sap drips out and gets collected in primitive little bowls. Apparently the trees belong to none other than the Michelin Company – I’m guessing its tyre division as opposed to the haute cuisine. You could have a great game of hide and seek here – especially if you’re quite thin.

These long roads between towns in Vietnam don’t have much in the way of service stations or accommodation for long distance lorry drivers, so enterprising café owners and farmers have come up with a lucrative solution to this problem – rows upon rows of hammocks, tied between the trees, perfect for a few hours’ rest – or indeed an overnight stay – before completing your journey. Let’s face it – it doesn’t get cold overnight, in fact I don’t think I’d been anywhere that humid. As we approached HCMC the roadsides were littered with hammocks, with drivers loafing on them enjoying a well-earned rest. As you get closer to the city centre, the numbers of bikes increase – as you might expect – and there were the usual amazingly ambitious achievements of balance on a bike to be gawped at. Massive bags of laundry, a mobile greengrocer stall, pet shop puppies, and charred lumps of wood were all being carried by various riders on their tiny bikes. The best one though was the guy who was carrying six boxes of goods and three massive pots of paint on his bike. An incredible feat of engineering! Whilst we watched these testimonies to commerce go by, Hai decided to put on his easy-listening cassette. The softest jazz covers of Killing Me Softly and Sealed with a Kiss were enough to give you a mild headache but it was We Wish You a Merry Christmas (in March) that really made me want to puke.

For lunch we went to Monsoon – good quality food in a very nice setting. Our menu included a Sweet and Sour fish soup, some mixed Vietnamese appetizers, braised pork and eggs in caramel sauce (that’s just the kind of taste mix that I really don’t need to revisit), stir-fried beef with pumpkin flowers, and (no tittering please) stir-fried morning glory with garlic. Unfortunately the restaurant continued with the gloopy western easy-listening sounds, that they obviously assume we tourists love to hear, so it didn’t encourage us to linger.

After lunch we had a trip to the Presidential Palace. This is a fascinating building, combining grand state rooms for visiting dignitaries, lecture theatres, posh drawing rooms, and amazing art work; while in the basement you can discover the military communication centre during the war, including the President’s war room (one of those places with lots of charts on the walls and a severe looking desk with just a green telephone on top) and the emergency kitchens. I had quite a lot of fun pretending to be the President taking urgent calls on the phone when no one was looking (and ignoring the sign next to the phone that says “do not touch”). It was just too tempting.

We went on to the War Remnants Museum. This, by contrast, isn’t a place for levity. There were various exhibitions of different aspects of the war, and there’s no holding back on the plentiful illustrations that cannot fail to upset you. We endured some of the images of gruesome deformities brought about by Agent Orange, but it was all very sad and distressing, and we couldn’t bring ourselves to go upstairs to look at the (apparently even worse) images up there. We’re all different, and people deal with the repercussions of war in many ways; but I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing a middle-aged American man posing victoriously in front of some of these exhibits, accompanied by his children (aged about 10?) whilst his wife took pictures of them all smiling and looking delighted alongside images of dead and deformed Vietnamese. Outside are some wartime US Army aircraft, tanks and a helicopter which you can wander around; they are genuinely interesting and evocative to see.

It was getting late in the day but we still had a couple of sights left on the list. We visited the 19th century Notre Dame cathedral just as they were closing but snuck in long enough to take a couple of photos – very imposing, but seeming bizarrely out of place in this Buddhist land with a violent past. It’s a very charming building though, with its spires and rose window and French colonial style. Even livelier and grander, we visited the old Post Office, still used as such today as well as being a tourist information centre. It was designed by M. Gustav Eiffel, of the Tower fame.

After a much needed nap, we went out to explore the night time streets and to forage for food. We discovered a very quirky and upmarket shop which I think was called Mainan (or something similar). It was next door to the Parkson department store on Le Thanh Ton. Whilst Mrs C and our co-travellers were browsing the goods, I thought I’d take a couple of photos of their amusing décor. At that point, their security guard (who looked about 19) stepped forward and told me loudly “NO!” Well, I’m sorry, no one tells me “NO” when we’re considering buying things from their shop. Briefly explaining what had happened to Mrs C, I marched out making it clear to the security guard (whose jaw had fallen to the floor in astonishment) that he’d definitely lost any custom I might have brought to the shop. So rather than blogging about what an enjoyable experience you can have at Mainan, I will instead tell you it’s full of absurdly overpriced unwearable rubbish (800 dollars for a shirt, are you serious?) and not to waste your time there. After I’d left, I sulked around Parkson until the others joined me.

We were out to celebrate our wedding anniversary, and we’d noticed this nice-looking restaurant on a brief round-tour the previous night. It was Colonial French rather than authentic Asian, and we fancied a change. It was the Brasserie of Saigon. We had a lovely French meal in its elegant and refined surroundings – the Chateaubriand, and a fantastic bottle of Saint Emilion to accompany. You really felt like you were in Paris. Sadly, according to Trip Advisor, it looks like it’s now a Starbucks. That’s a real pity. Afterwards, we went back to the hotel because we wanted to try the Saigon Saigon rooftop bar atop the Caravelle. I have to say – it was amazing. The night time views are stunning, and you feel so spoilt and cosmopolitan up there. It’s a real privilege.

The next morning we left HCMC for a long day’s travelling down to the Mekong Delta and the city of Can Tho. The journey was divided up into different segments to make it more interesting! First, we drove to Ben Tre to pick up a motorboat (courtesy of mientaytourist.com) to take us on the Mekong to one of the four islands there – Unicorn Island (the others being Dragon, Turtle and Phoenix Islands). The water is very brown and muddy as you drive past the stilt houses and the fish farms on the wide stretch of the Mekong, but turn off down a tributary and it gets narrower and narrower as you approach Unicorn Island – so much so that you can almost touch land either side of the boat with your outstretched arms. Once we got off we were met by a donkey cart to take us to this little place where we sampled some local fruits, drank traditional tea with honey and lime, and heard a local folksong performance. Then it was back on the boat again to travel past the backs of the little villages, where people spill out off the land and on to rowing boats moored up against the jungle to live a life on water. We visited Tan Thach Market where they showed us how they made the traditional coconut candy. That was yummy.

Lunch was taken at My Tho – I can’t remember anything about the restaurant or the meal, as the only photograph I took was of the bizarre illustrations above the urinals (yes I know it’s the second mention of urinals in this blog post) where images of attractive young Vietnamese women look down upon you as you’re doing your duty and pour scorn on the beefiness of your manhood. Then it’s back on Road Number 1 all the way to Can Tho, with only Hai’s easy-listening torture music to keep you awake.

Our hotel at Can Tho was the lovely Victoria Can Tho, splendidly located by the water’s edge which was perfect for a late evening stroll to the sound of the Mekong. The hotel has lush gardens and is a haven for geckos, hence the warning in your room that geckos might invade at any time. Dinner was delish, and we had a particularly helpful waitress called Dung.

The next morning we were off on yet another boat trip, this time to visit the floating markets at Cai Rang. Four miles out into the river, it’s the largest floating market in Indochina. Boats of all sizes and colours vie for position selling their wares – fruit and vegetables, flowers, fish, in fact everything you would expect from a typical Asian market. Some boats approach you rather than wait for you to come to them – these tended to be the ones selling tourist trinkets and hot food and drink to take away. Yes, there’s even Fast Food on the waters of the Mekong. We clambered off our boat and on to another one where a lady was preparing fresh pineapples for snacking. They tasted fantastic. The market area is not limited to the water of course; your little tourist boat moors up and you get out in the middle of a very extensive market, not only full of the usual fruit, vegetables and fish, but also clothes, toys, and other household equipment. One stall sold what looked like gargantuan sized pieces of Crystal Meth – but we were advised it was sugar.

After we’d had enough market to last a lifetime, it was time to head back to Can Tho by boat for the onward journey. We were happily chugging on the crest of a wave when the sound of the boat’s engine started to get a bit panicky. It slowed down; the skipper looked concerned. We pretended that we weren’t remotely worried about being on a little boat that was about to sink in the middle of the Mekong. He started lifting up the floorboards to reveal the engine beneath, where he stared, prodded and poked, with a bemused expression and looking all the world like the legendary boy sent in to do a man’s job. After a quarter of an hour or so of discussion with the skipper of an adjacent boat, it finally occurred to them that we were simply out of fuel. A watering can of fuel was therefore procured from another vessel, and we limped our way back to the bank.

It was all aboard the minibus for the next leg of the journey, aiming for the Crocodile Farm at Trai Ca Sau Long Xuyen. It wasn’t a very big minibus to accommodate us five passengers, plus all our cases, as well as the driver and the guide, and things started to get a little fractious as we tried to sort out the best configuration of seating to make it as spacious as possible. Inevitably, if one person ended up with sufficient leg room, someone else was being squeezed in a corner. Still, we tried to make the best of it. The Crocodile Farm was quite interesting – there were hundreds of them, all flopped over each other in that unusual crocodily way they have of looking like they’ve just been toppled out of some gigantic bucket and just left where they landed. We ended up having lunch with the crocs; or at least at the Farm tea room.

We continued our minibus journey up to the border town (with Cambodia) of Chau Doc. We’d noticed a particularly bizarre affectation of the local menfolk en route – their way of keeping cool. It’s a very hot and humid country. But what the guys do is to roll up their shirt from the bottom upwards, so that it clings round the top of their chest. It may make them cool but it certainly doesn’t look it. I couldn’t work out why they didn’t simply take them off. The journey carried on. We were all a bit uncomfortable because the bus wasn’t quite big enough. Hai put on his gloopy easy listening cassette again. This time, a horrendous version of Those Were The Days; honestly, words cannot describe how execrably bad it was. Suddenly, one of our fellow passengers snapped. “TURN THAT AWFUL MUSIC OFF!!! PLEASE!!! NO MORE MUSIC!!! I CAN’T STAND ITTTTTTT” Whilst we were surprised at her outburst, we were definitely in agreement and it did the trick. Muttering with surprise, Hai ejected his cassette and we drove on towards Chau Doc in blissful silence.

We checked into our hotel, the beautiful Victoria Chau Doc (the Victoria chain have got the monopoly on these quality southern Vietnamese hotels!) Still slightly frazzled from our fellow passenger’s outburst on the minibus we headed straight for the bar and knocked back two Harvey Wallbangers and some chilli nuts for lunch. Thus fortified, we headed out again for yet another water adventure, this time to visit a fish farm in a floating village. It was enormous fun. Our boat moored us up against this structure on stilts, and, once inside, it felt like a genuine farmhouse – kind of barren but grand, but with big square gaps in the floorboards which were actually fish tanks and in which you could see dozens of very big fish all swimming around contentedly. How to stir them up? Chuck some fish food in. They went berserk! Flapping and sloshing around in their water pen, fighting each other for the tiniest morsel, cascades of water being splashed out into the air – it was a very amusing – and noisy – sight.

A precarious walkway – with ominously loose floorboards barely protecting you from a sudden dunking into the Mekong – took us back on land to a small village. It had a bright, but modest little mosque into which the locals welcomed me, but wouldn’t let Mrs C in, so I just had a quick look around and took a few pictures whilst she pretended not to be offended at the sexism. Then it was back to the boat via the terrifying walkway, and a return to the hotel. On our way back, watching out for the next collection of weirdly overloaded bikes – as you do – we saw one of the sadder sights of our holiday – a man, riding a motorbike, and carrying on the seat behind him a very large cage containing two, equally large, live, pigs. They were squeezed in for all they were worth, with their little legs dangling out of the holes in the cage over the side. One can only assume this was to be an uncomfortable final journey before the slaughterhouse.

In the evening, we went out into Chau Doc to see what the nightlife was like, having already taken dinner in the hotel. There were lots of lively night markets, a little town centre fountain that was lit up with coloured lights, some groovy civic art; and many Tai Chi classes. Tomorrow we would be continuing our journey up the Mekong and into Cambodia, so we fancied an early night and a good sleep. We hadn’t, though, bargained on spending half the night playing Hunt the Gecko.

Indochina – Vietnam – Hoi An, Da Nang and Hue

Posted on October 3, 2014 by therealchrisparkle

Our flight from Hanoi reached Da Nang pretty late and it was another 45 minute drive before we could get to our hotel, the Victoria Hoi An Beach Resort and Spa. We had a garden facing view, it was spacious and luxurious, and we slept the sleep of the righteous. Breakfast the following morning was taken by the pool and it was full of really healthy ingredients – nevertheless it was lovely! We even had time for a stroll along the beach, as the hotel is pitched right up against the sea front. It felt just like being on holiday. Travel’s a tough life though, and it wasn’t long before all five of us were whisked away by our very ebullient guide Hanh (but we could call her Hannah) for a morning visit to My Son.

It’s so hard to look at those two words and not pronounce it as in “go on, my son”. But in fact it’s “mi sern” (or something like that), and a visit has nothing to do with popping in on your heir, but it’s actually the ruins of an imperial city during the Cham dynasty, active between the 4th and 12th centuries. It was only rediscovered by French archaeologists in the 1890s. In a slightly confusing twist of geography, the temples are dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva, and there’s a notable linga still in good condition. The “tourist” visit starts rather unpromisingly with a “cultural show” of musicians and dancers, that is skilful but goes on too long. Mind you, I was very impressed with the way the young ladies balanced their water pots on their heads.

The real appeal of the site is simply wandering around all the ruins, admiring the artistic carvings, the fascinating Sanskrit inscriptions, and imagining how grand it must have been in its heyday. Its redbrick construction brings to mind how Keble College Oxford might look in about a thousand years. It’s a very exposed site, so if you go, do make sure you’ve got your sun hat on! It’s popular with the local kids too, and while we were there, a big bunch of them were having fun in the sun and splashing around in the river that runs alongside. For all the world it looks like you have stumbled upon King Louis’ ruined fortress in Disney’s Jungle Book.

After a lengthy and enjoyable exploration, we took the minibus back to Hoi An, driving along Route 1 – or as Hanh described it: “The Number 1 road in Vietnam”. It’s the main coastal road that links Hanoi in the north and Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) in the south. Why is it called Road Number 1, we asked. “Because they haven’t built Number 2 yet” came her ironic reply. You get to see all sorts of extraordinary fellow travellers on the Number 1 road. For example, we saw a lady riding a motorbike whilst precariously balancing two big bags of laundry and 7 (yes seven) birdcages, each with a feathered friend inside. That’s ambition for you. On reaching Hoi An, it was time for lunch and yet another of these restaurants that provides a training programme for street children. This was The Market Restaurant, immaculately clean, and with all the food prepared very openly so you could inspect everything you were going to eat at invasively close quarters. We had Cao Lau, Banana Flower Salad with Duck, Tomato Soup with meat, Caramel Fish in a clay pot, Stuffed squid, Stir fried green beans, plus rice and a dessert. It was all good stuff, but by now we had gone off Vietnamese food (the Pho24 in Hanoi just ruined it for us), so I think we just enjoyed the beans and rice. However, the other members of our party rated it very highly.

After lunch it was time to investigate downtown Hoi An. If Luang Prabang was the most beautiful place we saw in Laos, Hoi An is definitely the most beautiful place we saw in Vietnam. Its setting is gorgeous, on the banks of the river, with charming little shops, old buildings, pretty temples, lots of cutesy colourful lanterns and a great holiday feel. It was like a Vietnamese Stratford upon Avon but without the Royal Shakespeare Company.

We had a lovely walk down by the Old Quarter. There are so many little things that take your interest here. The main stand out sight you notice is the Japanese Covered Bridge, built in 1593 to link the Japanese community to the Chinese community from either side of the river. There is a little temple halfway across, added at a later date. Unsurprisingly, it’s usually thronging with tourists. Staying on the “town centre” side, very close by is the Cantonese Assembly Hall, containing not only a meeting hall but also a beautiful temple and elegant gardens. A little further down the street you come to the House of Quan Thang, an 18th century “shophouse”, with walls of dark teak and concealing a charming little courtyard. Worryingly, the walls are littered with painted lines revealing how high the flood waters have risen in recent years.

Intersecting the street is another road called Le Loi whose shops offer the speciality service of Very Fast Tailoring. Mrs Chrisparkle and I quite fancied having something nice made, but with only four hours for them to make it we didn’t think we’d stand much chance. Not a problem. Sadly (for her) Mrs C couldn’t really find anything she wanted to have made to measure, but I did – a dashing red silk shirt with such vivid colour it would knock your eyes out at twenty paces. We went into Hoi An 41 Silk, and they promised us for sure my shirt would be made to measure and ready to collect that evening. True to their word, we went back later on and it was ready. No problem with the timing. Size-wise, however… it is a little on the large side. I could grow into it, but that probably wouldn’t be wise on health grounds. Nevertheless, it’s good to wear on hot days. And it’s a very striking red.

Doubling back on ourselves, we visited the House of Kan Ty, yet another of these dark old shophouses, and then crossed the modern An Hoi footbridge, brightly decorated with lanterns, mythical beasts, and the ubiquitous lovers’ padlocks. Then it was back to the hotel for a much needed kip, another walk along the beach and some cocktails by the pool. I confess, we had it tough. We tore ourselves away from this ordeal to come back into town to see it illuminated by night. It really is a stunning sight. There’s a tradition that you buy a tiny paper floating basket from one of the little boats moored up on the water’s edge, place a lighted candle inside then push it off into the water whilst saying a prayer, or remembering someone. Every night loads of people do it, so the water surface is strewn with literally hundreds of these little candlelit baskets and it’s utterly beautiful.

Apart from that, at night-time the town is alive and well and full of restaurants and bars. We went to Restaurant 69 – the meal was good, but the wine was a shocker – avoid the 2009 Sauvignon Blanc at all costs. The night we were there it was “Earth Day” – and the whole town had decided it would switch off its electric lights for one hour, from 8.30 -9.30pm. To be honest, we didn’t really believe it would happen. But at the stroke of 8.30pm all the lights went out in restaurants and bars, and candles went on. They were a really compliant little town. We were slightly irked by the timing – it coincided with us stumbling back from the shirt shop in the dark, with hardly any light to guide us. One has to thank one’s lucky stars for one’s iPhone Torch facility.

The next morning we had to say goodbye to Hoi An (very sad, because it really was a terrific little place) and we were on the road again in the direction of Hué. But first stop was the Cham Sculpture Museum at Da Nang. This is a most impressive place. The exhibits are in great condition, some of them are really big and imposing too; others smaller and intricate. Cham sculpture can be summed up in two words – Hinduism, and breasts. Most of the monuments are dedicated to the Hindu gods, Shiva, Vishnu and Ganesh, and there are also many to the goddesses Bhagavati, Uma and Devi. But they were really into breasts, in a big way. The more breasts the merrier if you were a Cham in those days. Breasts were always full and pert; and if they didn’t have a female body to stick them on, they would use them as a decorative motif at the base of a pedestal or on an altar. It’s really one of those places where the breasts follow you around the room. Chams are, of course, still flourishing in Vietnam, and their ancient kingdom and artistic legacy dates from the 2nd century AD right up to 1832. I’d definitely recommend this museum, because the exhibits really are extraordinary.

Travelling on towards Hué, we had to negotiate the Hai Van Pass (the Pass of the Ocean Clouds), cutting through the centre of the Truong Son mountain range. Its twisty and bendy road takes you through 21 km of scary cliff edges and massive drops. They’ve built a tunnel now, so you can get from Da Nang to Hué much more quickly – but there’s nothing quite like some scenic terror to excite a bunch of tourists. At the absolute tip-top of the pass there’s a place you can get out and have a good look round – including some rather grotty stalls and a lot of souvenir tat. There’s also a very old watch tower – a cross between a sentry box and some old Victorian railway architecture – that Mrs C decided to scale. You can imagine it saw some horror during Vietnam’s turbulent history.

Lunch was at the Lang Co Beach Resort – and was a seafood extravaganza, so our three co-travellers revelled in it, whilst Mrs C and I pushed bits of floppy tentacle and scaly gills around our plates. We weren’t hungry anyway. It takes three hours in all to get from Hoi An to Hué, so by the time we got to our hotel we were pretty knackered. Hué was beautiful but incredibly humid. Turning up sweaty and disgusting somewhere as lovely as La Residence Hotel and Spa ought to be a crime against humanity – but we did it anyway.

We made ourselves presentable and then joined the rest of the group to visit the Tu Duc tomb. It’s one of the splendid Royal Mausoleums that are a must-see in Hué. Emperor Tu Duc was the fourth ruler of the Nguyen Dynasty, reigning from 1848 to 1883. The tomb itself was constructed over three years in the 1860s, whilst the Emperor was still alive – indeed, he designed it. It is said that when he died, he was buried along with a great treasure, and, all those involved in his burial were later executed to keep his final resting place a secret. That’s some tough working conditions; that would never have happened if they’d been in the EU. Today it’s noted for beautiful artwork, classical architecture, and, with its idyllic lake close by, it’s a favourite spot for wedding photography. We saw a young couple being photographed, her in stunning scarlet, him in vivid yellow, posing with parasols and fans. They were having a great time, and larking around not inconsiderably, like the happy young lovers they were, thereby not always responding to the photographer’s requests, much to his obvious annoyance. At one point the photographer threw his wicker umbrella down in a hissy fit because the groom was giggling so much. We spent a long time at Tu Duc’s tomb – Hanh had an awful lot to say, and by the time she’d finished, it was nightfall and we were the last there.

There wasn’t a lot of time for a nap, so pretty soon after returning to the hotel we went out to find something for dinner – hopefully something that didn’t contain seafood. We found a vegetarian restaurant – Bo De – just around the corner from the hotel in what appeared to be a huge municipal car park with lots of restaurants and bars adjoining it by the side of the river. We had simple soup with vegetables and mushrooms and some mixed fried rice. Perfect. Afterwards we went for a walk by the water’s edge, and saw that they had lit up the road bridge over the river with bright colourful, constantly changing lights. It looked like the Forth Road Bridge on speed. Talking of which, one guy was definitely on drugs because we saw him running along the top edge of the bridge – not the road surface but actually on top of the cantilevers. That must have been pretty dangerous. We also saw a lad having a tattoo done, in a market stall in the street; so much for health and safety. Apparently it was 36 years to the day that Hué was liberated after the Vietnamese War – or as they call it, the American War – and I think that added to the general party spirit in the night-time streets.

The next morning it was time for something we’d been looking forward for ages. We were all to take a cyclo ride through the streets of Hué, starting at the hotel and ending up at the Imperial City. It’s a really fun experience. The cyclo is a weird thing. Imagine something that combines the seat of a baby’s pushchair, the front wheels of a wheelchair, the back wheel of a bike, and the footrest of a chair lift, and you’re part way there. You get into your contraption – to be honest you fall in – encouraged by your driver, then he gets on the saddle behind you so you can’t see him, and starts to pedal so you get propelled through the streets only a few feet higher than the road surface. It’s not long before you realise how physically strong these drivers must be to wheel a fat oaf like me around the streets – it’s not as though they’re big guys – and he deserved his generous tip at the end! But you do get a really unique perspective of the townscape, as you’re so much lower than if you were in a car – and much more exposed too, without the comfort of a car framework around you. Fortunately the roads of Hué don’t have loads of potholes.

We cycled through the streets, and over the road bridge, which was a bit scary, as we were competing for space with all the usual cars, lorries, bikes and mopeds that throng through any Asian city centre. You also experience a different kind of scary when you’re at the centre of a very large empty intersection – almost a sense of agoraphobia as there’s so much space around you that you feel vulnerable. Anyway, an hour later, we cyclo’d over the bridge that crosses the moat at the Citadel, through the long arch that acts as a sentry to the City, to our final destination alongside some ominous looking ancient cannons. The Citadel was established by Emperor Gia Long in 1805 and comprises three enclosures – the Civic, Imperial and Forbidden Purple Cities. The whole area is filled with palaces, pavilions and temples, protected by ramparts, moats and bastions. It’s a very evocative sight, and really works on your imagination. We spent a very enjoyable time there just looking round the temples and the palaces, admiring the colours and the artwork.There’s lots of restoration work going on at the moment; when it’s finished it will be extraordinary. Mind you, they’re still discovering and unearthing fresh ruins, so it could take some time.

We took a little drive out to visit the Thien Mu Pagoda, apparently the tallest religious building in Vietnam. It’s a wonderful sight, seven storeys high, founded in 1601, and many consider it to be the iconic symbol of Hué. Perhaps even more astonishing was the incredible noise of the crickets when we got out of the bus. Deafening! There’s a little museum of Buddhism within the complex, which features some very unusual and amusing images of Buddha; and also a huge bronze bell, dating from 1710, whose ding-a-dong can apparently be heard six miles away. But perhaps the most fascinating – and thought-provoking – exhibit is the blue Austin car that drove monk Thich Quang Duc to Saigon in June 1963, where he immolated himself in protest against the Diem regime. It was a very brave and significant act of protest that horrified the entire world. Back in the peace of today, nearby are the monks’ quarters – we were told we might get to meet some monks but none was available for a chat. We did hear lots of tittering from their bathroom though.

Lunch was at Moc Vien – a very classy affair, with delicious food and simply beautiful toilets. They were so beautiful, we all kept going back to admire them. You can’t say fairer than that. The food was incredibly ornately presented; and, very kindly, they presented Mrs C with a beautiful, large bouquet for our wedding anniversary. Pity they were one day early, but it was a lovely thought. Then it was off to the airport for our Vietnam Airlines flight to Ho Chi Minh City, laden down with all our luggage, and a beautiful, large bouquet, which required its own overhead locker. In retrospect, not the most practical of parting gifts.

Indochina – Vietnam – Hanoi and Halong Bay

Posted on October 2, 2014 by therealchrisparkle

You may remember, gentle reader, that back in July I was telling you about our trip to Indochina, starting off with Laos. We’d had a very peaceful few days in beautiful Luang Prabang, a place I’d return to like a shot. So the hustle, bustle and distinct sense of danger that we felt in Hanoi came as something of a shock. We arrived in the evening and went straight to our hotel, the Sofitel Metropole. It’s a stunner. Very elegant and grand, with excellent service, a wonderful breakfast (including – I am advised – really tasty gluten free bread and cereal), beautiful public lounges and a happening bar – Le Club. There’s nothing oriental about this place at all – it’s very much a relic of the city’s French heritage. Our bedroom was a “standard” room and was a trifle small, but still very nice, and it took us ages to work out how to turn the lights off on the first night – but then we are getting on a bit. We had a wander round the area – just long enough to find somewhere suitable for dinner – and we decided on the Club Opera, just around the corner from the hotel. It had a very nice vibe and was quite friendly, but the food was surprisingly bland. I had the spring rolls followed by the Beef in Oyster Sauce. Given how much I was going to dislike quite a lot of the Vietnamese food to come, in retrospect I probably should have enjoyed it more.

The next day we met our guide Van and our driver Hoong, and drove out to the village of Dao Thuc to see a Water Puppet show. This is a fascinating tradition that sadly appears to be dying out. A group of villagers broke off from working in the fields to perform for us. The curtain is at the far end of a small lake in the outskirts of the village, and we sat on benches opposite to watch the show. A kind of wide, green vertical blind masks us from the puppeteers working behind. The puppets are made of water-resistant wood and are fixed to the ends of long rods which move about underwater thereby making the puppet appear to act on the water surface, which becomes the stage. I would imagine you would have to be extremely strong to operate some of these puppets. All in all, it’s a very charming experience. Our story involved farmers, water buffalo, ducks, maidens, and, naturally, a dragon; all played out to traditional (although recorded) music. After the show was over we went “backstage” to meet the “cast” – by then the puppeteers had all returned to the fields, but it was very interesting nevertheless to get up close and personal with the puppets themselves, many of which were extremely old and full of character.

Then we headed back into the city. We had thought there were a lot of bikes in Laos, but that was nothing in comparison with Vietnam. You cannot imagine the numbers of pushbikes, motorbikes, mopeds and all the other variations of two wheeled vehicles that litter the streets. It’s illegal to ride one without a safety helmet; but proper safety helmets are very expensive so the majority are flimsy, just-for-show helmets that wouldn’t save your life in an accident, but do avoid the more acute danger of coughing up a fine to the traffic police. We first visited the 900 year old Temple of Literature, a Confucian sanctuary and historical centre of learning. There are a beautiful temple and altar, immaculate gardens, and the famous tortoise stelae, which look like headstones but in fact bear the names of the scholars who passed the exams there from the 15th to 18th centuries. They’re all mounted on the backs of stone tortoises, and they’ve got quite cute faces. (The tortoises, that is. The scholars, we can only speculate.)

Driving around the centre of Hanoi, you can’t help notice the massive mosaic mural that was erected in 2010 as part of the millennial celebrations of the founding of the city. In parts it’s very lively and vibrant, and runs approximately 4 km though the city, giving you something additional to admire as your car jostles for position with all the bikes. We were en route to Koto (Know One Teach One) for lunch, another of these restaurants that provides training for underprivileged youth. It was an excellent choice, several storeys high, so you can easily find a comfortable table at which to relax. To drink, I thought I’d try a Hanoi beer (or Bia Ha Noi). It’s perfect for lunchtime as it basically tastes like shandy. The food was good though and the young people working there are really keen. Of course, many of the Vietnamese simply eat on the streets, pitching up their little stools and cooking stoves wherever they like, so there’s always a great feeling of al fresco about the place. For our sensitive Western tummies though, restaurants like Koto are A Very Good Idea.

After lunch we visited the Museum of Ethnology. This is a great way to discover more about Vietnam’s 54 different ethnic minority groups, and the museum houses a collection of clothes, textiles, musical instruments and many other items of daily life. Outside, in the grounds, are a number of typical buildings that would be used as houses or other meeting areas by different ethnic groups. Mainly thatched roofs were on display, many were on stilts, and one – which was meant to be a sign of good reproductive fortune – had several wooden carvings of men with erections decorating its picket fence. Whilst we were there a group of young people from Koto were also visiting – it looked like they were having a celebratory day out as they were all bedecked with badges and certificates, and were having a whale of a time.

Back at the hotel, and after our much needed nap, we had asked Van for advice on somewhere local to eat. He suggested Pho24, a chain restaurant specialising in Vietnamese noodle soups – he said they were good quality, good value and very authentic. So our little troop of five gallant tourists made our way there for our evening meal. “Pho” is pronounced “poo”, and it wasn’t hard to see why. It was, we all agreed, absolutely disgusting. Sloppy, cold, thin, cheap, and utterly grotty. All of us only ate tiny bits of our meals, whilst making grimacing looks and puking noises. My stomach was upset that night and never really regained its equilibrium until we got back to Blighty. So we all slunk off, leaving the remnants of the meal on the table, and decided to go back to “Le Bar” at the hotel, where I had a very unadventurous Metropole Pizza and Mrs Chrisparkle dared a grilled chicken breast and they were both like manna from heaven.

Too early for bed, and with the night time sights and sounds of Hanoi to explore, we went for one more walk around the town. Close to the hotel is Hoan Kiem Lake, which is the Vietnamese watery equivalent of Trafalgar Square, being a place where people come to congregate, especially at times of celebration. It was bounding with energy. There were groups doing Tai Chi, others learning ballroom dancing, yet more doing Tums and Bums exercises. Over toward the statue of Ly Thai To, the founding father of the original city, there were proper bunches of youth rollerblading and breakdancing to the tunes of Michael Jackson. You may be in the capital city of a Far Eastern communist country, but it reminded me forcibly of the precinct by Sheffield City Hall (but just a bit livelier).

The next day we were up reasonably bright and early to visit what is probably the most notable building in Hanoi, the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. Our previously happy, sunny, jolly guide Van suddenly became serious, concerned, anxious Van. He instructed us how we must behave with absolute dignity and dress with decorum. Not necessary really – we were hardly going to wear tutus and plant a false nose on HCM’s tomb. Anyway, when we got there, all plans were changed. The queue to pay one’s respects was enormous – much more enormous than usual apparently. We felt Van’s anxiety levels rise. He tried to sweet-talk some guards into letting us queue-jump as we only had the one half-day left in Hanoi, but they clearly weren’t impressed. If we’d joined the queue, which was approximately 2 km long, we wouldn’t have been able to do anything else that day – including getting to our next destination, Halong Bay, at a reasonable time. We all agreed we didn’t want to spend the day just slowly shuffling to see an old bloke embalmed. So instead, Van snuck us through to a good vantage point where we could see – at a distance – the queue slowly entering the mausoleum then slowly coming out again. We also got a good look at the One Pillar Pagoda, an attractive wooden pagoda originally constructed in the 11th century, standing in an elegant lotus pond.

We were just taking a leisurely stroll past the Mausoleum and some other grand looking government buildings, including the Presidential Palace, when we noticed a small group of people – about a dozen or so – walking towards us carrying a banner (the words naturally were all in Vietnamese) and accompanied by some police officers. We asked Van what it was all about. “It’s a protest” he said, extremely sotto voce, “they’re farmers and landowners who have had their property taken off them due to government corruption”. “Great!”, I said, somewhat insensitively, “let’s take some pictures!” “NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” bellowed Van, “DO NOT TAKE PICTURES!!!!!!!” panicking like a madman. “If the police see you take pictures they will rip the camera out of your hand and destroy it! We will all get into trouble and be questioned!” “Why would they do that?” we asked innocently. “Because you would be recording and showing an aspect of society that the government don’t want you to see and don’t want you to publicise”. It was too late. I’d already snapped my shot, but I didn’t tell Van that. He was already sweating buckets. Still, I’ll let you see the picture I took. By the way, because I don’t want to get him into any trouble, even several months after the event, I’ve changed Van’s name. Just in case they hold him responsible. Which he wasn’t.

After that awful Pho the night before, none of us were in the mood for lunch. Van took us to a place where we could have the usual run of Vietnamese meals – but none of us really wanted anything. Lunch for me was some cashew nuts, a Snickers bar and some ginger tea – more than enough. Then we had one of those “shopping” moments you always get on a tour – a visit to a lacquer emporium where they not only sell lacquered items but manufacture them too. We were hosted by a very jolly lady who enjoyed practising her English on us. She was so cute I bought six coasters off her for a stupid amount of money. Very happy with them though – a quality souvenir.

It was a much happier Van that took us back on to the coach for the 3.5 hour drive to Halong Bay. Once we were away from the Big Brother pressure of the whole Mausoleum area he was able to relax again; and as a result, so did we. “So,” Van sat back in the bus, looking at the view, “have you all seen the episode of Top Gear where they drive to Halong Bay?” Sigh; we come halfway round the world and still can’t escape from Jeremy Clarkson. “No,” we admitted. “Really??” Van seemed astounded. “Everyone who comes to Halong Bay now comes because they saw the episode of Top Gear where they drove to Halong Bay”. “Everyone except us” we quietly asserted. Frankly, we wouldn’t even go to Chipping Norton lest he appear. So, if you’re a Top Gear fan, remember, they’re going to love you in this part of Vietnam.

The journey to Halong Bay was relatively unremarkable; although we did note the lack of EU Health and Safety legislation in the highways maintenance. One poor man was struggling to do some road repair all by himself, on his haunches tending to a manhole in the middle of the carriageway, with no “Look Out Man at Work” sign, nervously dodging vehicles as they swept by him on either side. Hope he survived the experience. We stopped en route by some paddy fields and watched the people working hard, with all their old-fashioned tools and equipment. Right by the side of a modern road with top quality modern cars, they looked incongruous. The workers looked back, probably thinking the same about us.

We reached Halong Bay late in the afternoon, and it reminded me of a slightly gone to seed English seaside town out of season. There’s the grandly named “Royal Amusement Park” on a rather attractive promenade alongside a wide beach, but precious little that could be described as “amusing” apart from that. The beach was, though, very sandy and welcoming and we went for a little walk with our socks off – I know, how daring are we. We were staying at the Novotel, a good quality hotel with amazing views from the bedroom and a nice restaurant – although perhaps the whole place was a trifle soulless. However, we did enjoy a couple of really refreshing glasses of cold white wine by the pool when we got back from our little walk, and we got talking to the friendly manager who had just started working there two days previously. He was originally from Korea and had joined the Novotel from another hotel in Australia. I’m sure you wanted to know that.

After breakfast the next morning the five of us gathered together for our Halong Bay boat trip. It was all aboard at about 10.30am, and one of the “highlights” of the day was to be a fresh seafood lunch whilst cruising. If you say the words “fresh seafood” to Mrs C or me our stomachs start to twitch nervously and our gorges lightly rise. Nevertheless, we’re always game for a laugh, and were quite sure the quality of the seafood would be great. And so it was. But at 11am? Did we really have to have that lunch at 11am? Apparently yes, in order to see Halong Bay in the allotted half-day slot and then give us enough time to drive back to Hanoi later that afternoon for the next flight. As it was barely an hour and a half after breakfast we really did not fancy it – and it was a shame, as an awful lot of decent food went to waste. Elephant Clams, squid, prawns and everything in between. A seafood freak’s delight.

There’s no doubt that the islands of Halong Bay make an extraordinary sight. There are 1,969 islands in all, made from limestone or schist, which gives rise to a spectacular array of grottoes and caves. Unsurprisingly, it’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We chugged around, surveying all we could see from the top deck of our little boat. The view is mesmerising. I really enjoyed stopping off at one island to see the Thien Cung Grotto. This means “Celestial Palace” and it’s utterly beautiful, softly lit with hundreds of coloured lights that make the place a real fairyland. Amazingly, it was only discovered in the 1990s. Elsewhere, it was just fun to observe the fishermen at work and to sit back, relax and let the islands go by. It was a shame that it wasn’t a sunny day – it was quite overcast – but I believe that’s common in that neck of the woods. With a bit of imagination, you could certainly believe that you were at the furthest point away from everything in the world you know; incredibly remote, peaceful and uninhabited. Apart from the millions of tourists who come here every year. I blame Jeremy Clarkson.

Indochina – Laos – Luang Prabang

Posted on July 8, 2014 by therealchrisparkle

Our early morning flight from Vientiane to Luang Prabang was courtesy of Lao Airlines. To be fair, they don’t have a great reputation, and just a few months after we flew with them, one of their aircraft was involved in a crash with no survivors. There didn’t seem anything particularly wrong with our flight, although it was delayed, which gave me time to take this amusing photograph of a sign that encourages you to keep the toilets clean at Vientiane airport. Let’s just say, it’s not an airport where you’d choose to linger.

Driving to the hotel, the auguries were good. The town has a lovely relaxed atmosphere, like a Buddhist version of a clean mountain spa, with good walks, lots of temples and plenty of places for après ski. We couldn’t wait to investigate. Our hotel was the Xiengthong Palace, and entering it felt like heaven. It was such a beautiful sunny day anyway, and the place looked fabulous. The rooms are beautiful, the staff are friendly and the restaurant, the “Kitchen by the Mekong”, is just superb. A perfect place to dine on the terrace overlooking the river, with exquisite food and immaculate service – that highly sought after blend of politeness and friendliness that many attempt but few achieve.

We did a little independent recce before our guide, KL, came to take us on our afternoon tour. Luang Prabang feels like a wealthy, well-to-do village. It’s like a Lao Cotswolds, except that everywhere you walk you see groups of novice monks. We were instantly entranced with this beautiful place as we wandered about, and decided that this was definitely a place to come back to. We had to find somewhere for lunch, and we discovered the Tamnak Lao, which had some free places upstairs, not on the balcony (which looked really nice) but inside. Although we lost out on the view, it was still very comfortable and the food was great. I particularly relished my thirst quenching bottle of Beerlao.

Our afternoon jaunt started with a visit to the National Museum. It’s a stunning complex, with its opulent highlight being the Wat Ho Pha Bang, built to house the most sacred of the town’s religious icons, the Pha Bang. Its reconstruction had only been recently completed a short time before we were there which is probably why it looked so beautiful. The generous daubings of gold on a rich red background are enough to make Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen jealous. The complex also houses inter alia the Royal Ballet theatre and a statue of King Sisavang Vong. From the Wat Ho Pha Bang you take a stately walk down the broad path that leads to the National Museum itself, which features French and Lao architectural styles and royal apartments. Sadly they don’t let you take photographs, so you’ll just have to imagine it. To be honest, a lot of the exhibits were a bit on the – dare I say it – boring side.

To take a break from the lavish religious buildings, we then visited the Ock Pop Tock weaving centre. Here you can see the traditional textile work of the Lao people created by modern artisans as well as watching them at work. You can also meet the silkworms, which is always an enjoyable, if slightly itchy, experience, as they wriggle and munch their way through their mulberry leaves getting fatter and producing more silk. Ock Pop Tock’s products are lovely, and it’s a great setting, but we thought it was all a bit on the expensive side.

Back to Luang Prabang, our final visit of the day was to Wat Xieng Thong, a magnificent monastery with several highly decorative outbuildings, which feature mosaics on the external walls, depicting Buddhist scriptures. Despite some scaffolding inside, it’s still a fascinating place to walk around, and I found the boats, in the form of nagas, particularly interesting. Many of the Lao kings were crowned here in the ordination hall. It’s also got the most elaborate gong you’ve ever seen in your life – J Arthur Rank, eat your heart out.

After a much needed rest, we had dinner at the Kitchen by the Mekong. Mrs Chrisparkle’s concerns for a gluten-free meal were easily put to rest by the chef coming out to meet us and to discuss her precise requirements. That’s what I call service. Dinner took the form of a multi-coursed banquet, and it was sumptuous. Afterwards we decided to stroll back into town again to see if we could find a suitable watering hole for late night wining – the dining had already been catered for. By night the town is brightly lit with fairy lights and warm glows emanating from bars and restaurants. A nearby restaurant parked vintage cars outside its doors, just because it could, to make it look cool. I think they moved them again in the morning. We then discovered the Opera House Wine Bar, amusingly named as I don’t think there’s an opera house anywhere near. But the wine was classy and the atmosphere welcoming. We loved it. A fantastic place to people-watch and while away the final hours of the evening.

Next morning, after a spiffing breakfast, we joined our party for a Mekong river trip. There’s a place you pick up boats just across the road from the Kitchen by the Mekong, and our little group headed off north east up the river out of town. The boats are very comfortable, with nicely varnished wood and rather plush airline-style seats. It’s a very relaxing experience, just watching the world go by, and a very rural world it is. Water buffalo and other cattle, fishermen alone in boats and fisherwomen wading into the river with baskets, kids running around, it may feel like the middle of nowhere but there’s a lot going on. In some places the forest comes right to the water’s edge and you see these massive exposed root formations, looking like some unruly wooden stalactites.

Our first port of call on the river trip was the Pak Ou Caves. About 25km from LP, the boat moors up and you climb some steepish steps to discover two discreet little caves that contain a big surprise – they are thronging with tiny Buddhas. Every available spare inch of surface will have a Buddha on it. Some wooden, some bronze; standing, reclining, some with orange sashes; but none of them are in good condition, as this is where the locals take broken and tatty effigies for it to be their final resting place, as it were. It doesn’t matter though – in fact their condition makes the place seem even more unworldly. On the opposite side of the river is a restaurant, whose name I’m afraid I can’t remember, set up to provide buffet lunches to hordes of tourists. It was very nice, but we were both amused and alarmed at how the toilet is basically an overhang into the river. Imagine “walking the plank” on a boat except that the plank is enclosed, until you get to a hole at the end… I’ve probably said too much already.

The leisurely route back to LP was via Ban Xang Khong. It’s a very attractive little village, known for its crafts stalls and shops, where you can see the skilled local artisans creating their textiles and their art. Naturally, you can itch at the sight of silkworms doing their thing too. The village’s speciality is the creation of a highly textured paper from mulberry bark. They make excellent pictures and greetings cards, and I confess Mrs C and I spent a few thousand Kips (that’s the rather cute name of the Lao currency) on some very arty cards. We were the only people wandering around the village – we did wonder how on earth those people actually make a living. But, to be fair, it looked very neat and well maintained so I’m sure there’s money in them there mulberry bushes.

A minibus returned us to LP late in the afternoon in time for a freshen-up and then a walk up Phou Si hill to watch the sunset. Phou Si (pronounced “pussy”, to general childish amusement) means “Sacred Mountain” and there are 328 steps up to a viewing station where you get a fantastic view of the town and surroundings. There’s a Buddhist temple (naturally) halfway up, complete with resplendent nagas, and also a splendid Tuesday Buddha in his reclining state. Yes there is a Buddha for every day of the week. It’s worth the climb up Mt Pussy to see the sunset, even though there was quite a lot of cloud that night. Get there early if you want a good view – every single tourist in LP will be there as well.

From there we walked down the other side and into the Night Market. As the name suggests, every night Sisavang Vong Road becomes an open-air market. It’s a fun walk, and I bought a Beerlao T-shirt, which made me look like a Lao Lager Lout. Not bad quality, actually. A lot of the stuff is tourist trash, of course, but they also stock all those arty artifacts that you can find in the craft villages, and it’s a pleasant way to spend a pre-dinner hour or so.

For dinner we went to the Three Nagas. It looks quite posh, and the food was excellent, as always in Laos. They had an extensive wine list, with some fairly pricey options, so I started at the cheap end until I found something suitable. Smilingly they went off in search of my first choice (didn’t have any) and then my second choice (didn’t have any). Before I made my third choice I asked them which wines they did actually have in stock. All the expensive ones, quelle surprise. Still, we were on holiday, and the occasion cried out for a decent vino. Afterwards we wandered back to the Opera House bar again, for something equally palatable and this time a darn sight cheaper.

The next morning we were up with the lark to participate in the traditional offering of alms to the monks. KL, our guide, used to be a novice monk himself, and had great insight into the daily lives of these people. You can give whatever alms you want to the monks as they wander past you, but the usual practice is to give them a piece of sticky rice. All round the town you see people preparing sticky rice cakes for the next day’s alms. KL bought us a clump of it (that’s the most suitable word I can think of for sticky rice in its “dried in the sun” format) and we sat by the kerb, pulling bits of it off and offering it to the endless queues of monk-men and novice-boys shuffling past us. The offering was placed in a metal bowl, encased in a cloth cover, that each monk had attached to a strap that they wore over their shoulders. For all the world it looked like they were showing off their new man-bags. It was a curious procedure; there was hardly any eye contact from the monks as though there was a sense of embarrassment to it, although I expect that’s not the reason. Maybe they were bored with the same ritual every single day. Mind you, I wouldn’t be happy with a main meal of clumps of sticky rice accumulated from dozens of hands; you found yourself hoping they’d had all their inoculations because I can’t think of a more sure-fire way of spreading disease.

Once they’d gathered alms from all the tourists (and to be fair, plenty of locals too) the monks trooped back to their temple – in this case the Wat Xieng Mouan – and we followed them. Wat Xieng Mouan means “Monastery of the Amusing City” so some translator, somewhere, at some time, was having a bit of a joke. It’s a smart temple, with a very lavish emerald Buddha that looks like it’s been dunked in Listermint. I wondered what life was like for these monks and novices. The monks are presumably used to their lifestyle, but some of the novices are very young and must have been removed from their home life – who knows if willingly or not – to live a life of religious devotion. I caught this one boy looking out of a window in the temple with a look part wistful, part sad. I think back on him and hope he’s ok. Back outside, we walked round the temple and from the side we watched the senior monks preparing all the food they had been given and handing it out for their communal meal. They are very quiet, dignified, peaceful people, as you might expect, so we left them to enjoy their sticky rice in privacy.

We got back to the hotel at about 7.30am to pack, check out and enjoy a final leisurely breakfast in the Kitchen by the Mekong. We even had enough time to return to the centre of LP for one last look at the rickety footbridge that spans the river. If you dare you can get halfway across and then start swinging it a bit, much to the disapproval of the locals, unsurprisingly. We were too scared, to be honest. Then it was on the bus to the airport via another major sight – the Kuangsi Waterfall Park.

This is a beautiful park, notable not only for its eponymous waterfall, but also for its magnificent bear sanctuary. These big brutes, who would tear you apart as soon as look at you, frolic innocently in this huge compound where they are rescued and looked after. You can spend ages (we did!) watching their antics. I’ve never seen so many bears in such perfect surroundings. The waterfall itself is stunning, and falls down onto terrace upon terrace upon terrace of beautiful blue pools. It’s a very popular site, with lots of hiking and swimming opportunities, and some very enterprising locals have set up a kind of picnic restaurant overlooking the waterfall, where Mrs C and I enjoyed the lunch that they’d brought in big chiller bags out of the boots of their cars.

Relaxed and fed, it was on to the airport for our final leg but we had time to stop off at a Hmong village, and I have to say, this one wasn’t so clean and wealthy as Ban Xang Khong. Instead of feeling welcomed we felt quite threatened by the place and there was a lot of “heavy sell” tactics going on. Unfortunately, the items for sale were rather poor and shoddy, but we did end up buying something from a little girl who was obviously going to burst into tears if we didn’t. My most memorable mental image of the place though is two boys sat by the roadside, doing nothing in particular, but with dying rats suspended by their feet from the boys’ bike handlebars. The village rat-catchers, I guess. Food for thought.

And that was it; goodbye Laos, and a one hour flight later we would be in Hanoi. Being Lao Airlines, it departed about forty minutes before it was due. Flight schedules in Laos are a bit like serving suggestions.

Indochina – Laos – Vientiane

Posted on July 7, 2014 by therealchrisparkle

If you started following my blog because you liked the travel entries, you must have been gravely disappointed recently. It’s all been about theatre and music and stuff like that and not a word about exotic foreign destinations. Sincere apologies for that – mea culpa (if you’re under 25, that’s Latin for My Bad). Fear not – I’m going to put that right – or at least that’s my aim.

Way back in the dim and distant past – March 2013 in fact – Mrs Chrisparkle and I were lucky enough to undertake a three week tour of Indochina, visiting Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia. They were countries we’d always hoped to see, and we’d heard amazing things about them from friends who had already been.

Laos was first on our itinerary; an extraordinary little country, with wonderful, kind, friendly, relaxed people. The country itself forms a slim strip of land separating Thailand from Vietnam, and at one time was divided into three principalities – each a different “Lao”. I don’t know if there’s any truth in the story we heard that when it reunified in the mid-twentieth century, that’s when it became Laos – i.e. plural – because it was the three different Laos coming back together again. But I believe you’re still meant to pronounce it Lao, as in the second syllable of “allow” and not Laos as in louse, or indeed, to rhyme with chaos, as I erroneously thought when I was growing up. The people are Lao – that’s their race, their ethnicity; the language is Lao. The cuisine is Lao – and fabulous it is too. The beer is Lao. Everything is Lao.

We started off in the capital Vientiane for two nights. It’s a French looking name, not surprising with the area’s French colonial past perhaps, but if you think in terms of its being a francophone version of Viang Chan, it makes more sense. Vientiane must be the sleepiest, most laid back capital city in the world. Wide roads with a few cars occasionally sedately driving by. You can park almost anywhere. The South East Asian predilection for motor bikes is evident here, but so much more restfully than anywhere else. The local “ton-up” kids are more like “10 mph” kids. You can almost overtake them on foot. They will stop to let you cross the road, even though it’s their right of way, and always with a beaming smile. I bet they’re so kind to their grannies. A typical street will be a mix of shops, housing, and Buddhist temples and shrines, not all higgledy-piggledy and mish-mashed as in many Asian towns, but nice and neatly laid out and sitting in their own grounds. There seems to be bags of room for everyone, and the people are proud of their environment, keeping it clean and well maintained. I don’t believe we saw a scrap of graffiti anywhere.

Our hotel was the Green Park, and it’s conveniently located just slightly out of the centre but still no distance from the main sights. The rooms are in several blocks located all around the gardens, and it has a very atmospheric sense of being in the jungle, even though you aren’t. We did put up our mosquito nets though, just in case. There’s a nice little bar in the hotel lobby which was where we met our fellow travellers on the first evening – we were a select little group, one other English couple and a solo Swiss lady – and a first floor restaurant with a lovely terrace overlooking the grounds. The hotel has a complementary shuttle bus service to the centre of the town and back; and on the first afternoon, whilst everyone else was unpacking and resting from the long flight – Heathrow to Bangkok, then Bangkok to Vientiane, we couldn’t resist just leaving the bags where they stood and getting the shuttle bus to the town centre for a first walk around the town.

The bus drops you off at That Dam, which isn’t a manmade barrier to control water levels, but a large stupa that forms the centre of a roundabout. From there we just wandered around, partly following the map and partly our noses, enjoying the unique combination of peace and commerce that you can only find on a Lao street. Plenty of evidence of the local sense of humour too, as you can see from these photos. We took a path that led us down to the banks of the Mekong – the mighty river which would follow us all over the subcontinent during the next three weeks – and there we saw the horizon-stabbing statue of Chao Anouvong, King from 1805 – 1828, whose arm extends you a slightly spooky welcome. In any other capital such a statue would be a real focus of attention, probably with swarms of traffic seething round it, like the Victor Emmanuel monument in Rome, or with a magnificent Versailles-like park surrounding it. In Vientiane however, it overlooks a completely empty road that goes nowhere. The combination of splendid bronze statue and barren surroundings is really quite eerie.

We returned to the Green Park for a rest and an unpack, and decided to play it safe by simply eating in the hotel restaurant that evening. The food was fantastic. Lao cuisine is delicately spicy, full of harmonious flavours that really complement each other and tease your tongue with their deliciousness. Comparing it with other food styles I had previously tried, I would describe it as most similar to Thai, but even more so, if you know what I mean. It doesn’t have the brassy self- confidence of Chinese and it was considerably more appealing than the harsh tastes of Vietnamese cuisine we were to “enjoy” later.

The next day we were up bright and early for a full day’s sightseeing. First stop was a 16-mile drive out of town to Xieng Thuan, better known as Buddha Park. At first glance you might be excused for thinking this was some ancient religious site, or indeed that it had become a repository where several displaced Buddha statues from all around the country could be reinstalled and brought back to their original condition. Wrong on both counts. It is in fact a glorified theme park, but absolutely fascinating nonetheless, and a useful introduction to the world of Buddhist statuary before you get to see the real thing. A highlight is a large reclining Buddha that is worshipped by locals; but in all there are about 200 religious statues here, not just Buddhist but Hindu too, with some very interesting combinations of the two religions. They were constructed between the 1950s and 1970s by one Luang Phu Bounleua Soulilat, a Lao guru, inspired by the teachings of a Hindu Holy man he met in a cave in Vietnam. You couldn’t make it up. When the constitutional monarchy of Laos fell victim to Communist invasion in 1975, Luang Phu fled to Thailand, where he built another Buddha Park just on the other side of the Mekong. The man was obviously obsessed. Alongside the statues there’s also a big round structure that represents heaven, earth and hell, which you can go inside and peer in the dark at the characters that inhabit each level. The park is a fun place to wander around and – if you dare – it’s great for a spot of hide and seek. There’s a refreshment stall at the entrance – don’t bother with the usual sweets and chocolates, just go straight for the barbecued bananas. They’re gorgeous.

We headed back to Vientiane to visit Pha That Luang, the “Great Stupa”, not only an important religious building whose shape represents a lotus bud but also a symbol of Lao nationalism. It’s a very beautiful setting, with further temples beside it, all largely rebuilt in the 1930s. Nearby is the Haw Pha Kaew, once a separate temple but now a museum to Buddhist art. The rooms themselves are decorated with stunningly beautiful colours that take your breath away, let alone the interest of the artefacts themselves. Simply visiting those two sites could easily take you two hours.

From there we visited the Patuxai monument. Reminiscent of an oriental Arc de Triomphe in the centre of a beautiful park, this “Victory Gate” was constructed in 1964 to commemorate the fallen during the Lao Civil War. From the top there are fantastic views of the park below and the city – to get to the top you must walk up the steps inside and through a veritable bazaar that is housed within the building itself. Designed to catch the tourists of course, but nevertheless it feels very incongruous. The window openings are nicely obstructed with decorative modern wrought iron designs of Buddha and Lotus flowers, to stop you toppling forward and onto the square below.

After lunch we continued to Wat Sisaket temple, the oldest temple in the city (1818), notable for its wonderful cloisters filled with over 2,000 images of Buddha, nearly all of which were dressed in a bright orange sash. As with so many of these temples the roofs, banisters, and walls are covered with decorative naga motifs – the mystic cobra with a dragon-type head and snazzy claws found in both Hinduism and Buddhism. After a few days of wandering around religious sites in Laos, I got very disappointed if I didn’t spot a naga or two in each place.

There are a couple of markets in the city centre. Most interesting was the “everyday food market” – that’s not its title but how our guide described it – with its amazing array of exotic fruits, vegetables and spices, alarmingly side-by-side with buckets of frogs (and I can testify, they are indeed mad) and tortoises that we were assured were not for eating but were “placed near food for decorative purposes”. Hmmm. It’s one of those markets where you spend half the time breathing in the glorious scents and feasting on the sights, and the other half dry-retching.

That was the final part of our organised tour for the day, but before he dropped us off at the hotel, our guide suggested one more visit – the COPE Foundation’s headquarters, that just so happen to be on the other side of the road from our hotel. This is an amazing, thought-provoking and humbling experience. COPE stands for “Co-operative Orthotic and Prosthetic Enterprise”, and it provides prosthetic and rehabilitation services for Lao people who are the victims of “unexploded ordnance”. The sad legacy of recent years in South East Asia is that Laos is the most heavily bombed country in the entire world, and it is estimated there are still 80 million unexploded bombs there. A terrible price to pay for other countries’ wars. The danger to children playing is obvious. As well as helping to rehabilitate victims of these bombs, there are also those suffering from polio, leprosy and who have other disabilities. COPE is the only organisation in the country that supports these people.

As you walk into the Visitor Centre you are overwhelmed by a number of sights. A graphic model of a cluster bomb releasing its bomblets. A map showing, in blood red, the extent of unexploded ordnance in the country. Stacks and rows of prosthetic limbs are on display, along walls, in piles, even dangling from the ceiling. And there will often be a young person who has benefited from the services of COPE there to tell visitors of how they were injured and how COPE has helped them. When we were there, there was a young man on duty, who moved stiffly and looked awkward. He had that recognisable look about him of severe pain mixed with bravery. We decided not to add to his woes by talking to him. But it’s a very moving place to visit – and to appreciate the great work that the Foundation does.

And that was our long first full day in Laos. For dinner we went to the Makphet restaurant, the first of many eateries we would discover over the next few weeks that have been specifically set up to teach local street children the art of running a business, by means of cooking and waiting and general restauranteuring. It gets them started in a proper job and with the hope of a decent future. The Makphet was very enjoyable and the food totally delicious, but it was here that we realised the Lao don’t have any concept of the “starter” when it comes to serving food. Everything came out in one go. Starters, mains, sweets, the lot. Lovely though. The next day we were to have an early morning flight to Luang Prabang, so we were well behaved and didn’t sample the nightspots of Vientiane. To be honest, I doubt there was a lot of choice.

India – Mumbai – Dharavi

Posted on November 5, 2013 by therealchrisparkle

You can be forgiven, gentle reader, for having forgotten that I hadn’t finished telling you about our most recent trip to India, as it was four months ago that I left the story dangling with just one more day to recall with you – which was our trip to Dharavi. Now, you might think, what on earth would possess anyone specifically to visit Mumbai’s hugest slum area, with an estimated population of anything up to a million people. It’s hardly nice for wealthy westerners to go and gawp at their poverty, is it? And that’s a very hard question to answer, because yes, on the face of it, I would agree; but actually to visit the place, meet the people, observe their endeavours, and marvel at their ability to overcome what fate has chucked at them, is a really humbling experience.

We met our guide Amish and he took us to Charni Road Station, from where we would get the train to Dharavi, getting off at a stop called Mahim Junction. Although we’d played about on the trains before, this was our first experience of actually travelling on one. And it’s a real eye-opener. Nothing seems particularly unusual at first – you get on, find a seat and wait for the train to depart. What’s fascinating is when you approach the first station. The train slows down but barely stops, maybe for five to ten seconds at the most. This is why everyone hurls themselves on and off the train whilst it’s still moving. Now, I have great respect for the Indian people; they are charming, caring, polite and obliging; until it comes to trains. Getting on a train and nabbing a place to sit down is an act of war. There’s only room for the quick and the dead, as the Dowager Mrs Chrisparkle used to say. If you’re young and strong you elbow weaker mortals out of the way as you dash for a vacant seat. The older and slower try to slither to the sidelines lest they be trampled underfoot. That famous Indian respect for the elderly evaporates before your eyes. You have never seen such unapologetic aggression displayed en masse. We were gobsmacked. No wonder they have to have women-only carriages.

Although Mahim Junction isn’t in Dharavi itself – it’s a short walk away – your route takes you past some families whose only place to live is on the street. It’s quite a wide pavement, and they’ve allocated themselves areas that equate to their own living space. You might see such people anywhere in India, but it made us think that if you have this level of large-scale homelessness outside Dharavi, what on earth would it look like when you got there? But we realised that these people are the really unlucky ones, for the slum dwellers of Dharavi do actually have rooms, roofs and shelter.

A pathway takes you over a very wide footbridge where the trains pass beneath on their way from the city centre to all points due north. As we crossed over, we saw that the trains were just stopped there, for no apparent reason, and their passengers were just hanging out of the doorways, as they do, looking for a sign that their journey would continue. It was like an image of them all frozen in time; packed like sardines, going nowhere, powerless against the state machine that would decide when and how they would make progress. Crossing further over the bridge you come to a spot that, in a grander location might be described as a balcony with a commanding view over all Dharavi; and your attention is primarily drawn to a gaudily painted corrugated iron shack with “WELCOME” boldly written on its front wall. Visually, it looks like an ironic statement; but actually, I think it’s genuine. This is their home and you are welcome to visit.

You walk down the stairs, and there you are, instantly in the heart of Dharavi; a wide, commercial High Street full of all kinds of people, many dressed extremely respectfully, involved in some form of trade. This is not a lazy place. To survive here, you have to be hard working and industrious, doing maybe heavy or physically demanding work in a cramped, probably ill-equipped environment. The first business we visited was a small bakery where a dozen or more young guys were baking biscuits and rolls, laying them out to cool, packaging them up and sending them off with a chap on a bicycle to their various customers. I don’t know about you, but that’s not what would have come to my mind if I’d thought about an “Indian slum”.

There are so many different businesses there, many of them based on recycling bits of rubbish that have been specifically imported from the west for the purpose. Some of them are things you would simply never imagine. There were the guys who snipped down multi-coloured bits of material into tiny shreds that would be used as packing or cushion filler. There was the man who salvaged and renewed tiny pieces of computer hardware and parts of white goods, seated on a filthy floor trying to make some sense out of the wreckage of old bits of plastic and metal scattered all around him. Another man was painstakingly bashing out and making good old paint cans so that they could be reused. There was a workshop where a team of guys were creating new-ish jeans out of cut-up pieces of old jeans, and a man spent his day ironing garments with the oldest, heaviest iron you have ever seen.

Very alarming to see were the two guys who spent the day dyeing material in two old vats, trudging around their tiny workshop barefoot, whilst the floor was swimming in chemicals. What it must do to their skin isn’t worth imagining; no health and safety regulations here. Still, when the choice is to work in a hostile environment and have an income to support your family, or no work and no income, there isn’t much of a choice for them. OK, maybe your life expectancy might not be more than 50; but without it, it might not be more than 30, so it’s a no-brainer. They seemed resigned to their plight, but we felt absolutely no sense of them resenting our presence or criticising us for being there. As always in India, we felt completely welcome.

There were three other sets of people whom we met in Dharavi who made a particular, lasting impression. There was one garment workshop where the owner had saved his profits so successfully that he had been able to invest in a huge modern knitting machine. A big computerised console, it covered a large worktop space and he was immensely proud of it. I hope it brings him much success. We were also privileged to be invited to take tea with two elders of the community from the Dharavi trading association; the man who intervened in business disputes between the traders, and his assistant; and it was fascinating to observe how much respect they had in their environment. There was a constant flow past of people who would stand before them, whilst they were seated, simply to say good morning and be noticed. The only person for whom they deferred extra respect to, by standing up, was the oldest gentleman inhabitant of Dharavi who came to call as well. Their welcome to us, their fascination in the fact that we had chosen to visit them, and the symbolic significance that they invited us to take tea with them, was the icing on the cake of a very memorable experience. The final person who made an impact was a cheeky boy on his bike who seemed to like us, and started following us about and chatting to us at odd moments. I would stop to take a photo, and he would suddenly emerge from nowhere to pull a funny face right in the middle of the shot. Remember “Slumdog Millionaire”, and how it featured street urchins from the slums? Many of the slum scenes were filmed in Dharavi and you could easily imagine how this kid could have featured in it. He had a very winning way about him; I hope he gets to lead a fantastic life, and carves a great future for himself despite his humble origins.

Turning into a darker area, where hardly any sunshine reached, we walked through narrow alleyways which hid the entrances to people’s homes; there’s no denying the meagre arrangements for the residents, but at least they’re not on the street. Ramshackle plumbing abounds everywhere; Amish showed us a junction of pipes where the fresh water and the foul water merged into one, at which point we felt a little queasy about having drunk tea with Dharavi Trade Association people. We emerged into an open courtyard which was 70% rubbish tip and 30% recreation area. The local boys were having a cricket match, as they do everywhere at all times of day and night in India. On one hand, it was pitiful to see them sharing one broken cricket bat and having to field the ball out of the rubbish mire; but it also embodied their incredible spirit to get on with life and make the most of what they had. We found our way back out of the dark alleyways into the sunlight, just a little further along the main street where we had first arrived, but it felt like we had visited another world in the meantime. Bizarrely, it was school going-home time, and past these slum workshops walked rows of spotlessly clean, smartly uniformed, private-school children, forming such a stark contrast with their environment. I had no idea where they had come from or where they were going (from college to home presumably) but it was quite the most unexpected sight.

Signs suggesting faded glory abound in Dharavi – my favourite was this decrepit board outside a run-down building boasting its availability to hold marriages and social functions. It really did look out of place. But not everything is a total mess. The temple of Srisiddhi Vinavakar, dedicated to Ganesh, located near the entrance/exit to Dharavi, is immaculate. Its intricacy of carving and spellbinding colours are an unexpected splash of magnificence in this decaying district. No matter how little money you have, in India religion and spirituality always seem to come first. We paused and sat for a short while before making our way back out of Dharavi and towards the centre of Mumbai. In this area of acute shortage and driving poverty, coupled with the most extraordinary spirit of ambition, hard work and decency, there’s just so much to take in.

Returning to Mumbai we had lunch at a Shiv Sagar restaurant, one of a chain of vegetarian fast food restaurants that do good food and is quite tourist friendly. Amish wanted to take us to the Leopold Café too, established in 1871 and a place where all and sundry meet to discuss the issues of the day over a tea or a sweetmeat. Not on the day we were there, though as it was closed and partly boarded up. There was also a sense of tension surrounding the place; people were milling around the stalls outside but not really doing anything; something felt wrong. We realised that an argument was starting up between one of the outside stallholders and a couple of men who were lingering outside. $A fracas outside the Leopold Café$ Then – a flurry of activity, the sound of shutters suddenly falling down, Leopold Café T-shirts were flung against the windows from inside to obstruct your view inwards, and all these guys hanging around suddenly got their hidden cameras out and started clicking their lenses at anything that moved. Apparently the café was the subject of an Income Tax Inspection raid, and everyone outside turned out to be an amateur (or otherwise) paparazzi photographer, trying to get the best shot of the proprietor and the inspectors. I guess it might have been a photograph worth taking if you needed some dosh. So we never got to go inside Leopold Café, but we did witness a proper Indian fracas.

After a rest, and before dinner, we had one last tourist site to visit – the sacred water tank of Banganga. It’s rather well tucked away in the Malabar Hill district, and is the place where Lord Rama shot an arrow into the ground from which emerged a spring of water. It’s quite an expanse of water for one little arrow, so it was obviously a good shot on Rama’s part. As we sat on the steps and dusk turned into night-time, we observed a few people taking a dip into the holy water – whereas we just tippy-toed around some of the shallower edges. It was a very peaceful, relaxing and reflective place, and with a charming small temple adjacent; although little did I know that I would get bitten by a mosquito there that would erupt into a very big bump on my leg over the next few weeks; alas I am the kind of person that mosquitos find totally irresistible.

From there we had just one more thing to do – our final dinner out with Amish, back to the Status Restaurant where we had eaten the previous night. However, whereas the night before we sat outside under the stars and treated ourselves to Marsala in Dosa from the canteen, on this last night we dined inside – and it was quite some feat to acquire a table too, fortunately Amish knows the right people! We made it as memorable and slap-up an event as we could, including Paneer Tikka Masala, vegetables and mushrooms cooked in fenugreek, aromatic chana and dal, and all washed down with top quality celebratory Coca-Cola. It’s a lovely restaurant and the meal was superb. Take a look at the menu, and see what you fancy. We felt very privileged to be there, and it made a fitting last night in Mumbai.

So that was the end of our Indian Odyssey – or rather, a week simply spent in and around Mumbai. There were still plenty of places we didn’t visit, but the secret of good travelling is always to leave somewhere to return to. And that’s precisely what we’re going to do next year – watch this space!

If you would like Amish to help you discover Mumbai visit mumbaimoments.com

India – Mumbai – More markets, temples and cows

Posted on July 2, 2013 by therealchrisparkle

All week so far we had been transported around the city in style. From the elaborate limousine provided by the Oberoi to transfer us from the airport, to the luxury cars provided by our guide Amish for our general sightseeing, we had travelled in air-conditioned comfort. But for today he thought we ought to try an alternative, so we went back to Crawford Market by taxi. A Mumbai taxi isn’t quite like a British one. It was small, bumpy, had a lurid mock leopard-skin fabric tacked on to the roof, and a gaping hole just to the left side of the clutch pedal. It also had quite the friendliest taxi-driver you could ever hope to meet.

He dropped us off outside Crawford Market, which we had visited two days earlier, but it has so many nooks and crannies that it was well worth a revisit. It was the first real opportunity we’d had to appreciate its structure from the outside. Its windows and archways are decorated with alternating red and white bricks in a very Moorish style – you could be in Cordoba. We went in, to discover we were in the fruits district. Rows and rows of highly polished colourful apples gleamed in their boxes, piles of grapes overflowed their bowls, the pineapples, mangoes and oranges all looked highly delectable. Stacked above them, massive baskets lined with the brightest colour foil paper making outstanding diamond shaped designs – presumably to display future produce.

In the outside area too, the fruit market continues. Under tattered tarpaulins, traders spend the day stacking, chatting, displaying, and putting the world to rights while the good citizens of Mumbai carefully select the prize items. It’s fascinating to see all the different people here going about their business – an incredible hub of activity. The paths can be quite narrow, so the porters have perfected the ability of carrying a basket with one hand over their head, so as to squeeze through with a full load. Others simply stack baskets on their head. Alongside the fruit, the other popular items for sale in this area are caged birds. In some locations they are for sale so that you can release them for good karma. I’m not quite so sure here – some of them are rather exotic looking creatures, and they also sell birdcages too. Still, no doubt if you are wealthy, you can release an expensive bird for a much classier kind of karma.

The last time Mrs Chrisparkle and I went to India, in 2006, we visited a shop in Agra and bought a few reasonably priced, reasonably smart clothes that still survive in our wardrobes today. We had mentioned to Amish that we wanted to go to a decent shop for a little clothes-hunting, and he suggested Dia. Great choice! We spent the best part of an hour trying on shirts and trousers, checking out belts and bags, and looking at costume jewellery, all of it very good quality at sensible prices. Mrs C took to the process like a woman possessed. She was in and out of the changing room appearing in different colour trousers each time, asking our opinions of each colour and style. After a while something happened, and Amish and I just started to laugh. I can’t quite remember why, but we ended up giggling like schoolgirls. As Mrs C was failing to attract our attention for the next couture critique, the lady trying to assist simply said to her “let them play” and so she carried on the important task of fashion consultant. Well, there’s only so much clothes shopping a guy can take, after all. But we bought wisely in that shop – and we’re still very pleased with our purchases.

Back out on to the streets, and they really were thronging. Pedestrians, taxis, motorbikes, cars, carts and buses all compete for enough space to carry out their business. You need to be aware of your surroundings at times to be safe, as any kind of vehicle can suddenly sneak up on you from any angle without your realising! Street sellers wander around offering you bags, sunglasses, watches; there was one very friendly lady from whom we had bought a couple of bags two days earlier, who we subsequently kept on bumping into. Every time we crossed a road in Mumbai, she seemed to be there! She was happy to pose for a photograph. There was another seller offering “Genuine Ray-Bans”; extraordinarily good value for Genuine Ray-Bans, I must say. I guess there’s no rent to pay when you’re just wandering around with the goods. We couldn’t resist the bargain; and for the rest of the day Amish and I roamed around looking like a transcontinental version of the Blues Brothers.

Into another market now, this time the Clothes Bazaar at Mangaldas Market. Not only clothes, but all fabrics – sheets, towels, tablecloths, and more. There’s a huge range of products and I’m sure you could spend hours delving through what’s on offer; but we sensed that it was the kind of place that if you stopped and looked interested you would be pounced upon. In comparison to the bright hustle and bustle of Crawford Market it felt quite dark and oppressive, and I think we preferred our clothes shopping experience that we enjoyed earlier.

Outside it was a good opportunity to observe two different forms of street refreshment. One was a fruit stall – where the brightest red watermelons were cut into triangles and stacked to form a little melon mountain on a plate, and it looked so refreshing in the Mumbai heat. The man running it also had golden pineapples and orange coloured mangoes – a really healthy snack option. Almost next door to him was one of these strange contraptions, the mobile sugar cane juice stall. On demand the man feeds sugar canes into this thing that looks like a cross between a mangle and a shredder, and out pours this sweet drink to which everyone in Mumbai appears to be addicted.

We stumbled across yet another market – the Zaveri Bazaar, where you will find all the jewellery you could want, from the cheap and cheerful costume stuff to top of the range ultra-exclusive. Mrs C was looking dangerously interested in some of these shops – I had to try diversionary tactics like “someone as beautiful as you doesn’t need such fripperies” and “oh look there’s a cow obstructing the entrance to that expensive jewellers.” It kind of worked. It was fascinating to see the contrast between scruffy hard-working street life and the high value glamour actually inside some of the shops. It was as though Cartier had just opened up in Skelmersdale.

Heading under a sign that reads “Bombay Panjrapole, established 1834” you enter an area given over to the welfare of animals. Primarily, it’s a place you can go to feed the cows. We went to inspect the healthy-looking sacred beasties whilst Amish went off in search of leaves and grass (to feed the cows, I should add). The office marked Veterinary Dispensary was overflowing with the stuff – it’s obviously the cure for all bovine diseases. He returned a few minutes later with half a tree in his hand, which we then used to feed about twenty cows who were all contentedly awaiting a repast in their compound. It was a little like playing at a Children’s Zoo, but with added religious significance. You could almost hear the cows muttering, “that’s good grass, man”.

From there it was but a short walk to another Jain temple, the Madhavbaug temple, with its lucky decorative swastikas and its delicate marble carvings that looked like intricate icing on a cake, which were being renovated by a team of skilled craftsmen. Nearby was the Icchapurti Ganesha temple, where there were a number of men sat around to make sure that a holy fire remained burning constantly; another interesting feature there was a large bell to the side of the fire which you happily ding to let the gods know you’re ready to worship. At yet another temple, the Madhavbaug Shiva temple, Amish encouraged us to approach a young priest sitting cross-legged on the floor, who said a little prayer for us and daubed a red mark on our foreheads. For a few minutes I felt Officially Indian.

One last charge back into the shops and markets area, as we now found ourselves in the stationery sector. Loads of shops whose sole purpose is to create the most beautiful and elaborate wedding invitations you could imagine. The shop windows are crammed with stunning calligraphy and superb decoratively carved cards that are works of art in themselves. A decent set of invitations is obviously de rigueur at a proper Indian wedding.

After all that exposure to art, temples, markets and more, it was definitely time for a late lunch. In an uninspiring looking building, we climbed up some stairs to a restaurant called the Bhagat Tarachand and the food was absolutely excellent. We returned, shattered, to the Oberoi for a much needed late afternoon nap, and then headed out again later to meet Amish for dinner. We went to the Status restaurant, very close to the Oberoi, that has a relaxed outside eating area and a slightly more formal inside area. We sat outside and consumed Marsala Dosas and lots of other yummy goodies. It was a fantastic place to while away a tasty hour or so in great company. Tomorrow was to be our last full day in Mumbai, and very exciting it was to be too. So we needed our beauty sleep, but not until we’d drifted back to the Eau Bar for one last nightcap.

If you would like Amish to help you discover Mumbai visit mumbaimoments.com

India – Mumbai – Gods and Temples

Posted on June 18, 2013 by therealchrisparkle

Another early start? I don’t believe it! So much for having a relaxing holiday. But we had so much to pack in to our next day, and we had arranged a lunch reservation for 2 pm, so 9 am was the latest we could get going. Anyway, who am I kidding? When did we last do a relaxing holiday?

Religion is everywhere in Mumbai. It seems to me in India there’s no such thing as a non-believer. Unlike in the UK, where we basically don’t particularly care much one way or the other, and if we do it tends to be a private and personal thing, in Mumbai you’re definitely classified as to your faith. You’re either a Hindu or a Muslim, a Jain or a Buddhist, a Jew or a Christian, a Sikh or a Parsi, maybe even a follower of Bahá’í. Not only are temples and mosques found everywhere, but each shop has its own shrine, and each street corner its own little religious refuge. Cows roam the streets; incense pervades the air; people wear clothes that make their faith instantly recognisable. Of course, different religions do things differently. So it was an excellent opportunity to visit a few temples with our guide Amish to get an insider’s view on the buildings, the services and the adherents, and to get a feel as to what it would be like to be a follower of any of these faiths.

Our first stop on this morning of hobnobbing with the Gods, was to visit a Hare Krishna temple. This was the Radha Gopinath temple in Chowpatty. As soon as you see the orange canopy stretched out over the open courtyard, you just know this has to be a monument to Hare Krishna. Around the courtyard are little shops and stalls, display cabinets, and slightly surprisingly, to get inside you have to get past the security staff. At the centre of the courtyard is a two storey building – it reminded me slightly of what an Indian Alpine chalet might look like. Downstairs there isn’t much – just some storage areas – but all the action takes place upstairs.

Having made our way upstairs, a service was just about to start. I don’t know about you, but I always associate worshippers of Krishna to be dressed in orange gowns, banging drums, dinging cymbals, and chanting as they go. Just one look inside the temple shows this is not the case. At the front, an ornate gilded screen was attended by an orange clad man with what looked like a large furry lollipop. At the back, a very lifelike statue of a priest sat on a golden throne. However, that ornate and colourful framework did not extend to the congregation. The room was packed out with men who looked like they had just come in from a business meeting, had removed their jackets, and were all seated on the floor to take part in a service that was being delivered by a visiting monk from Canada. So although the building and decoration felt very “Indian”, the service itself was extremely cosmopolitan.

It all looks very sexist; the men are all seated, agog to hear the message of Krishna, whereas the women are all in a side room, chattering, creating garlands, preparing some food, looking after their kids. Like so many religious institutions it serves more than one purpose.You’re getting your spiritual nourishment yes, but at the same time family business gets sorted out, social events are arranged, and gossip gets done.

It’s an evangelical place – we were welcomed, but as prospective new recruits of the future rather than simply as curious visitors. We were obliged to take away with us a list of all the places in the UK where we could worship at a Hare Krishna temple. The young chap who befriended us there seemed so hopeful of a conversion that it would have been like kicking a puppy not to have looked interested. It was a fascinating place to visit, but to me it didn’t feel remotely spiritual.

Unlike our next port of call, which was the Hindu temple at Babulnath, dedicated to Shiva. The approach to this temple is rather like going through a market, then into a quieter back street behind blocks of flats. Halfway up the hill (it is a bit steep) you are greeted by the reassuring sight of Ganesh, in quite a large street side shrine with its own electric power. At the top of the hill is the entrance to the temple, and to the side, another shrine, this time to Hanuman, the monkey god, which, on close inspection shows the god crushing his enemy beneath the weight and power of his foot. This is a god in destructive mode.

Unfortunately it is not permitted to take photographs inside this temple so I cannot show you what happened, but I can tell you it is an extraordinary little place. There is a small area, and in the centre is a lingam, about three feet high, that represents Shiva. Surrounding it is a small moat, and devotees quietly walk round the lingam in a circle, pouring water and milk over it. Amish asked us to sit on a nearby bench and observe whilst he went to prepare for the worship. It’s a strange, but mesmerising sight; and it was another welcoming temple – this time genuinely so, we felt. One man, having poured the milk and water over the lingam came back to where we were sitting to ask us where we were from; he told us he had relatives in Reading and hoped we would enjoy our visit. By now Amish had returned with two small pots of water, one for each of us, so we joined the circle of visitors, and when it came to our turn, gently poured the liquids out over the lingam. You have to pour it slowly, thoughtfully, kindly, reflectively, to get the benefit of the experience. And although it sounds like a very straightforward procedure, I found it extraordinarily spiritual. Whether it’s the symbolism, the simplicity, the sight of the flowing water, or the shared experience, I don’t know. But I felt really refreshed afterwards! And a bit wet. Fortunately in the Mumbai sunshine no moisture lasts long.

Our third and final temple of the morning was the Chandanbala Jain Temple. It was very interesting to note the difference of decoration from the Hindu temples. Firstly, at the entrance, there is an abundance of swastika decorations; nothing sinister about this age-old pattern representing good fortune, which plays a significant part in Jain symbolism. Instead of the oranges and golds of the Hindus you have alabaster and cream colours, presenting a much calmer, more serene appearance. Carvings of elephants and stylised peacocks predominate. As at the Hare Krishna temple, the main emphasis is upstairs. The stairs themselves are lined with flower petals making a rich splash of natural colour. They lead to an open air landing, where the men gather to talk about all those things that men do, whatever their religion. Then there is a door to an inner sanctuary.

And what did we find inside this sanctuary? Yes, there were religious icons and statues, shrines and altars. But chiefly we saw a family group of around 20 men, women and children, sitting on the floor in front of a vast vegetarian picnic laid out on bowls and patterned boards. The food had obviously been prepared by the women whilst the men sang and played their musical instruments. I don’t think the picnic had any greater significance than being just a simple family get-together (probably by relatively important people within that temple’s community), using the space communally to share and basically have fun together. They didn’t seem to mind at all that they had onlookers gatecrashing their party, and in fact the man playing the bongos was keen for us to appreciate their music. It was really fascinating to see the temple being used in this way, more people-oriented than god-oriented.

Back on Day One – or rather Night One – we’d had a brief trip to see Victoria Terminus from the outside, all lit up and sparkly. Now was our opportunity to go back and see it by day. From the outside it looks big and grand, but you’re honestly not expecting it to keep on going back and back in the way it does, once you’re inside. It’s massive; no wonder it can accommodate all Mumbai’s millions of daily travellers. The elegant area at the front by the ticket offices and information desks would not look out of place in any Oxbridge college or South Kensington museum, with animal gargoyles nestling in the pseudo Greek carvings atop pseudo Doric columns. Not surprising that UNESCO wanted this place as a World Heritage Site. The immaculate gardens to the side of the station are a beautiful ornamentation for the railway company’s offices, but woe betide any stray tourist who wants to muscle in and walk around, security will be on to you like a shot.

We also went further into the station and basically played at getting in and out of trains, posing as hangers-out-of-doors much to the amusement of local onlookers. They were empty trains, mind you, so we had no chance of the doors suddenly closing and whisking us away to Pune or somewhere. We would see the trains properly in action a couple of days later.

We returned to the Oberoi just in time to meet our friend the Food and Beverages manager who had booked us a table at the restaurant of the sister Trident hotel. The Oberoi and Trident are linked by a little shopping mall, and in fact the Trident used to be the Oberoi until the Oberoi was built – I hope that isn’t too complicated for you. As residents of either hotel you can use the facilities of the other one if you wish, and we were strongly recommended to visit the Frangipani restaurant. As we had become accustomed, the chef came out and gave his solemn oath not to let any gluten accidentally worm its way on to Mrs Chrisparkle’s plate. It was a delicious lunch, very relaxed; fractionally less formal and fractionally less classy than the Oberoi.

We definitely needed a rest after all that, so took to our spacious suite for a well deserved kip. I think it lasted longer than we’d anticipated, so all we had time for later was a briefish walk along the water’s edge to Nariman Point and back, just to get some air and a little exercise. Dinner that night was to be in the Oberoi, at their Italian restaurant, the Vetro, which was very elegant and exclusive. The only thing that could finish off such a delightful evening was another session in the Eau Bar. I love sophisticated travel!

If you would like Amish to help you discover Mumbai visit mumbaimoments.com

The Real Chrisparkle

Category Archives: Travel

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