Vietnam and Cambodia - Land of the Dragon

Vietnam and Cambodia - Land of the Dragon.

"I can't say what made me fall in love with Vietnam... (and Cambodia)... that everything is so intense... The colours, the taste, even the rain. Nothing like the...rain in London. They say whatever you're looking for, you will find here. They say you come to Vietnam and you understand a lot in a few minutes, but the rest has got to be lived. The smell: that's the first thing that hits you, promising everything in exchange for your soul. And the heat....You could be forgiven for thinking there was no war." These were the words of Thomas Fowler from the film, "The Quiet American," which so accurately sums up Vietnam. It is a land that captures the very essence of your soul and takes you on an unforgettable journey through the land of the dragon.

Ancient mythology tells us that the people of Vietnam are descendants of the Dragon Lord Lạc Long Qun and the Immortal Fairy u Cơ. They produced 100 children, 50 of whom lived with their mother in the mountains and the other 50, with their father in the sea. So steeped in mythology is the land of Vietnam that each area is shrouded in some story of mythological formation.

Landing in Hanoi, capital of Vietnam and home to about 3.7 million people and 1.2 million motor bikes, is like landing in the heart of a giant mosquito that never sleeps. Endless streams of bikes pass you by each day, with many families of 4 heading off on their daily chores. Farmers from surrounding areas meet at the "morning market at 03h00 and by 07h00 have cleared up and gone. At night, entire streets are transformed into night markets which trade until late in the evening. Unlike its sister city, Saigon, Hanoi has narrow streets and still retains some of its old city charm. The old quarter, often known as the "36 streets," dates back over 2000 years. The area was once home to numerous craft guilds which created work areas. When the streets were eventually named, each street was named after the craft sold along that street and so today, if you need shoes, you head for Hang Guay, and for jewellery, Hang Bac.

Leaving the bustle of the city behind and traveling northwards towards the sea, highway 5 takes you to a world Heritage site, and the tail of the "descending dragon." Halong Bay is an endless canvas of 1969 limestone islands, 989 of which have been named. Many of these islands are home to numerous caves, some of which can be visited on foot and others in the pleasant tranquility of a kayak.

According to local legend, Halong Bay was created by a family of dragons, sent by the gods to help protect the Vietnamese from Chinese invaders. The dragons spat out pears and jade stones which soon turned to a myriad of islands protecting the people from the invaders. Today, these very same islands provide a safe home to many small floating villages, the inhabitants of whom survive off the 200 species of fish and 450 different species of mollusks that the waters provide.

Far south of Halong Bay is the picturesque small historical town of Hoi An, where the "The Quiet American," was partially filmed. Between the 15th to 19th centuries the town served as one of South-East Asia's most important trading ports for spices and silk and today is still a traders paradise. Cars are banned and the narrow cobbled streets are lined with old buildings, temples, pagoda's and endless shops selling hand made trousers for $15, evening dresses for $25 and three-piece suits for $40. In the heart of the town is the Ving Hung Hotel, which served as the dressing room for Michael Caine during filming. Today, tourists jostle to book into the same room which overlooks the narrow bustling lantern lit streets below, which come alive during the festival of the full moon.

From the quiet tranquility of Hoi An, a short flight takes you in the belly of the dragon, Saigon or the modern day, Ho Chi Minh City. Inhabited by 8 million people and 4 million motor bikes it pulsates 24 hours a day. Traveling through the vast tarred streets with towering modern hotels and malls, it is hard to believe that the city started out as a small fishing village in an area that was originally swampland, but when heading out into the neighbouring areas the tranquility of forgotten days soon prevails. Endless rice paddies line the myriad of roads that spread out from the city. Framers work the land,

harvesting rice in the blazing heat. Old carts are pulled by weary horses. Rubber trees are methodically planted in rows, their sticky sap slowly seeping into wooden bowls for collection.

Driving back in time, one arrives at the area of Cu Chi, whose 121km hand-dug underground tunnels became famous as a battleground of the Vietnam War. The forested area is littered with B52 bomb craters and the endless spattering of gun fire can be heard from the firing range. Some of the tunnels are open to tourists to experience for a brief period, what life in the tunnels must have been like. In the blistering heat of the day, 7 of us descended into the dark abyss below us. The tunnels are narrow, dark, airless and in places slope down and narrow so one has to belly crawl. 40m was all it took for me to realize that as a non-sufferer of claustrophobia, another 20m would surely have converted me. Lack of air. Stifling heat. For the Viet Cong, life in the tunnels was difficult. Sometimes, during periods of heavy bombing from American troops, the Viet Cong would be forced to remain underground for many days at a time. Malaria and sickness were rampant and accounted for the second largest cause of death after battle wounds.

As horrific as life in the tunnels must have been, it is the images of the war weapons and traps set by the Viet Cong for the Americans that will remain in my memory for a life time, but as one local guide said, when your way of life is under attack, you will do all in your power to protect it.

South of Saigon lies the feet and arms of the dragon, whose claws spread out to form the massive expanse of the Mekong Delta. The area, also known as Nine River Dragon Delta, drains an area of over 790 000 km2. The Mekong is the 12th-longest river in the world, and runs all the way from the Tibetan Plateau through China, Burma, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia, into Vietnam and finally into the south china sea.

With such an expanse of water it is not surprising to find that the residents of the Mekong area are river people. Where Hanoi's streets come alive with early morning markets, the tributaries of the Mekong erupt into a chattering wash tub as hundreds of boats navigate the narrow channels laden with hands of bananas, grapefruit, jackfruit, spinach, fish and every kind of vegetable imaginable. Trade takes place under the shade of Vietnamese hats while hotel and restaurant owners on the shore line yell instructions across the water of their daily needs. About 20 minutes up the Mekong we headed along a narrow tributary to encounter life up river. Locals wade about in the waters catching fish. Children cycle and play along narrow sidewalks dodging chickens and dogs. Mothers sit at the waters edge washing clothes while the men potter about fixing their boats. Farmers live on combination fish and rice farms, generating an average of $35 a month, while small family businesses survive making rice cakes, rice paper and potent rice wine.

Leaving the peace and tranquility of the Mekong, our next stop was neighbouring Cambodia, lying at the back of the dragon. Like Vietnam, the history of Cambodia is marred with foreign invasions, international political intervention and internal conflicts. The pinnacle of Cambodia's history arose during the rulership of the Khymer Kings between about 800 - 1400AD. It was during this period that Khmer kings built the most extensive concentration of religious temples in the world - the Angkor temple complex - and hundreds of surrounding temples.

Then in 1431 the Thais plundered the area and the complex of Angkor was abandoned. For almost 200 years the forces of nature invaded the temples. Fig trees took up residence on temple walls and slowly engulfed the buildings. Moss adorned the intricate carvings and aerial roots flowed to the floor.

Today, the complex of temples is a World Heritage site. Many of the Hindu statues have been removed and replaced with sculptures of Buddha and numerous renovations are underway. Time seems to have stood leaving an imprint of mystique. I lost my heart to the temples of Cambodia.

I cannot say what made me fall in love with Vietnam and Cambodia. Perhaps it was the ever smiling faces of the people, the sheer simplicity of life or the vast green rice fields; the smell of the rain or the sounds of children splashing about kicking a home crafted soccer ball. Perhaps it was the excitement with which vendors haggle over prices or the intense respect shown by children to their elders. Whatever the reason, they left an indelible imprint on my heart and a yearning to return, in my soul.

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South to North Vietnam An Unforgettable Experience

South to North Vietnam An Unforgettable Experience.

Hitting the road to Vietnam, I didn't know what to expect; the journey began in Southern Vietnam in Ho Chi Min City, formerly known as Saigon. We started off exploring the city, with our pro globalization cyclo driver kept saying "Got mouth to eat, Got no mouth to speak".

We then traveled to Cao Dai Temple, in which the temple was like going through some mad Alice in Wonderland dream. The architecture was like nothing I have ever seen before, it was modern with lots of exquisite art and detail everywhere. The religion is a combination of teachings from Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, Confucianism, Christianity, Islam and other religions with the intention to promote peace.

Another highlight was visiting the Cu Chi Tunnels, which is an ingenious invention of seeing how resilience the Vietnamese during the American war. The Vietcong controlled under the grounds while Americans controlled the sky and land. The tunnels were tiny and it was amazing to realize that people lived there, cooked, slept, used the bathroom and even had children. The visit was quite emotional because our tour guide was quite the opposite of our cyclo driver, he was a Vietcong fighter during the war. As we watched movies of how Vietcong rewarded brave soldiers that fought the evil Americans, it took me back to realize how symbolic nationalism was during that time.

We were then transferred to a parallel world to have a dinner in a completely different world of westernize Vietnamese food before dancing the night away to fusion of the francophone culture.

Next destination to the midlands, in which we hoped on an internal flight to Da Nang, which was quite an adventure sort of like being on a busy public bus in a rural towns. The only thing missing from people's luggage were the chickens, they had their things huge plastic bags. The flight was noisy and for three girls who got less than three hours of sleep it was quite the nightmare.

Our next destination was taking a cab to Hoi Ann, which was a 45 minute drive. We negotiated with our cab and after five minutes of driving, the cabbie stopped opened the trunk and there was a black car behind us. Once we realize what happened, Vimal tried to open her door, and it was locked. My immediate reaction is like I am not going to have my things robbed from me. It wasn't going to happen to me so I jumped to the passenger seat of the car, rushed to the trunk and pushed the driver aside, not sure what I was yelling. We all took our bags and walked back to the airport. The driver kept saying it was cheaper to take a private car but after hearing the horror stories of backpackers in Vietnam we weren't going to find out.

An hour later, we eventually made it to Hoi Ann, which is a UNESCO Heritage Site where we spent the day cycling the city indulging in Vietnamese coffee, tea and cuisine while the city poured around us. The city was magical, it made me realize how this haven had so many settlers. It was protected and because it was hard to get, spared the horrors of the Vietnamese war, the pagados, the old houses, and the atmosphere. We had loads of fun singing at the top of our lungs while cycling the rice paddies. We also go to experience the fabulous world of tailored clothes.

A couple of days letter, we set off on what is a common mode of transport a sleeping bus, the travel agents promotional posters made it looked like it was spacious and luxurious with full length beds. It was amazing to see the three rows of beds on a regular bus customized for the Asian body. The bus driver was quite hilarious as he took a 20 min break to stop and shop for some jackets on the way. As we set off to Hue, another unbelievable UNESCO Heritage Site, we rented bikes again and ventured to the old fortress, temples, and even played football with a group of young Vietnamese girls, in which we realized how badly we were.

My final stop was to Hanoi the second biggest city in Vietnam, which was a bit overwhelming after enjoying the peaceful countryside.The highlight was the water puppet show which is definitely a must see for anyone going to Hanoi. This was a great way to see Chinese aspect of Vietnamese culture.Vietnam surprised me with its beauty, charm and friendliness of the people.

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A Tour Group Cycles from Saigon Vietnam to Bangkok Thailand

A tour group cycles from Saigon Vietnam to Bangkok Thailand.

In March, my partner and I cycled from Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) to Bangkok - a memorable two-week holiday that took us through three distinct countries in hot and humid South-East Asia. The trip was both more, and less, daunting than it sounds.

So don't stop reading. You can do it, too, if you are reasonably fit (if you can easily cover 60 kilometres in a day) and don't mind traipsing through strangers' chicken coops to get to the outhouse. You don't have to be a buff 30-year-old, in other words.

Nor did we cycle every single kilometre: we covered some distance in river boats, an air-conditioned backup van and even an antique "bamboo train." We also enjoyed regular rest days swimming in the hotel pool - when we weren't drinking icy beer at cheerful bars, or poking through glittery, local markets filled with dollar-store junk and all manner of mutant fruits and vegetables.

But the cycling, about 570 kilometres in all, was the highlight. The road is often bumpy, but the terrain is mostly flat. The heat can be draining, but the reward - as with every cycling trip - is an intimate encounter with the culture (including the barnyards, convoys of orangeclad monks who studied us gravely, scooters nearly buried under their cargoes of live chickens, smiling toothless women in cone hats and some very excited children.)

In fact, we rode so close to people's simple thatch homes on the twisting paths through Vietnam's Mekong delta, it felt as if we were pedalling right into their daily lives, disturbing the mid-day siesta, or the friendly curbside cockfight. We thoroughly disrupted recess at countless country schools, and caused a sensation on rural backroads, as squealing kids ran to greet us with high-fives and exuberant cries of "Hello! Hello!" (This must be what it's like for Justin Bieber.)

In the company of our genial tour group - more on that later - we swooped, like some species of exotic bird, through villages buried in jungle, past dusty farmlands, spring-green rice paddies, remote hamlets and into damaged and depressing regional hubs, like Battambang, Cambodia, that look as if they haven't seen a tourist since Pol Pot was mercifully defeated in 1979.

Yet people were unfailingly warm and curious - although I did notice the odd amused smile. No wonder; it isn't every day a peloton of red-faced foreigners, dressed in their colourful native spandex, speeds past your shaded hammock in the noonday sun. Chased by the mad dogs.

Our route also hit the main tourist draws: the sombre temple complex at Angkor Wat in Cambodia; the thriving nearby service town of Siem Reap, where fishes will nibble your toes in giant sidewalk tanks; and Phnom Phen, where a seedier form of massage is widely offered. Only $4. We stopped at a touristic silk factory (practically mandatory on an Asia tour, but fascinating), at stone carvers' yards and smaller, out-of-the-way, rice paper "factories" in simple bamboo sheds.

While cycle touring has become popular, especially in booming Vietnam, it still hasn't spoiled the region - in fact, in 14 days we saw only one other western cycle tour, and, in many places, we were the only foreigners.

On a bike, you get to places those giant tour buses can't manage (and there were many buses; Asia is packed with western visitors). That includes potholed country lanes, or narrow scooter paths weaving through the Mekong delta - not to mention the 10-person "ferries", made of rough planks roped together, that traverse the delta's thousands of rivulets.

Several companies now offer cycle tours of varying duration and ambition, with excursions along Vietnam's scorching coastal highway and in the mountainous interior particularly well-subscribed. (And more demanding than our ride, which only rated three chilies out of five in level of difficulty.)

We wanted to see three countries - Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand - and major attractions like Angkor Wat, along with a "quiet" Thai beach, so we chose a trip offered by SpiceRoads, a Scottish-owned outfit with good reviews and reasonable prices. Our tour cost about $2,500 each and included sumptuous meals, inscrutable snacks, adequate-toexcellent hotels, an air-conditioned support van, rental bikes - serviceable Trek hardtail mountain bikes - and three guides. (That didn't include airfare between Canada and Saigon.)

SpiceRoads turned out to be an excellent choice; the tour was well-staffed and the route well-chosen. The main guide, in particular, a 32-year-old American called Jonathan, was well-informed, professional and endlessly helpful. (So encyclopedic was his knowledge of local customs, languages, history, pharmacology and cuisine, he earned the tag WikiJon.)

We were 12 cyclists altogether, ranging in age from 27 to 63, from Australia, the United States and Canada - including a young American working in Afghanistan. No thanks to me, we were an unusually speedy group: a combination of young riders and some seasoned veterans. Any pressure to keep up was mostly self-generated; ordinarily, Jon assured us, this particular trip proceeds at a more stately pace.

We stopped for picnic lunches at park-like Buddhist temples in various states of disrepair; at ramshackle roadside cafés that, in one unforgettable instance, offered deep-fried tarantulas and crickets; at open-air, but well-shaded restaurants where we watched, slack-jawed, as servers paraded out trays of South-Asian specialties, each dish more enticing than the last. (The salty, tasty Vietnamese chicken noodle soup pho ga turns out to be perfect fuel for a sweaty ride through the tropics.)

The longest day was 92 kilometres (long if you are on a mountain bike), but more often we rode 35 to 65 kilometres, or not at all. Sometimes we were on corduroy dirt roads, sometimes on pavement, sometimes cutting across a rice paddy on a hard mud path, occasionally on busy city boulevards.

It was the heat, rather than distance, that was daunting. It was pushing 38 degrees at Angkor Wat, with intense sun and wilting humidity. In the Mekong delta, we were mercifully shaded by coconut and banana fronds, but on open roads the sun beat down relentlessly. Fortunately, on the longest day - through dusty and impoverished farm country in Cambodia, approaching the Thai border - it was unseasonably cool at 26 degrees, and overcast.

No matter when you travel in this region it is going to be hot, but December to February may be the smartest choice. We also took care: we stopped every 20 kilometres for salty snacks, fresh pineapple and watermelon, soft drinks and water. When it got to be too much - sore knee, bad tummy, imminent heat stroke - there was always the air-conditioned van trailing discreetly behind, equipped with water and yet more pineapple.

If you don't want to do the whole ride, you might consider a shorter trek through the Mekong delta, to me the most fascinating part of the trip. The delta is a lush maze of thatch homes, mango farms, temples, banana groves and hamlets that is home to 17 million people. It isn't the sandy, flat farmland, interspersed with broad Amazonian rivers, that I imagined. (It looks like an inhospitable venue for a war, by the way.)

A hundred spidery trails lead through this jungle - many paved and wide enough to accommodate two scooters, which, along with local cyclists and pedestrians, are the only traffic.

The twists and turns force you to slow down; so do the many small bridges, that rise suddenly, over chocolate-coloured, slightly menacing currents. One day, we crossed 51 of these little arched bridges; it felt like a tropical skateboard park. On top of one such bridge, we had to ride over drying rice while dodging young boys eager to show us the live mice they had dangling from strings. We momentarily lost one rider in the swamp, but she had never been on a mountain bike before.

Best of all are the small ferries - which are really just rafts with tattered canvas coverings. Sitting on the plank floor, crossing a turbulent channel the width of the Rideau Canal, eight bikes leaning on the flimsy bamboo railing, the driver operating the small submerged engine with a string tied to his bare toe, I thought to myself: I can't imagine a more exotic destination.

Cambodia was immediately different: poorer than Vietnam, drier, less forested and still haunted, somehow, by the memory of Pol Pot's brutal social experiments of the mid-'70s. I will always associate the country with human skulls and fanatically insistent child vendors.

We cycled to and through some of the famous killing fields - park-like, mass graves of the victims of Pol Pot, with glassed towers of skulls arranged according to gender and age.

The roads in Cambodia were mostly packed dirt and we shared them with water buffalo, scooters and luxury SUVs bearing Phnom Phen plates - evidence of a deeply inequitable society. We passed wooden houses on stilts and many, many children with torn, dirty clothing and poor teeth - but wide, excited smiles.

Despite the obvious poverty, we encountered few beggars. Instead, children swarm tourists like killer bees at every temple, or roadside attraction - thrusting their scarves, T-shirts and trinkets right through bus windows or into your face. They set up an irritating drone: "One dollar. Only one dollar, madame." (They don't get much education, but speak a confident English, tailored to ingratiate. One bright nine-year-old identified "David" Harper, as prime minister of Canada, when we quizzed him. Not bad.)

For many visitors, the celebrated rubble of Angkor Wat - the largest complex of religious buildings in the world, dating from the 12th century - is a historic and spiritual highlight. Maybe, but it was a fiendishly hot 30-kilometre cycle around the sprawling sight.

We arrived before sunrise - along with a few hundred other international tourists and early-rising coffee vendors - to watch the gloomy temples emerge from darkness in the rosy dawn. (Its one of those tourist fetish things.)

We breakfasted, wandered around, but by the time we got on our bikes at 10 a.m. to see the rest of the complex, it was already unbearably hot. Fortunately, it was only seven kilometres back to the hotel pool in Siem Reap.

What I will remember just as vividly is the less exalted "bamboo" train - a removable bamboo raft attached to rail wheels that whistles down a crooked track between two remote villages, an easy 10-kilometre cycle outside of Battambang. When you encounter a similar contraption coming the other way, one "train" stops, the driver moves the platform and wheels to the side, lets the oncoming "train" pass, then reassembles his own rolling platform.

There is no bug screen, no sides, no seats - just boards on wheels, travelling at bone-jarring speed. It was particularly exciting when a wandering cow got her rope caught in the track right in front of us and jerked free only moments before collision.

Travelling from this forgotten part of Cambodia to Thailand was like journeying from the Third World to the First. The moment we traversed the rural border crossing, the roads were better (than here, actually), the food exquisite, the mango groves lush and the bathrooms much fancier - even rivalling those in chic restaurants in Toronto. (We used all manner of toilets on our journey, mostly ceramic stand-ups in sheds behind cafés, temples or farmhouses. They were basic, but, unlike in India, did not smell.)

Our trip ended with a couple of days at a Chantchalao beach resort, mostly frequented by residents of nearby Bangkok and relatively free of the sex tourism so common throughout this part of the world.

A final easy cycle ride around the sleepy resort (including a visit to the King's mangrove swamp, a restoration project) and a magnificent, final moonlit banquet on the beach - featuring a stunning array of Thai seafood and yet more beer and pineapple - and our trip was over.

As I watched a rosy sunset over the ocean fade to black in the company of convivial new friends, sipped my Thai beer and felt the cooling breeze, I had to admit: that wasn't really daunting at all, as cycle tours go.

Susan Riley is a freelance political columnist for the Citizen and enjoys cycle touring. Email: smiley.work@gmail.com

IF YOU GO

Tour company: Spice Roads

Cost: About $2,500 for the cycle tour, accommodations, meals, support van, rental bikes and guides, but not airfare to Asia.

When to go: December to February may be wisest in terms of temperature.

Read more at http://www.canada.com/travel/tour+group+cycles+from+Saigon+Bangkok/5605601/story.html

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