Coconut Candy and Banana Whisky-a-go-go.
I'm in the city of Can Tho at the moment, having signed myself up for a two day tourist-trap tour of the Mekong Delta. It's the fifth-largest city in Vietnam, and has a lovely seaside feel, perhaps from being perched on an open body of water.
The trip so far has been a bit of a farce, beginning with the hotel owner (predictably) failing to wake me. This meant that I got out with seconds to spare, and the decision as to whether I should leave my bag or not was made for me by sheer lack of time to check out. This is especially annoying as a) now I am separated from my passport and pining for it like a child lost in the supermarket pines for their mother, and b) there is a special compartment on the bus for baggage and no need to lug anything around, especially on boats.
The day culminated in the hotel the tour booked us into being too full to give me a room, so I am sharing with a woman in the hotel down the road. Her name is Clare and she has quickly become my travel-mama, having trekked around Asia for a good twenty years. She reckons India will be hell. Whoopie.
However, the in-between, non-farcical bits that didn't involve touristy stop-offs (so that the guide could have a smoke and hopefully get a kick-back) were lovely. I think I have found what I am looking for in rural Vietnam. It's as far from the brash hustle of Ho Chi Minh as you can get - all rice paddies and riverboats and grey cloudy sky merging with the Mekong. The boats are painted like dragons and glide past languidly. Locals wave from their kitchens at the tourists going by, and then go back to their daily lives. The air smells clean. Like the water.
And Helen, you will be pleased to know that I did indeed stop off at the famed Unicorn Island, home of the coconut candy that has become so famous in our household. (My mother: "Is 'coconut candy' a euphemism for something?"). The smell of coconut and suger caramelising is actually quite appetising - someone should make a perfume of it. Yum.
By the way, if I can make the effort to walk past an internet cafe in Can Tho and think, "Perhaps I can check my email", you all should be able to make the effort to write me emails, so that I am not disappointed when I open my inbox. Also, this is an effective way to reduce the number of rambling, non-sensical Joyce-related entries on this blog - more emails, less of me trying to use up my pre-paid internet time with rambling nonsense!
Really, everybody wins. Also, I'm still finding my feet here, and a little bit of news from home to lessen the culture shock would be appreciated. When I get back tomorrow I think I'll book a bus ticket to Hoi An; sounds like the next best thing to Hanoi, being full of beaches and silk markets and quiet. Still, you will hear me whinge about not properly budgeting my time and missing out on the northen capital for quite some time. Yay! I resolve to go there the next time I have any money together - which should be retirement.
I'm off to beddy-byes now, as I'm quite clearly losing it and don't want evidence of my gradual mental degeneration on the internet. I expect emails when I get back to Ho Chi Minh at 5.00 local time tomorrow. Your time starts... now.
The trip so far has been a bit of a farce, beginning with the hotel owner (predictably) failing to wake me. This meant that I got out with seconds to spare, and the decision as to whether I should leave my bag or not was made for me by sheer lack of time to check out. This is especially annoying as a) now I am separated from my passport and pining for it like a child lost in the supermarket pines for their mother, and b) there is a special compartment on the bus for baggage and no need to lug anything around, especially on boats.
The day culminated in the hotel the tour booked us into being too full to give me a room, so I am sharing with a woman in the hotel down the road. Her name is Clare and she has quickly become my travel-mama, having trekked around Asia for a good twenty years. She reckons India will be hell. Whoopie.
However, the in-between, non-farcical bits that didn't involve touristy stop-offs (so that the guide could have a smoke and hopefully get a kick-back) were lovely. I think I have found what I am looking for in rural Vietnam. It's as far from the brash hustle of Ho Chi Minh as you can get - all rice paddies and riverboats and grey cloudy sky merging with the Mekong. The boats are painted like dragons and glide past languidly. Locals wave from their kitchens at the tourists going by, and then go back to their daily lives. The air smells clean. Like the water.
And Helen, you will be pleased to know that I did indeed stop off at the famed Unicorn Island, home of the coconut candy that has become so famous in our household. (My mother: "Is 'coconut candy' a euphemism for something?"). The smell of coconut and suger caramelising is actually quite appetising - someone should make a perfume of it. Yum.
By the way, if I can make the effort to walk past an internet cafe in Can Tho and think, "Perhaps I can check my email", you all should be able to make the effort to write me emails, so that I am not disappointed when I open my inbox. Also, this is an effective way to reduce the number of rambling, non-sensical Joyce-related entries on this blog - more emails, less of me trying to use up my pre-paid internet time with rambling nonsense!
Really, everybody wins. Also, I'm still finding my feet here, and a little bit of news from home to lessen the culture shock would be appreciated. When I get back tomorrow I think I'll book a bus ticket to Hoi An; sounds like the next best thing to Hanoi, being full of beaches and silk markets and quiet. Still, you will hear me whinge about not properly budgeting my time and missing out on the northen capital for quite some time. Yay! I resolve to go there the next time I have any money together - which should be retirement.
I'm off to beddy-byes now, as I'm quite clearly losing it and don't want evidence of my gradual mental degeneration on the internet. I expect emails when I get back to Ho Chi Minh at 5.00 local time tomorrow. Your time starts... now.
posted by Jess at 6:30 AM
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