Vietnam Journeys – Days 2 & 3

8 AM departure from Hanoi to Halong Bay (and 3 hr mini bus ride)

Our overnight stay in a junkboat in Halong Bay was surprisingly delightful. I was looking forward to the Halong Bay part but had low expectations about sleeping on the boat and was pleasantly surprised to see we had a very nice stateroom with clean duvet and silk pillows and toilet that worked! There was a shower to boot!

We had three outstanding fresh seafood meals prepared by our Vietnamese chef. Explored a famous cave and went sea kayaking. The limestone islands jutting out of the water were reminiscent of those we had seen in Krabi, Thailand with the locals likening them to every animal under the sun- lots of big and small islands likened to chickens, turtles, monkeys.

Mass tourism creeps into Halong Bay, Vietnam

Established by UNESCO as a world heritage sight in 1994, Halong Bay is indeed a natural wonder but there is no  doubt commercial tourism is taking over. Go now. We even saw a jetski and the hotels are sprouting like mushrooms.

Following a 3 hour return bus ride to Hanoi, we had a couple hours to take in more of this bustling metropolis. We decided to head over to the notorious “Maison Centrale”, ‘Hanoi Hilton‘ or today as it is known, Hoa Lo Prison – the huge prison constructed by the French that would notoriously house Senator John McCain after he was captured by Vietnamese forces when his plane went down in the war. It was interesting to see some of the pics they had of him, including his flight suit, helmut and parachute. It is very unclear if he was tortured like he said he was, or well-treated as the Vietnamese portray the American prisoners as being able to celebrate Christmas, plant trees and raise chickens for decent food. It was an interesting visit though and I am quite certain the truth lies somewhere in between the lines. I’m glad we made the visit.

Where is a Marriott when u need it?! I am closing day 3 onboard an overnight train from Hanoi to Hue. Thank god I have my sarong for a ’sheet’. We are sharing a four person bunk room that looks like a prison cell with two of our really nice new travel mates, Spring from San Jose and Mack from the UK. We passed a couple hours playing rummy and go fish which helped. Having since accepted the toilet is a hole in the ground but so far clean, with paper! And getting rid of only one cockroach so far, I have found peace with my iPhone and Coldplay. Will I sleep? I doubt it. But the door is locked and I have my sarong and Chris Martin, and my husband as guardian. All will be well. There is still much to see in this friendly country.

Vietnam Journeys – Day 1

Arrival in Hanoi, Vietnam, 12.30 pm

All that inconvenience and the expensive! (60 Eur each!) visa paid off as a gruff customs officer stamped our passports with a bang and a fleeting smile. Having carefully followed ‘Lonely Planet’ guidebook advice to ensure we got the right taxi, our adventure really began with our introduction to the Vietnamese motorway. Complete with a mad craze of motorbikes carrying everything from cartons of eggs, live chickens, fresh produce, baguettes, bamboo, 20 kilo sacks of rice. You name it, they carry it, often with the whole family piled on. This is a country where motorbikes are king and the eco-friendly, peaceful image of a country full of people riding bicycles is but a dream of the past. We quickly deposited our (now) small, 15 kilo bags (having left the rest at the office in Singapore) at our modest but clean hotel and took to the streets of Hanoi.

With only an afternoon, we followed the Lonely Planet instructions and started at Hanoi’s famous Temple of the Rising Sun on the lake (exact name escapes me at the moment as I write, will look it up!) Alas, we did not see the mythical 250 kilo golden turtle but we saw one in lacquer. We then picked up some tickets for the 9.15 pm water puppet show and headed into the maze of the Old Quarter.

Formerly occupied by French Colonists, the Old Quarter today is a mindboggling array of shops selling everything from shoes, silk, refrigerators to Vietnam travel tours. Heeding my boss’ advice (having recently visited Vietnam herself), we took a deep breath and crossed the streets with confidence, silently praying the swarm of motorbikes, rickshaws and minivans would maneuver skillfully around us. Horn honking is aplenty and pedestrian crossings a rare occurrence and even then, the motorbike seems to have priority! I wonder who buys all of these things. Mobile phone covers by the hundreds, belts, hair clips, t-shirts in poorly written English, sunglasses…. People from outside the city squatting on a corner bbqing skewers of… chicken? Selling bowls of jelly, tofu and fresh poultry. Lots of tiny ‘keylime’ like limes. The amazing dichotomy of filthy streets, electricity poles overloaded with hundreds of wires, laundry hanging over the streets of what must have once been beautiful old French colonial buildings, now blackened by age, war and pollution. And then the bounty of fresh flowers. Roses, lilies, pretty tropical red ones I remember from the Virgin Islands. Elderly and young women carting a newspaper bundled bouquet home on top of their wares.

The famous folkloric Vietnamese Water Puppet show where the 3.00 USD ‘premium seats’ gave us a middle, second row view of this traditional puppetry artform on water. It was beautiful and well worth the time and tickets.

Day 2 on our way to Halong Bay on a 3 hour bus journey. Having seen many in the villages we pass washing their motorbikes, I can’t help but look forward to getting out in the fresh air. The glimpses of countryside I have seen so far promise the beauty many tell about their travels to Vietnam. A flock of white ducks walking hurriedly single, file along the road as if they are late for a very important date start my morning with a smile. They are living life, quite fully I’d say.

Travels in China

I have been to many places in the world, yet China amazes me. From the sheer grandeur of its buildings, intricate motorways on the outskirts of the ‘Beijing region’, to the Great Wall which stretches 6,200 miles. When you are on it, you have the impression you can keep walking forever and are tempted to do so because you think there will be something more interesting up over the next hill. Such was our experience as we discovered the delights and mystery of the Wall beyond the throngs of crowds. We were thrilled to have the Wall to ourselves, the fog/smog heavy and a lone raven (a superstitious sign in western or eastern culture?) watching us with disinterest from a tree.

I am staying in a very local neighbourhood north of Beijing. The locals are seemingly getting used to the three of us as they smile in recognition and stare less. The strawberry blonde hair, fair white skin and freckles are a rather rare sight in these parts!

We have no hot water but I’ll take the western ‘throne’ toilet any day over hot water! Chinese women must have thighs of steel with this squatting business! It is amazing how one becomes creative at heating water with the electric tea kettle and filling a basin which you can then use to dump over your head! Hey it works! And it’s not just us but apparently the whole building. ‘It will be fixed in October.’ hmmm. Isn’t that when the government allows the heating to be turned on? What a coincidence!

Day two was Tiananman Square and the Forbidden City. First adventure for all to brave the local bus followed by the subway. Thankfully a kind man seemed to recognise our puzzled expressions as we stared at the subway map trying to decipher the English translation of the stop where we stood which was completely different from that of the Fodor’s guide we held in our hands. Success. Approximately 1 1/2 hours later, but we were officially subway savvy and independent.

To be continued…

Butterfly Rain

It was not a typical Thursday. My friends and I closed down our laptops with a bang, headed to the nearest exit at 3.oo PM. Grateful to escape an afternoon that promised to be filled with tedious, yawn inducing meetings, we sensed freedom and adventure. We were going to Dusseldorf, Germany (centre of the universe) to see Coldplay in concert at the Esprit Arena!!!!  

We could not have planned our trip more perfectly. 2 1/2 hours later we pulled up in front of our little hotel rated #1 by Tripadvisor (the Max Garni hotel) and were greeted by its delightful owner Christian. He immediately guessed why the four of us were “visiting” Dusseldorf on a Thursday and handed over four free tram passes, a couple maps and keys for each of us (“in case we got separated to open the door at any hour.”) Three blocks to the tram, a 20 minute ride through the burbs, we spilled out onto the platform one hour before showtime, marveling at German organisation and how this would never happen in Belgium. A ‘couple’ caipirinhas later we staked out our territory on the ”floor level”. ‘Chriiiiiiiiiis!!!’ (Chris Martin) we yelled, adrenaline pumping with excitement as we strained for a glimpse of our favourite lead singer.

The concert was simply AWESOME.  Difficult to find other words to describe it. It was my second time in a year seeing this fab four from England take the stage with their alternative  music and touch of edge. Their ‘Viva la Vida’ tour is regarded as one of the best concerts of 2009, and it is no wonder why they have sold out stadiums for almost one year straight.  Coldplay is among a dying breed of big star studded rock bands that appreciate the power of their fans and put their heart and soul into their live performances. 

Happy memories!

We played ‘balloon volleyball’ on the floor, sang an acoustic tribute with the guys to Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’ when they suddenly appeared at the back of a stadium to be closer to fans who seemingly had the worst seats in the house. (Talk about lucky people!) We did the mobile phone wave (well, attempted to do so) and hushed to a near silence (all 40,000 of us) as thousands of coloured paper butterflies fluttered down in the night breeze to the haunting lyrics of  ’Lovers in Japan’ and ‘Death of all his friends’. 

Check out the band’s photoblog of the big night in Dusseldorf here! http://www.coldplay.com/newsdetail.php?id=482

 ”By the way, on the way home, Chris was saying that it was one of his favourite Coldplay shows ever. Good work Dusseldorf!” said Anchorman on coldplay.com.

Viva la vida! Viva Coldplay!

‘The streets of San Francisco’

The best way to see any city is surely by foot. We pounded the pavements of this California gem for two days checking off the ‘must sees’. The Mission district, Hayes Valley, Pacific Heights, Telegraph Hill and Coit Tower, Chinatown, Fisherman’s Wharf, Nob Hill, Alamo Square with its Victorian house ‘postcard row’ overlooking the city and amusing ‘dog play area’. After that we hit the ‘unique’ 60’s hippie vibe of Haight-Ashbury, Golden Gate Park (preparation underway for the annual Aids walk) and the alternative lifestyle of the Castro where fruity cocktails and leopard skin briefs are aplenty.

Haight-Ashbury: a 'unique' side of San Francisco with 'colourful' characters and a 'flower-powered' history.

Walking through these neighbourhoods enabled us to San Francisco’s real colour. Tourists (lots of French and Dutch!), sadly many homeless people – some admittedly with a great panhandling sense of humour with cardboard signs such as: ‘why lie? I need a beer,’ or ‘I bet you $1.00 you look!’ 

Stopping in a bank in Grant Street in the heart of Chinatown, we felt as if we were in another country. Mandarin was the de facto language as we watched little, elderly Chinese ladies cash cheques, stuffing hundreds of dollar bills into their purses. Stomachs rumbling, we had a $5.99 all you can eat dim sum and BBQ buffet complete with beverage and almond cookie for dessert. The pastry chefs chattering away in animated mandarin making steamed rolls and dumplings as a group of local men traded tales at the back of the restaurant as they probably did every day. A Mexican, an old acquaintance of the Chinese owner thanking him for another great meal.

When we weren’t trying to be sold dodgy illegal substances in the Haight-Ashbury district, and looked past the grubby exteriours of meth-addicted street teens, you couldn’t help but be touched by their community culture of helping unknown strangers like themselves. I am reminded of the young girl with a sign saying she needed food, only to watch as a group of boisterous street teens opened up a backpack and handed her a large, new packet of graham crackers which she accepted gratefully with a smile.

We finally rested our aching feet and muscles in a hot jacuzzi before heading ‘upmarket’ to a fantastic neighbourhood Italian on Russian Hill for grilled calamari, Marsala infused veal and homemade gnocchi. A far cry from the sights and sounds we had experienced during our foot tour of San Francisco but pleased with the rich cultural fabric of all we had seen.

For the full San Francisco experience, wear comfortable shoes!

My tribute to MJ

It’s only appropriate as a child growing up in the ’80s to spend a couple minutes paying tribute to the King of Pop.  Acknowledging Michael Jackson as the ”greatest entertainer that ever lived,” (Berry Gordy, Jr. Motown Records at his memorial service today) is probably not far off the mark. Yes, Michael Jackson entertained us – in all senses of the word – with his music, gift for dance, quirky and mysterious ways, down to his last day and farewell – gold casket and all.

I am emotionally drained. It’s been almost a week and a half since Michael Jackson left us for Neverland. The flood of media coverage, fan tributes and special magazine editions are seemingly endless. Having just spent the last two hours watching his memorial service, I feel almost as tired as if I had been there with family, friends and 11,000 of Michael’s fans in the Staples Center in Los Angeles.  My eyes are swollen and a pile of kleenex sits on the coffee table having traded text messages with a friend during the service making fun of ourselves at how fast we succumbed to the emotion of the moment. I thought it was great when Brooke Shields reminisced about teasing Michael about the question we always wondered, “What’s up with the (white sequin) glove?!” 

I may not own all of his albums but I own ‘Thriller’ – in cassette form – and am proud to be one of those millions of fans that contributed to its success as best selling album ever.  Upon reflection, every Michael Jackson song I have ever had the honour to listen to has brought me joy. As a little girl growing up in the Virgin Islands, I remember dancing barefoot and carefree to ‘Beat it’, a family favourite and running joke with my Dad and sister. ‘Billie Jean’ was always a music staple at school dances and who still does not like ‘We are the world”? ‘Man in the mirror’ gives us pause to think how we can all strive to be better people… 

Imagine ‘Don’t stop ’til you get enough’ – and a whoop of cheers, moonwalk dancing wannabe’s and 800 colleagues paying our own spontaneous tribute to the King of Pop at our summer company bbq last Saturday, 27 June one night after his untimely death. With it, the song brought a smile and a memory for every person in that room.

The joy of MJ’s music is what I will always remember and be thankful for. Admittedly, my Thriller cassette is a little worse for wear so I’m going to join the millions of fans around the world and download a new version, along with the rest of his foot tapping, moonwalking, energetic repertoire. May Paris, Prince Michael and ‘Blanket’ live happily ever after with their father’s music rights and top his listing in the Guinness Book of World Records for ‘most charities supported by a pop star’.

Thriller – number one record ever sold

750 million records sold

13 #1 singles; plus 4 more with the Jackson 5

13 Grammys

Hall of Fame twice (as Michael Jackson, with the Jackson 5)

He discovered the moonwalk driving through Harlem and stopped to watch street dancers and asked them to teach him

“Greatest entertainer in the world”? Michael Jackson has my vote.  

Thank you MJ. 

A taste of Switzerland

Crisp alpine air, friends, food and wine – the perfect ingredients for chicken soup for the soul. 

This was my second trip to Switzerland.  Having first visited Switzerland in November, I was curious to see if this small, beautiful country of ‘peace lovers’, bell-toting cows, Olympic hopefuls, cheese, Toblerone and structured, law-abiding society would still capture my heart in June. 

I fell in love. Was it Switzerland? Or the whole package of a perfect weekend among dear friends? Walking along the rocky shores of Lac Leman, picking wild strawberries and playing hide and seek in the forest like kids again. Laughing hysterically as we were chased over pine needle paths by our 10-year-old chief to avoid fresh wood shavings down our backs and in our hair.

Wildflowers of every colour in bloom, strawberry fields ready for picking, farm fresh eggs (just drop your money in the box – thank you! the honour system still exists!), cherries from the tree in the garden, (several) delicious Viognier bottles from the local vineyard and a dramatic picture postcard view of both the Jura and Alps.  

As my delightful hostess put it, “one never gets tired of looking at this view.”  

I couldn’t agree more.

The sensory pleasure of gratefully immersing one’s body into warm, healing thermal baths like those at Lavey Les Bains. Drifting on a mat, eyes closed in the ‘relaxation pool’, I listened to the soothing singsong of whales through the underwater audio system. Standing under the ”mushroom shower”, the water massaging my head and neck, I marveled at the majestic view of the rocky ravine towering above me.

For the love of natural beauty, travel, friendship and that invigorating feeling of breathing pure air and living off the land. Yes Switzerland, I will be back!

Cupcakes anyone?

I spent my Saturday baking cupcakes. I can’t explain why other than cupcakes are in fashion again – since  Sex and the City’s Carrie Bradshaw and Miranda Hobbes made NYC’s Magnolia Bakery cupcakes world famous. 

There should be a disclaimer in kitchen stores:

‘Danger – expensive kitchen gadgets you will never use will meet sudden death by credit card.”

Kitchen stores are as dangerous for me as shoe stores, stationary and book stores.  It is impossible to go in without making a purchase. Among my favourites? Williams & Sonoma, Crate & Barrel and Sur la Table. To my delight, a Charleston, South Carolina dinner at Slightly North of Broad, led me to its Maverick Southern Kitchens store on East Bay Street. 

My eye immediately caught the colourful cupcake window display featuring the cookbook, Cupcakes! by Elinor Klivans. Leafing through it, I was pleasantly surprised to see the book featured recipes for homemade yellow and chocolate cake batter, rather than the usual references to Duncan Hines ready-made cake mix. An important detail, because Belgium is not big on ready-made cake mixes and they are difficult to find and not very good. The recipes looked easy enough. As much as I love to cook and bake, cakes have always brought out my insecurity. Would they be dry like cardboard? Heavy as a brick? The fear of baking failure led me to avoid baking cakes altogether. For the first time, I looked at these recipes and a little voice told me, I could do this! But first, Le Crueset’s re-usable silicon cupcake wraps…(in red)

Cupcakes in 30 minutes? (10 minutes to mix the batter, 20 minutes to bake). This was NOT the case. What about the minor detail of homemade frosting! That said, I have to hand it to Mrs. Klivans. A couple hours later, I was the proud chef of 30 chocolate and vanilla cupcakes! They didn’t rise in the middle to form a peak (like in the pictures) but they were still light and flavourful. No ready-made mixes, just fresh ingredients and a little patience.

The thrill and the possibilities! With THE bakery frosting recipe from my aunt and a little more practice, I see a cupcake future with flowers and leaves! Add coloured sprinkles, lemon zest, chocolate mousse filling and I’ll become a cupcake and birthday cake queen!

The test of a true chef is to taste test but not over-indulge. I admit to only eating one cupcake (in addition to licking the spoons from the batter of course.) 

Errrr …. and then there was the white shirt. Regrettably, it did not fare as well. Using an apron truly never entered my mind. Unfortunately the chocolate stains and neon blue food colouring left a couple permanent marks on what was otherwise, a very satisfying cupcake day.

Kiawah – ta? Friends, fun and alligators

Kiawah Island, South Carolina officially ranks as one of my favourite places to be. Having travelled across many far corners of the world, I bestow this honour on this little South Carolina gem of a barrier island 10 miles from Charleston that never fails to rejuvenate and bring me happiness.

DaisyBoo, Ladyvino and I make it a point now (after 24 years of friendship) to put life’s little challenges aside for an extended spa weekend to be pampered and indulge in life’s little pleasures away from the rat race. We first discovered The Sanctuary at Kiawah Island in 2007, as tree-hugging, granola-loving Washingtonians having never been ‘to the South’.  We immediately fell in love with the southern hospitality, ghostly Spanish moss covered trees, magnolias, beautiful beaches and cheddar jalapeno grits…

2008 took us to Scottsdale to experience spa life in the desert. While beautiful and relaxing, Kiawah kept calling us. We decided to go back this year. Have you ever tried to re-create a fantastic experience you once had, only to be disappointed the second time around? Any concern we may have had, quickly disapated upon receiving surprise room service containing a magnificent cheese tray, crackers, caramelized walnuts and bottle of chardonnay – a gift from the concierge to welcome us back!  Three chairs on the balcony and a view of the ocean, we laughed at our luck and sent obnoxious photos of the good life back to the husbands who were not invited. (Girls weekend!)

Strolling along Kiawah beach the next morning in search of sand dollars and shell treasures, Ladyvino and I spied activity further down the beach.  A group of people were standing near a beach rescue truck and there seemed to be a thing – an animal? turning in circles as it was kept at bay by a lifeguard with an orange stretcher. We walked closer and came upon the approximately three foot ”baby” alligator who we named “Jerry” for no particular reason. He just looked like a “Jerry”. Jerry had wandered down to the beach from his five diamond bog on the golf course lured by the Atlantic Ocean and thought a dip sounded like a good idea. Fortunately for him, the early morning shellseekers spotted him and called in reinforcement before he made that fatal swim.

It is not often one sees an alligator on a beach!  The encounter only added to our love of this special place. We later sipped cava on the 18th hole overlooking the beach at the far end of the island and took turns taking photos in the Cape Cod chairs. They say Maine is ‘the way life should be’ – and I agree, in summer but South Carolina’s ’smiling faces, beautiful places’ similarly holds true for spring.

Kiawah, we’ll be back. And next time, I’ll take the spa treatment with the Reiki addition again, close my eyes under a lavender infused pillow and drift away to the sounds of birds chirping and waterfalls. With a little luck, we’ll see a sea turtle or two if we stay long enough.

Watch the video!

Southern hospitality and chivalry still charms

For all my independence and support for feminism, I cannot help but be smitten by southern hospitality and male chivalry on those rare occasions when I get a dose. ‘Good afternoon ma’am‘, the hotel valet smiled, tipping his safari-like hat, after opening my car door in one grand swooping gesture. ‘Welcome to Kiawah Island, South Carolina. May I take your bags? Thank you ma’am.”  

“Myyyyyy, you’ve had a looong trip,” the dapper young male concierge drawled in sympathy a couple minutes later. “May I get you a glass of wine or a sweet tea firefly martini ma’am?”

Southern hospitality and male chivalry do impress and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’ve reveled the last week at being waited on and looked after.  

Encouraged to upgrade my car rental to one that was safer and bigger (as I would be doing a lot of driving), I heeded protective male advice and arrived the next day in St. Augustine, Florida for lunch overlooking the harbor. The idea of lunch at the Brewpub was so well thought out and easy, I just needed to show up and choose the best beer. I just waved with thanks and a smile from the shaded balcony, sipping my Pale Ale as my courier dashed across the park in the blistering, muggy sun to replenish the parking meters. Points! (I’m sure it was my imagination that he flipped me the birdie in response with an impish grin! LoL!)

On the plane home, I sat next to an endearing 85 year-old Cuban-born, Spanish man. His English was as poor as my Spanish, however the notorious Spanish chivalry again worked its charm, despite the language divide. For nine hours, this kind, little man always made sure I was served first and looked after by the cabin crew who seemed to find it a chore to speak in English or provide me with my share of cumbersome ’swine flu’ and ‘disembarkation’ forms to fill out before arrival. 

Return to the office – smiles and kisses from my male colleagues (I really do like European business protocol!) 

Upon my arrival home, my face broke into a delighted smile at the handwritten note accompanied by a bouquet of tiny fresh mayflowers (lily of the valley) welcoming me home. The gesture so thoughtful and meaningfuI as I did not want to miss this annual French tradition on 1 May destined to bring happiness.  ’When you have a moment and are not so jetlagged, can we find an evening to go to our favourite restaurant to celebrate our anniversary? I’d really like to take you out,” said the husband. Points! Points!

Yes, thank goodness chivalry is not dead! I have learned with experience that expectation can only lead to disappointment, so note to men in bold, these kinds of little thoughtful gestures score big points with the ladies when you think ahead and go that extra mile. 

And when all is said and done, I’ll still melt at being called ‘mon trésor’ (my treasure) by a flirtatious middle-aged French waiter, but that southern drawl can charm anyone.  

Next time, I will wear a wide brimmed hat and keep my docile eyes cast to the ground. ”Why thank you, kind sir. I’d be delighted to be in the pleasure of your company.”