The R&R Big Adventure

100th Day Milestone!

Our second and final day at the elephant camp was good fun. After breakfast we did indeed make (or start to make) paper out of elephant dung: the process involved mixing dried dung with water, drying it again, and then mixing the dried remnants with water over a sieve, which would then be left to dry in the sun. And yes, it smelt. We then got to feed the elephants again (some of whom did a little dance when they could see food was coming, and had also learnt to pose when they saw camera phones appear 😊), and saw them go for a little wash in their pool. Before we knew it, it was all over, and we were heading back to Chiang Mai for our final night there.

We had been meaning to get a massage since we arrived, but wanted to ensure we went somewhere reputable, and not in one of the places where overly made up ladies were shouting at any man walking past to ‘come inside’ (I’m assuming they meant the massage parlour). We found one that was part of a chain, and tourist authority certified, so booked massages for the two of us. I just wanted a simple head, back and shoulder; R decided he wanted a full body massage – with jasmine oil. My masseuse was pretty brutal  – kneading my back with her elbows for what seemed like an eternity, and then contorting my body as she cracked and prodded it. I had no idea how she wanted me to cross my legs (and she spoke no English), and she could have been a police officer in a former life the way she pulled my arms behind my back. I was quite relieved when my hour was up; Robert however emerged all zen-like and relaxed.

After dinner we paid another visit to the Ram Show bar: quieter as it was a Sunday, but still great performances. They certainly didn’t skimp on the costumes. This time though, R wasn’t just up dancing with the ‘girls’, he joined them for a rendition of YMCA on top of the bar. My highlight was when the maître(sse?) d’ announced ‘I no lady, I lady (then dropping three octaves) boy’ before laughing hysterically.

Monday morning we were off to the airport again, this time for our flight to Hanoi. I had last been to Vietnam eighteen years ago, just as I met Robert, and had travelled up and down the country. This time we were squeezing in Hanoi and Halong Bay into our trip, as this was a new country for Robert. As we left the airport for the city centre, we saw many people on mopeds lining the motorway, furiously waving the national flag. Some of them were letting off fireworks as our taxi drove past. At first we thought was this the start of a people’s uprising, but then later found out Vietnam had beaten Thailand in the football final of the South East Asian cup, and the celebrations were still going on two days later. As we started to explore the city I certainly saw the changes since I was last there: the many mopeds on the streets had been multiplied by a factor of two, and were now joined by cars that the rich Vietnamese were now driving. Gone were the regular tannoy announcements by the communist regime, but instead neon signs had proliferated, and hotels were everywhere (each seeming to have their own roof-top Skybar). Many clothing shops in the old city were selling knock-off North Face garments, clearly knowing their backpacker market. A couple of times we got stopped on the street by what we thought were legitimate Grab moped drivers (Grab is the Asian equivalent of Uber) but then, when they showed us photos of weed on their mobile phones, we realized what their game was. Crossing the road is an acquired skill: no lane markings, mopeds coming at you from every direction – sometimes eight abreast at a time – and no-one in the mood to break. The trick is to start walking slowly across the road, keep eye contact, and hope every driver is equally as good at judging relative velocity. The air was also smoggy – talking to some tourists, they weren’t wearing face masks for fear of COVID, but to stop getting a sore throat from all the air pollution. And forget getting around the old city if you are infirm or in a wheelchair: the pavement is either non-existent, disappears without warning, or has mopeds triple parked on it. I pitied the driver whose moped was parked nearest the wall and had to leave work early. Despite the noise, the pollution, the traffic and the hassle, it was all good fun to experience.

Yesterday we wanted to make the most of our full day in the city and started with a walk across the famous Câu Long Biên bridge – a decrepit bridge that has a train line running through the middle, and thousands of mopeds tearing past on either side. And a few loose concrete slabs perched on rusting iron supports for the pedestrians to walk over. We walked half way across (probably half a mile or more) and were fascinated to see that in the middle of this overcrowded city, beneath us were allotments which women in traditional outfits were tending to. Back in the city, we walked to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum – a grand, brutalist building that had a huge open square in front of it: perfect for parading tanks or troops, for example. Lots of men in military uniform would bark at anyone who had the temerity to sit down or linger for too long in the square. Unfortunately the mausoleum itself wasn’t open, so we continued to The Hanoi Temple of Literature, which contained a series of manicured squares. Next to these flower beds, full of red salvia and yellow marigolds, the colours of the national flag, were many local teenage girls, wearing traditional tunics, and clutching bunches of flowers or cherry blossom, posing to have their photo taken by an obliging boyfriend / relative / friend. We thought this was marking some special occasion or graduation event, but no, apparently it is just regular ‘Insta posing’ for the young ‘uns here.

After lunch we headed to Hanoi Train Street – as the name would suggest, a narrow street in which a train passes by a few times a day. Enterprising local café owners take advantage of this event, and stack chair upon chair along the route so that enthusiastic tourists can whoop and cheer as a train passes within centimetres of their legs as it hurtles past. We took a seat on the first floor for a better view, and we were surprised that even at that height how close (and how fast) the train passed by. Proof yet again that the words ‘health and safety’ don’t translate into Vietnamese.

Having eaten Asian food for the last few meals, we agreed between us – almost guiltily – to have a pizza last night. How could we, when we were in Vietnam! But it was good, and the fact several Italians were also eating there vindicated our decision. On the way back to the hotel we were stopped by another Grab moped rider who pulled up next to us: I thought the picture on his phone didn’t look like drugs, and then realized it was a woman rubbing her naked breasts (or, for Anna B, boobies!) together. I guess he wasn’t selling fake North Face. This morning we were up early for our transfer to Halong Bay, and an overnight cruise. I had done this when I was here previously, but on a cheaper, one-day excursion. It was a very efficient production line that processed tourists from their transfer vans, to the harbour front, to their respective tender boats. I wondered why we all had to put on life jackets as we approached a piece of random land, before we got to our boat, and realized it was for the benefit of the uniformed guy who was there checking (I assume) the passenger manifest. Life jackets off again, we could finally reach our assigned boat. I had heard that following the devastating typhoon that hit this region in September, several of the boat companies had literally gone under, so I was expecting fewer boats out on the water. If this was less crowded, it must have been like the M25 in rush hour previously. A flotilla of boats, like a Vietnamese reenactment of the D-Day landings, all headed in the same direction to reach the ‘Dark and Bright cave’ (I am reading off the itinerary) where R and I used our new found kayaking skills to paddle off into the caves. Unlike Samoa and Fiji, the current was a bit stronger here, so we soon learnt how to complete an emergency stop with our paddles, before we hit the dozens of other kayaks that were all heading the same way. I have not been on a ‘proper’ cruise before (Milford Sound in New Zealand was the nearest I have got to it) but if every cruise has a tannoy announcement informing passengers of when the next ‘organised fun’ activity will be, it is not converting me. I just keep thinking of Ruth Madoc and her xylophone. We made it for happy hour on the top deck, but as it is unseasonably cold at the moment (we have hoodies on and are still cold) we decided to skip the cooking demonstration to get some warmth in our cabin. Apparently there is squid fishing after dinner. As long as it is fishing – and not games.