Why we travel

Bill now knows what he does not want to do when he grows up. He thought it was plumbing until, that is, her visited the mines of Potosi.

The town of Potosi is located in southern Bolivia between the judicial capital of Sucre and the salt flats of Uyuni. At its height, three to four hundred years ago, Potosi was the largest and wealthiest city in the world – larger even than London and Paris. The source of its wealth was the mountain to its side that contained silver ore that fueled much of the wealth of Spain after its initial plunder of Incan gold.

This mountain, albeit on a much more modest scale, is still the lifeblood of the town today. Unlike Spanish times, the mining of silver and now zinc is done by cooperatives owned by the miners. This means that a far greater share of the wealth drawn from the mountain finds its way into the pockets of the miners. This is significant, considering approximate 8 million people have died in the mines since they first started digging about five hundred years ago. Most of those who died were either slaves or natives who were required to put in a “tour of duty” of one to two years at the mines. Many of the natives conscripted to work the mines died or simply failed to return to their home villages, preferring to stay on for the better pay. The conditions were horrible, with the miners often working without food or water. The only substance of which there was never a shortage was the coca leaf, which acts as a stimulant and suppresses the need for food and water. It was for this reason that the Spanish administration turned over an early Church edict outlawing use of the coca leaf – solely to support mining in Potosi.

Bill would have thought, before taking a tour of the mines, that conditions for the collective miners would be far superior to those during colonial times. While the miners get to keep more of what they extract, the mines operate much the same way they did one to two-hundred years ago. Some of the collectives (such as the one we visited) have use of battery cars and power winches to raise harvested ore. Most, however, do not, and the miners must still haul the blasted rock through hundreds of meters of tunnel, up and through dozens of tunnels to the surface. One miner we met, told us that he worked in the mines for ten years before becoming a tour guide. His job was to haul rocks on his back – eighty loads of fifty kilograms each per day was his quota. Needless to say, he much prefers to work as a guide. Another guide told us that he started working in the mines at ten years old, which is a fairly common age for getting started.

It is quite difficult to describe conditions in the mines. To start, it is hot. Regardless of the temperature outside, the inside of the mines always hovers in the low 90’s. It is dusty. Very dusty. Fortunately, we tourists are given protective clothes, shoes and masks to keep off the arsenic-rich dust. In fact, more people have died from the inhalation of dust than from hunger or cave ins in the history of these mines. It is cramped. Only in the main tunnel were we able to stand mostly upright. In most other tunnels we were either hunched over or crawling on our hands and knees. Imagine hauling 40 kilos of dirt on your back 80 to 90 times per day while crawling hundreds of meters on your hands and knees. These miners are tough!

They are also willing to fight for their mineral rights, their turf if you will. We heard stories from the miners about some pretty serious conflicts within the mines when two or more collectives’ tunnels happen to meet. Fights have been known to break out between miners from different tunnels, using fists, knives and, at times, dynamite. Our guide told us of one particular fight in the 1980’s that claimed the lives of eight miners and wounded well over a dozen. As he explained, there is no law in the mines other than those the miners create – a bit like international relations.

After several hours of crawling and inhaling far too much dust for his own good, Bill finally was given the opportunity to have some fun. Prior to going to the mines, the guide took our group past a miners’ market where you can buy everything a miner needs. Yes, you can even buy dynamite and little packs of fertilizer (to strengthen the blast), complete with fuses and hard alcohol. It is expected that tourists buy the miners some gifts to give them along the way. The gifts of choice are the coca leaf, soft drinks, alcohol (yes, these miners drink on the job…), cigarettes (hand-rolled local stuff), and dynamite. The miners got a lot of everything from our group, except dynamite. A lot of dynamite was purchased by the tourists, but we all held onto it to light after the tour.

Light off the dynamite we did and, let us say, nothing in Bill’s redneck past could ever prepare him for it. Let us just say, you will have to see the video! Dangerous. Reckless. Irresponsible. And, a helluva a lot of fun!

In all, the mines of Potosi were very educational for Bill. For one, the thought of a life behind a desk looks like a very comfortable life next to the prospects that face the miners of Potosi. Second, the redneck is everywhere and in all of us (just look at the behavior of miners and tourists alike). Finally, dynamite is an intoxicating substance that turns the most rational of tourists into raving mad bombers.

Sitting here overlooking my first sunset on Lake Titicaca, I feel immensely fortunate to be traveling at this time in my life. In the past week, we have seen two of the most spectacular places on Earth: Macchu Picchu and, today, Lake Titicaca.

Lake Titicaca is, we hear, the highest navigable lake in the world. It is also the second largest lake in South America, at over 230 kilometers long and 97 kilometers wide. Sitting at the top of Cerro Calvario, just outside of Copacabana, it is easy to understand why the lake was the focus of the Inca religion. Today, the lake is still believed by many Quechua and Aymara to be home to their creation story on Isla del Sol, which is where the Sun and the first Incas were created. Judging from the sunset we are witnessing, the sun definitely favors this place.

The atmosphere of the place was greatly enhanced by our sheer luck of arriving during the Fiesta de la Cruz (The Festival of the Cross), which occurs during the first weekend in May. This festival commemorates the cross on which Christ was crucified. Although a serious subject, the festival, by all appearances, appears to be one heck of a party. Literally hundreds of musicians and dancers turn up in Copacabana to participate in a never-ending string of parades during which marching bands and their corresponding troupes of dancers seemingly compete against one another in loudness, garishness, and all around joviality. After marching through the streets, the marchers end their parade at a small church sitting at the base of Cerro Calvario. The participants, performers and audience alike, were all drinking along the way. In fact, returning to our hotel was a bit lie seeking refuge from the drunken madness that seemed to be gearing up as the sun set.

At the top of Cerro Calvario, rest a series of crosses raised during the 1940’s. Surrounding these crosses are what appear to be altars made of stone that are used by the locals to pray for prosperity. The items frequently prayed for are cars, trucks, and buses, models of which are purchased at top of the mountain. These models are then doused with alcohol, which we believe, is intended to be an offering for prosperity. It appears that a good bit of the alcohol is also drunk during this ceremony.

What a hoot this place is! The cherry on top of this cake of an experience is the fact that my good friend from college, Bernd “The Beast,” has provided the best leads on places to stay we could ever have hoped for. His latest, and to-date greatest, suggestion is the lovely guest house “La Cupula,” which overlooks the lake. Not only are the views spectacular, but Bill feels like a Hobbit in his little abode. La Cupola is perhaps the most artistic of the places we have found in our price range on this trip.

Copacabana is a haven in which we can rest and relax as we sigh in relief and Cheryl heals after our real bummer of experience in Cusco earlier this week: see “Dog Bite.”

“Oh my God!” If that or something like it is not your first exclamation when seeing Macchu Picchu for the first time, you are either brain dead or heavily sedated.

Macchu Picchu is hands-down something everybody should see before they die. The ruins themselves are impressive (though no more impressive than a good number of ruins we have seen in Southeast Asia). What sets Macchu Picchu apart is its location. These ruins are set on a spectacular mountain ridge thousands of feet above the river valley. The slope on which the complex was built is not gentle, but quite the opposite. This setting leaves one even more awed than can be explained by words. There is much speculation as to how Macchu Pichu was used but it is clear that whether it was religious mecca, a living city or both it was an advanced civilization in it’s time and it was truly both an engineering feat and an inspiration for its people.

We spent a day wandering the ruins and managed to hike to the top of Wayan Picchu, above Macchu Picchu which was no small feat for Cheryl with one leg immobilized from the dog bite, having to climb 7 KM almost straight up. We had hoped to stay a few longer to hike but the dog bite needed to be attended to and we reluctantly decided to return to Cuzco.

In spite of the dog bite, Macchu Pichu made up for any trauma with it’s splendor and inspiration. We hope the photographs give you an inkling of it’s unbelievable beauty and enduring power.

Well, it’s official. The dogs of South America can be very vicious. Unlike their counterparts in Southeast Asia, which seem content with a simple meal and a good rest, we learned the hard way the dogs here bite. They bite hard, in fact. So hard that Cheryl, who was unfortunate enough to be the one bitten, needed four stitches on her leg.

And, of course, this all happened the day before we were to leave for Macchu Picchu and hike around for a few days. Ugh!

So what happened exactly? Well, we were hiking on a trail just outside of Cusco on our way to a ruin called Sacsayhuaman following the directions of our tourist map and guide book. Hiking along this trail, which in hindsight seemed a bit under-used given the number of people in Cusco and the popularity of Sacsayhaman, we came up to a farm. Bill approached the property and asked for directions to the ruin and woman from whom I sought the information waved us up the hillside. Following the trail, things did not seem quite right and so Bill went back to confirm the directions. Directions confirmed, we were proceeding up the hill when, out of nowhere, came the most ferocious dog we have ever seen. No barking. No warning growl. Just a running fury that managed to take a hefty chunk of flesh from Cheryl’s thigh. Not thinking that one bite was enough, the dog came back two additional times. Fortunately, Cheryl had a bottle of water that she was able to throw on the beast and Bill managed to grab some pretty hefty rocks. By the time the dog realize we were ready to fight back, he took off back down the trail.

Fortunately, the dog was owned and, according to the family, was vaccinated for rabies. Unfortunately, the family is what Bill’s equates to a tribe of Arkansas rednecks who are not fond of tourists approaching their property and who seemed very indifferent to the fact that Cheryl could have been very seriously injured.

Another consequence of the dog bite was that we had the fortune deal with the Peruvian tourist police and to get a feel for the Peruvian justice system. Although we decided to not file any charges of assault against the family, having later learned that we might in fact be on their private property (tourist maps and guidebooks aside), we request that the authorities press the family to produce documentation of the dog’s vaccination for rabies. Three days of dealing with the police and two additional trips to the scene of the crime later, the dog was finally taken to the health center in Cusco to be observed. It does appear that the dog is not rabid but rather just a mean animal made so by some very unsavory people.

It’s a good thing that Bill is not a gun-carrying man. Otherwise, there would be one less vicious dog in the world and he might be writing this blog from a Peruvian jail cell.

Do not worry, things look up considerably once we get to Macchu Picchu!

Hola from La Paz, Bolivia our first stop in South America! It has been nine days since we arrived in La Paz. We flew into the international airport, located in the suburb city called El Alto, or “The High.” This suburb, which is one of Bolivia’s fasted-growing cities, is home to 800,000 people most of whom live on the hillside overlooking La Paz.

Unlike most American or European cities, however, El Alto is not the Bellevue or Marin of La Paz. Instead, El Alto is where the poor live. The altitude of La Paz and its geography, make for some interesting urban planning. Whereas in the US or Europe, those with means would seek out neighborhoods on hills with views over the city, the wealthy in La Paz choose to live in valleys and at a lower elevation. In fact, the climate of La Paz changes quite dramatically from the up-hill neighborhoods, where we are staying, to the low-altitude areas where the wealthy live. The barren El Alto is a stark contrast to the low-lying regions of La Paz, where citrus, avocados, papaya, and other tropical fruits are grown. This all makes for a very fascinating city.

Needless to say we found the change in climate from SE Asia quite a shock, from 90 to 100 degrees down to the 30’s and 40’s. We were surprised to find that most hotels do not have heated rooms(at least in our price range). Instead the beds have very heavy wool blankets, you either stay in bed or get out and see the town. And then we had the transition from sea level to 14,000 feet and boy, was it hard to breathe at first. Drinking coca tea helped a lot as it takes several days, we have been told it can take up to three weeks to acclimatize to the altitude.

La Paz is a chaotic and bustling city. There is a protest of some sort almost every day of the week- and resulting traffic jams are a constant. There are also police everywhere with guns and riot gear. All the banks have very visible armed guards. Bill was made uneasy more than once by a gun too close to his person and money…

One of the most striking aspects of La Paz are the Quechua and Aymara populations in traditional clothes and way of life mingling with the mestizos and the rest of the European culture that surrounds them. This mix makes La Paz even more fascinating The women, in particular, are tough and colorful with some serious attitude and pride in their culture. A few months ago the first Quechua or Aymara (we cannot remember which) was elected as president of Bolivia – a first.

Shortly after arrival, we started searching for a school or tutor to teach us Spanish. This turned out to be surprising easy, and for the past week, we have been studying daily. Bill had forgotten how difficult it is to learn a language and has been humbled by limited ability in Spanish. In addition to studying daily during the week, we elected to stay with a Bolivian family in one of the eastern neighborhoods of La Paz. It is refreshing change from living in hotels rooms to be staying in a house with a kitchen and all of the daily comforts that come with a permanent residence. The family of five, including three children and an adorable puppy are very nice too, and they tolerate our attempts to speak, which means we butcher, their language. Marta, the mom is the best cook and we have been treated to a Bolivian feast. We also participated in some highly competitive family volleyball to which we could become hooked if we stayed in La Paz.

After two weeks though we had to move on if we wanted to see Macchu Pichu, Peru.

We arrived late at night and took a taxi straight to our hotel in Sanur a beach resort area where we spent three nights. Sanur is lovely and we had a hotel package that included Balinese massages and a one day tour by jeep with a guide. This coupled by the fact that our little resort was a short walk from the beach helped relieve the stress of getting to this lovely island. In all, a good introduction to the wonders of Bali.

After a few days of swimming the protected waters of Sanur, we decided to go to Kuta and give surfing a try. Since neither of us has ever surfed, we had no idea what to expect. After a short stroll to the beach we negotiated an hour surf lesson and several hours of surf board rental time from one of the dozens of mini surf shops that have set up operation along the beach. Surfing is hard! Nonetheless, it’s quite a rush and we had a great time. That is, however, until Bill popped a rib and couldn’t breathe. True to form, though, he did not let that stop him and he pushed things for much longer than he should have. By the end of the day, he could barely breath from the pain. So much for surfing…..

Fortunately, Bali has a lot more to offer than just beaches filled with skimpy swimsuits. It has a vital culture that remains true to it’s traditions, in spite of, or perhaps even because of, a massive influx of tourists each year. The Balinese are very gracious and friendly. The beauty of the place is difficult to describe. Words like eden and paradise seem to find their way into most descriptions of this island. The natural landscape, the terraced rice fields, the architecture, the gardens and the art, they all contribute to the very special atmosphere of the island. It is all in the details, everywhere you look.

So, we left Kuta and headed to Ubud which is the cultural center of Bali. It is the tourist’s tourist town with loads of shops, nice hotels, lots of restaurants with great food, spas just about everywhere and plenty of culture. Painting, sculpture, wood carving, masks and dance, lots of dance, are just a few of the many cultural items to explore in Ubud. By far the most intriguing and entertaining cultural product for us was the traditional Balinese dance. With over six dance stages with nightly performances in this little town of just several thousand people, Ubud is truly the center of the Balinese dance scene.
In addition to seeing several stunning dance performances, we managed to fit in a number of art museums. The most notable of these museums was the Antonio Blanco museum. Known as the “Dali of Bali”. Not only was Antonio Blanco’s art interesting, but before he died he built a museum with a large collection of his paintings, next to his home where his widow still lives which was worth as visit in its own right. It was just a great place to sit and soak up the atmosphere.

One of the truly pleasurable journeys in Bali is a trip to its villages around Ubud. These villages, and there are quite a few, all specialize in one type of craft. There is the silver-smithing village. The stone-carving village. The wood-carving village. The furniture-making village. The painting village. The mask-making village. Etc… Even withing crafts, some villages specialize in certain motifs. For example, in our quest for a wood carving to take home with us, we stumbled across a village that makes only Garudas (the bird that flies Vishnu to the spirit world or who helps the deceased pass into the spirit world).

The Balinese are Hindu and their religion permeates all activities. Every morning the Balinese put out offerings to the gods, and ceremonies are a regular occurrence in the Balinese village. In fact, we saw processions for the ceremonies almost every day. Cheryl saw a cremation ceremony and we were lucky enough to see a Barong ceremony in Padang Bai to which the entire village turned out, children and adults. Everybody was dressed in traditional garb and the ceremony was a complex ritual complete with Balinese music, traditional dances, processions and, believe it or not, possessions that could only be overcome by ritual fire dances. Cheryl could not get enough. It was all a bit much for Bill who, after an hour of watching possessions and ritual exorcisms, was ready for an infusion of secular Western culture.

After a few days of torrential rains in Tulamben, where we had planned to dive(the diving was canceled due to weather conditions). We went to Padaing Bai hoping it would be better and it was. We spent two days diving in Padang Bai. It was spectacular. We did our PADI open water certificate right before we left Seattle and this was our first real diving experience. Cheryl was terrified. BUT. The varieties of fish were amazing. We saw two sharks, about 4 feet long, manta rays, cuttlefish, all colors and types of parrot fish, including Cheryl’s favorite, the clown fish with black & white pokadots, several different types of trigger fish, scorpion fish, schools of yellow, black & white angel fish, just to name a few. The coral beds were also colorful and so sculptural. We did a dive called The Canyon with deep, long corral walls. It was as awesome as one would expect walking on the moon to be but we were on earth. UNBELIEVABLE.

We returned to Ubud for a few days for Cheryl to look at more art. Then back to Kuta to visit with Mike a friend from Seattle and his girlfriend Nea. They took us around for a day to see the Thanah Lot Temple just before we left Bali and explained the upcoming celebration for the Balinese New Year, 1229. Over the two weeks we were in Bali we saw the Ogoh, Ogoh’s, the evil spirits being built from bamboo and paper mache where ever we went. There are three days of celebration leading up to Nyepi. The first day are processions and ceremonies on the beach, several of which we got caught up in as we traveled through. We never did find out what the second day celebration included but the third day is to ward off evil spirits. The Ogoh, Ogoh are paraded around with lots of noise, then these effigies are burned. Nyepi concludes with a day of meditation and silence. NO ONE, including tourists are allowed out on the streets.

We left Bali on the second day of this celebration but we do have some pictures of the procession and the Ogoh, Ogohs to share with you.

We can not recommend Bali enough. It was lovely. The tourism trade has not recovered from the bombings, a blessing for us maybe but devastating to to the Balinese. Go. See for yourself Beautiful, Exotic and Luscious Bali.

After months of traveling, we spent a very relaxing week at the home of some friends, Tom and Andrew, that we made in Siem Riep. Although we did not see as many sights during this week of rest, we did eat some amazing food and we were treated to some incredible Malaysian hospitality. We were very were impressed by the cultural diversity with the mix of Indian, Malaysian, Chinese culture in Kuala Lumpur. This diversity is highlighted by the fashions in Kuala Lumpur. From the western mini skirt with high heels to Indian saris to traditional Muslim dress, and with just about everything in between, the blend of fashion here hits you no matter where you go in Kuala Lumpur.

The food of Malaysia is really the food of China, of India, and of the Malay people. These culinary strains are enjoyed is more or less pure form (e.g. full-on Chinese cuisine) or blended with the flavors of one or more of the other Malaysian cuisines. The result is a fantastic array of dishes ranging from traditional Malay rice dishes with peanut sauces to a broad spectrum of roti and other Indian dishes to Dim Sum. The Malaysians love to eat and they love to do so at all hours of the day and night. So, no matter when your hunger strikes, you are certain to find something good to munch on.

Upon arrival at the Kuala Lumpur airport, we were struck almost immediately by how developed the infrastructure of Malaysia is. We found ourselves commenting on several occasions about how much Malaysia felt like California. There are well-maintained two-to-four lane roads throughout Kuala Lumpur and surrounds. Whereas in Vietnam just about everybody drives a bicycle or motor scooter, just about everybody in Malaysia owns a car. And shopping malls are everywhere. I swear that the Malaysians love to shop at least as much as Americans.

We did, however, have a chance to spend a bit of time in Kuala Lumpur, visit the KL towers, and enjoy Chinatown, the Central Market, and the parks in this city. Compared to Bangkok, Saigon, and Hanoi, Kuala Lumpur is a peaceful oasis of parks and orderly traffic. The transit system is highly organized and reasonably efficient. There are parks just about everywhere. We were told, in fact, that all new developments require a park or green-space at part of its plan.

Tom and Andrew, our very gracious hosts, invited us to stay for the Chinese New Year celebration and since they are both Chinese Malay this was a real treat. Andrew’s sister Emily came down from Ipoh and cooked a number of traditional dishes. Boy can she cook! YUM! We ate way too much.

We learned a few New Year customs, such as you are not to say negative things or swear on the New Year so as to start the year off fresh. You should wear no black. In fact, it is custom to wear new clothes, and to wear red in particular as it is the color of abundance. Mandarin oranges are often given as gifts to bring prosperity. Many thanks to Tom, Andrew and Emily, we had a lovely time bringing in the Year of the Pig with them.

Towards the end of our stay climbed the stairs to the Batu cave, which contains a number of Hindi shrines that are highly revered by Malaysia’s Indian population. Although not nearly as ornate as some of the Buddhist caves we explored in Thailand, the atmosphere of the Batu Caves was much more to Bill’s liking. The shrines in the cave are used daily and the the combination of prayers, the blend of people, and the music, all in a cave creates a mystical and haunting atmosphere. Then there are the monkeys that greet you on the stairs to the cave. Watch your camera! Watch your purse! Watch your drinks! These little buggers are kleptomaniacs and they will take anything they can reach. We saw one poor woman open her can of Coke just in time to have a monkey grab it from her..

Our only real struggle in Kuala Lumpur became our travel plans to Bali. The unfortunate result of this level of development is that, as in the United States, it was very difficult and expensive for us to make arrangements to transport our bikes to Bali. After spending $125 (more than we paid for our tickets) to have our bikes flown with us from Hanoi to Kuala Lumpur, we were really skiddish about just popping over to the airport with bikes in tow. This led to several days of intense searching for tickets to Bali online. Armed with this data, we left the bike at our friends’ place and elected to travel light for a few weeks. This means we will be back in Kuala Lumpur around March 17^th, at which time we will make our way back to Bangkok.

We are glad to be returning to Kuala Lumpur, because after spending so much time searching for tickets and relaxing, we actually saw little of Malaysia, and we look forward to seeing more of the place – a place we have heard people tell us is among the friendliest in the world.

It is with some sadness that we bid farewell to Vietnam. It is an amazing country and our favorite visited so far. The food is amazing, the countryside stunning, and the people never dull. We had seriously considered not visiting Vietnam from all of the negative reports we heard from other travelers. We found that at times the Vietnamese can be very aggressive in their pursuit of commerce, and often gruff. They are almost always, however, friendly and willing to return a smile.

From the women who pat Cheryl’s butt as she climbs stairs to the men who pull on Bill’s leg hairs (at the oddest of times), the people we met have rarely been shy about their curiosity. Riding through the cities of Saigon and Hanoi were very exciting and, at times, tiring with the constant din of horns and the perennial deflection of scooters and cycles of one another. The countryside, however, was very peaceful and we almost always felt like we belonged in a post card. The land is lush with food of all sorts and the people, hard at work every day, are very colorful. However busy they may be, folks in the countryside would always extend a hand in greeting and shout “hello” in English.

While there is propaganda everywhere about the “American War,” when asked where we come from, we never shied away from telling people that we hail from the United States. Contrary to popular myth, people do not become instantly hostile once you proclaim yourself as an American. Quite the contrary, they seem genuinely pleased that you are taking time to visit their country and are very interested in learning more about you. Myth busted, our best conclusion as to why people have trouble when traveling abroad is that their difficulties reflect their own attitudes and expectations that others behave as they do or their culture. We have been told and have, subsequently, repeated often that “you take what you bring to the table.” This is very true in Vietnam, where the people are proud and were pleased to meet us on equal terms.

This said, there were times when their aggressive approach to commerce could become a bit much. There is the fellow of “Halong Hustle” fame who attempted to browbeat Bill into paying 25% more than agreed to for a bus ride to Halong Bay, as one instance. Fortunately, Bill derived a fair bit of pleasure from these encounters because they gave him license to become a bit aggressive himself and not feel guilty about it.

We did not see nearly as much of Hanoi as we had planned, being fairly fatigued from our months of moving around. We were both content to have a nice hotel room with a balcony overlooking a quieter street in the Old Quarter and soak up the atmosphere. Of the cities we have visited to date, we both feel that Hanoi is the most livable. After Bangkok, it also has the most going on, with an impressive arts scene and some tremendous eats.

We both feel that Hanoi is one of those cities we will return to again and again.

In closing on our impressions of Vietnam, I will note the tremendous irony of this country’s past fifty years of history. Having ridden through the Mekong Delta, near the site of a mass killing by American soldiers in the Ben Tre province, through Saigon and the DMZ, where evidence of the war was everywhere, and in Hanoi, a lovely city that managed to survive US bombing during the war, we were struck by just how much the Vietnamese are like Americans in terms of their spirit of enterprise and their drive to make better lives for themselves. That the United States was concerned that this domino would fall and that Vietnam would become a haven for Communist revolution is almost as ironic as the fact that the Vietnamese Communists managed to gain power in the first place. In fact, the term Vietnamese Communist is very nearly an oxymoron. Perhaps before sending Special Forces to aid the South Vietnamese government in the early 1960’s, we should have send some politicians to Vietnam to do business and take stock of our concern that Vietnam would become another “dictatorship of the people.” Had we done so, it is possible that we would have realized that there was no domino in Vietnam to fall and directed our energies elsewhere.

With these thoughts, we bid goodbye to Vietnam and all it has taught us. We will be back!

If ever you travel to Hue and if ever you have your bicycles while traveling to Hue, do not ever let anybody suggest to you taking a night bus to Hanoi. Take the night train. It’s more comfortable and you know when you will arrive. The tourist agent that booked our seats on the bus promised us that we would be able to get off in a little city called Ninh Binh. Our plan was to ride from Ninh Binh to Halong Bay to see our seventh World Heritage Site. The bus stopped in Ninh Binh, sure enough, but just long enough for a few passengers to jump off, not for the ½ hour that the gal promised. On we slept, until well after our stop, which meant getting off in Hanoi at about 5:30 in the morning.

Once we arrived in Hanoi, the bus did not take us to the center of town. Rather, the driver stopped at one of the “satellite” stops from which those tourists with rooms already booked would be taken to their hotels. Those with no reservations were “encouraged” to stay at a hotel owned by the bus company. Those with no reservations and with no plan to stay at their hotel were left to fend for themselves. This left a very tired Cheryl and Bill on a sidewalk in a remote corner of Hanoi with no idea of where they were or where to go. Fortunately, the “satellite”office of the bus company was there and I was able to take out my frustrations on the very gruff staff there, while trying to figure out how to get out of town. Ultimately, we elected to catch yet another bus to just get us to Halong City, so we could get to Halong Bay on schedule.

After asking directions a number of times, we finally found our bus station. Our next challenge was to find a driver who would take us and our bikes to Halong City at a reasonable price. We finally negotiated a ride for 160,000 Dong (about $10) on a mini bus. Once on the road, however, the guy with whom we negotiated our price came to collect not 160,000, but 200,000 dong. Tired and frustrated, I refused to budge and the guy became quite aggressive coming back to me several times in an attempt to intimidate me into paying his new rate. Fortunately, I had exact change and was confident that the guy would not throw us out of the bus, since our bikes were in the very back and to do so would be more of a hassle for him than it was worth. After a fair bit of loud negotiating, we paid 160,000. No doubt we are sure we still paid a premium for taking the bicycles with us.

Several hours later we arrived in Halong City with the hope of getting out onto Halong Bay by nightfall. Unfortunately, nobody would tell us how to get to the boat terminal, because they all wanted to arrange a “tour” for us. After several hours of riding around the city looking for the dock, we relented and selected a “tour guide” to reserve a cruise with an overnight stay on a junk in the middle of the bay. Exhausted by the days events, off to bed we went feeling confident that we paid a reasonable price (again, after a fair bit of negotiation) and that our guide would see us through.

Up late the next morning, we waited until 11:30 for our guide to come around and take us to the dock. Considerably less helpful having already collected our money, our guide just pointed us in the general direction of the dock. As is often the case in these parts, however, his directions were less than clear and his distances very far from the mark. The dock that he said was one kilometer from the hotel was actually four to five kilometers. This fact we only found out after at least an hour of riding around. Running late, we arrive at the dock we spent hours looking for the day before. We spot our guide, who informs us that our boat has left so he has to try to arrange passage on another junk.

All seems to go well and we get settled on another boat, until we are informed that the boat we are on will not leave us on Cat Ba Island, which is in Halong Bay and which is where we plan to spend the next night in order to work our way back to Hanoi. We are then told that we need to move to another boat. Off we go and back on the dock we wait for another fifteen or twenty minutes to be loaded onto another junk. After this wait, we are informed that we need to go back onto the boat from which we were just taken. Back on board we go, and off we sail.

Once on board, our new guide informs us that we will not be able to get to Cat Ba Island and that we will have to make separate arrangements once the cruise returns to Halong City. This results in a rather pointed conversation during which I inform the guide that we paid to go to Cat Ba Island and to Cat Ba Island we will go. How we get there is not my issue, but his to arrange. I find the Vietnamese quite aggressive, especially when it comes to money. While this may put off some people, I quite enjoy it because it gives me license to be aggressive right back. Our guide finally relented and agreed to make arrangements to get us to Cat Ba island.

That issue resolved, I settled into what I thought would be a leisurely cruise and night on Halong Bay. Not quite yet, however. One of the activities included in the cruise was several hours of kayaking on the bay. When the time came to do this, I was informed by our guide that this was not included in the tickets we bought. Ready for battle, I informed our guide of my intent to ask every other passenger on the cruise what they paid for their tickets. If indeed we did not pay enough, I was prepared to pay any additional cost. If, however, they paid less than we did, I would expect both to go kayaking and to get a partial refund of the cost of our ticket. Naturally, our guide suddenly became very willing to accommodate me because his sole goal was for me to “be happy.” Kayaking we went, and happy I became.

The next day, after a very lovely night on the junk on Halong Bay, which we highly recommend, we awoke to breakfast to be informed that we would be getting a lift to Cat Ba Island on a small fishing vessel. This is the point where all of the Halong Hustle we experienced worked in our favor. At about ten o’clock up pulls a small (and not very seaworthy looking vessel) and onto the little boat go our bikes and gear. We depart from the boat with a slew of jealous-looking travelers looking on to be taken on an extra “tour” of Halong Bay on our way to Cat Ba island. We tip our guide 100,000 Dong and off we go.

This part of our trip through Halong Bay was simply amazing. To be so close to the water and to see so many different corners of the bay was a real twist of luck. All through the ride, our pilot kept informing us that he was taking us on a back route for reasons we could not quite understand. He kept crossing his arms like he was a prisoner. It turns out that the reason he took us on our circuitous route was not out of an interest to please us but to keep from getting caught by the authorities. Apparently, this guy was not licensed to haul passengers and would have gotten into considerable trouble were he to get caught. For this reason, he took us out a bit further on rougher waters in our rather un-seaworthy boat and this was also why we were dumped on a rather remote beach outside of the village to which we were to be delivered. Nervous about this at first, we later went along with his plan once we realized the road we needed was a short distance away. We tip our pilot 100,000 Dong and off we go.

After all of the hassle and hustle to get to Cat Ba island, we decide to leave that very day on yet another boat going to Hai Phuong in order to get us back to Hanoi in good time before our next round of travel.

The moral of the story? Book your Halong Bay cruise in Hanoi.

After spending a few too many days in Hoi An, in the central part of Vietnam, to have some suits tailored, we departed for the port city of Danang. A short 36 kilometers away, Danang is the home of China Beach which was a famous resting spot for US Soldiers before returning to the DMZ. Our ride to Danang took us past the Marble Mountains from which the local artisans used to extract marble for their statues. The artisans still carve beautiful sculptures, which we witnessed all along this part of our ride, however the mountains are no longer used to produce marble since the authorities became concerned that they might actually disappear. So, the artisans these days get their rock from China.

Having spent a few hours in Danang when we arrived to Central Vietnam, we decided to keep cycling and push for Lang Co Beach. The ride was very pleasant, with only one hurdle between Danang and our resting spot for the night – a very large pass that we either had to climb over or, hopefully, ride under since a new tunnel was supposed to have opened. Fortunately for us, the tunnel was open. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to ride through it since no bicycles or scooters are allowed in the tunnel. After a few heated moments during which I gestured frantically to explain that our hotel was on the other side of the mountain, that it was getting dark, and that there was no way in hell I was not going to go through the tunnel – unless, of course, they wanted to put us up for the night – I was informed that there is a shuttle for both scooters and people through the tunnel. Sure enough, not fifteen minutes later a flatbed truck rolls up filled with scooters. It pulls up to a ramp and off they come. A couple minutes later and along came the owners of the scooters in a separate shuttle. Once offloaded, on went our bikes and the scooters of our fellow travelers and through the tunnel we went.

From Lang Co we made our final push to Hue, which is the sixth World Heritage Site we have visited on this trip. Hue is a mixed bag. The town is less touristy than Hoi An, but the tourist ghetto is much more concentrated. My impression of the city was not much aided by the fact that I had my very first run in with a local on this trip in Hue. For some reason the poor fellow was deeply offended by the fact that I mistook his daughter for a “son.”

What makes Hue special are a number of sites just outside of town. The Citadel, which is a huge fortress that was build in the early 1800’s, and a number of tombs of former Vietnamese emperors are the reason Hue became a World Heritage Site. The Citadel is massive and very impressive. Unfortunately, the Vietnam War took its toll on the Citadel and a number of its more impressive buildings fell victim to US bombs. The Citadel also bore the brunt of Communist nihilism, which resulted in further destruction of the site. It was not until the 1990’s that the Vietnamese government learned of the value of the Citadel as a tourist attraction.

On our second day in Hue, we got lazy and rented a scooter. Off to the ocean we went, expecting to find beaches. Instead, we found ourselves on a peninsula little visited by tourists. The peninsula is barely more than a sand patch between a small bay and the open ocean. This little sandy area, however, is home to thousands of family shrines in honor of dead relatives. The shrines are everywhere in all sizes, ranging from simple tomb-like structures to elaborate shrines the size of a mid-sized American house. This was the highlight of Hue and we are still amazed that this is not part of the tourist loop, however fortunate that fact was for us. It was peaceful and the people were friendly in a way rarely seen in the tourist towns, meaning they were not smiling at us as commercial prospects but because they were genuinely interested.

Our final day in Hue was spent getting ready for Halong Bay and making travel arrangements to get us to Ninh Binh, from where we planned to ride to Hai Phong (gateway to Halong Bay). We did manage to ride south of Hue to some of the tombs of the old ruling dynasty, before division of the country in 1945. We will spend more time exploring this area should we return to Hue in the future.