Hi Mum, I’m in China and 197 other countries

One day, back in 2009, I read a newspaper article about the world-famous Little Mermaid statue, usually resident in Copenhagen harbour, being removed and sent to Shanghai for the 2010 World Expo. This immediately filled Alex and I with excitement. Who doesn’t love a World Expo?


Of course, our excitement can be directly traced back to the heady days of 1988, Australia’s bicentenary year, and the year when Brisbane put itself in the world spotlight by hosting Expo ’88. We both attended and have individual memories of an awesome time. So when we heard that Shanghai would be hosting the Expo, and that we could squeeze in a visit on day 1 of its 6-month opening time if we reorganised our itinerary a bit, then by god, reorganise we did.

China seems to be in a weird place right now. Countries such as Australia and the US desperately want to be friends with it, and China equally desperately wants to show to its own citizens that it is one of the Big Kids on the world stage. Together with feeling like second best after Beijing hosted the 2008 Olympics, this meant that the Shanghai Expo had to be big. Bigger than big. It had to show Beijing that it could do this ‘huge event’ thing, it had to show the rest of the world that China is here to stay, and most importantly, it had to show the Chinese that they are important.

What this all meant is that our expectations of a slightly daggy, very welcoming event (such as Expo ’88) didn’t match up with reality. Various estimates of the total cost of Expo 2010 are in the range of USD55 billion. 55 billion dollars! I can’t even conceive of so much money. But once you enter the site, you begin to see where the money went.


The site, built across two sites on either side of the Huangpu River, is apparently more immense than Monaco. Alex and I entered first thing at 9am, and left, footsore and incredibly weary at 10pm, and we hadn’t covered the whole thing. We maybe covered 2/3 of it. It’s just huge.

China proudly boasts that 198 countries came to the Expo and have a pavilion there, but in reality lots of the smaller, developing countries had a fancy-ish stall, but were empty inside. Many of these were in the enormous African and Carribean nations pavilions. As wandered through desolate and empty stalls purporting to glorify countries like Benin and Chad and Equatorial Guinea, the whole Expo thing seemed to be a bit of a sham.

So we hightailed it to a rich country’s pavilion. Parochially, we chose to queue up for the popular Danish pavilion. It glowed bright white in the sunshine, and from afar you could see happy visitors travelling down its spiral facade on pushbikes. Good fun.


The theme for Expo 2010 is ‘Better City, Better Life’, and the best pavilions discussed the issues of healthy urbanisation. Denmark did this really well, showing some great short films about life in Copenhagen, addressing the issue of transport (hence the bikes) and painting life in Denmark as quite idyllic.


We agree. They sold cold, cold beer there, which was very welcome after an hour queuing in the hot sun.


We also visited the Australian pavilion, which had tremendous queues and pretty good content, although the revolutionary circular rotating screen film thing was only in Chinese – early teething problems meant there were no English headsets available.


Still, this is an improvement from the teething problems of the trial opening, when people queuing for the Aussie pavilion were apparently getting into fistfights. Anyway, we enjoyed it and especially enjoyed that the people who put it together resisted the temptation to include any cute, furry animals in the pavilion (with the exception of the giftshop, of course). We left and visited the New Zealand pavilion just in time to see a burly Maori guy lead a few scrawny Chinese dudes through the haka.


The focal point of the whole site is the upside-down Lego structure that is the massive Chinese pavilion (see first photo). It is immense, visible from very far away, and, it seems, impossible to get into. We didn’t even try.

In total, the experience was just as China so often is – huge, frustrating, amusing, amazing, tiring, and with horrible queues. We’re very happy we went.

Hi Mum, I’m in Beijing

Gosh, China’s big, isn’t it?

That’s pretty much the feeling I had almost every second in Beijing.

But back to the start. We arrived early morning in Beijing and faced a horrendous queue at the train station for a taxi to our hostel. The Chinese, unlike the English, are not gifted at queuing, and it was a complete schmozzle. After getting kneecapped a few times (and reciprocating in turn) we finally made it out of the train station and to the youth hostel. We had a great time at the Peking International Youth Hostel and can recommend it. It’s located right next to the Forbidden City, in an old area filled with local food and only a couple of streets away from the insanity of Wanfujing, one of the main shopping streets in Beijing. On our first morning we set out for food, and ate like kings at a local eatery – 7 yuan (about a dollar) will get you a bowl of congee, a bowl of dumpling soup, three small and wonderfully juicy steamed buns and two you tiao, fresh deepfried doughsticks. Unsurprisingly, we ended up back there twice more for hearty and cheap breakfasts, this time getting stuck into the warm, sweetened soymilk.

The awesome food expectations dissipated a bit when we went to investigate Wanfujing’s “Snack Street”, a dire tourist-fest of tacky shock-value foods on a stick. If you want some unhygienic-looking barbecued meat, some (still-wriggling) scorpions, centipedes or lizards, this is the place for you. This was not the place for us; we continued on and ate a late lunch at a restaurant on Donghuamen where the food was great (they served fried slow-roasted meat, similar to the cumin pork ribs at Dainty Sichuan) and the service ridiculously surly. I’ve not seen such sulky and grumpy behaviour since year 9.

That wasn’t the end of the great food, though. We had a delicious meal at an old family-run restaurant in the hutongs (apparently owned by the same family for more than 100 years) and – of course – hunted down some good old Peking Duck. We had this delicacy twice, about a week apart, and each time it was fantastic. Our first attempt was at a very local, middle-class restaurant in the burbs. We waited the requisite 50 minutes for our duck (given that we hadn’t ordered in advance) and the wait was definitely worth it. The skin was lacquered and the fat highly rendered – it reminded me of pork crackling. All the condiments were perfect and it left us feeling appropriately rotund. A great meal.

The following week, we tried the upper end of the scale and ordered the duck at Duck de Chine, a high end restaurant in the expat-heavy part of Beijing. This duck was similarly attractive to look at, and (embarrasingly) the waitress banged a small gong to announce its arrival at our table. This time, the duck sauce was heightened with garlic and sesame paste and the duck itself was surprisingly light. We left the restaurant well-fed but lacking the feeling of being suffused by duck fat that we’re so used to after a meal at Old Kingdom. Verdict: Peking Duck in Peking/Beijing is as good as you’d hope.

Anyway, getting back on track. The rest of our first day was consumed by mundane chores – queuing to submit paperwork for Mongolian visas, picking up train tickets, queuing to collect visas (man, I hate getting visas. The opportunity for a petty-minded bureaucrat to completely stuff up your plans is just too great for my liking). But with all that in order, it was time to hit the sights.


Wandering around Tianan’men Square was great fun (Alex wanted to change this to “it was a blast”, but I vetoed it). Given the massacre, is that inappropriate? That event did come to mind, but given that it is (unsurprisingly) completely ignored and unmarked by any kind of plaque or memorial, it was pretty easy to forget that this was the site of that event. We were in Beijing for the week leading up to May Day, the big public holiday celebrating the workers of the country, and the city was packed. Huge LED screens were being set up in the Square, plus a soft-focus portrait of this guy. Who is he?


People, including plenty of kids, carried Chinese flags around with them, and posed for photographs in front of the big Mao portrait, or in front of the huge Monument to the People’s Heroes, or Mao’s mausoleum.


Of course, this meant that we’re both now in plenty of candid family snaps too.



That guy on the end thought he was just so cool. And do you notice me sneakily hiding the can of beer I was drinking as I wandered around?

We also visited the immense Forbidden City. Given the impending national holiday, there were loads of domestic tourists and we were a bit worried that our experience of the place would be hampered. But in reality, the place is so bloody huge that it could swallow the thousands of tourists swarming around it and end up feeling relatively empty.


It’s really an astonishing place, but the word ‘cosy’ most definitely did not come to mind. We were feeling the effect of the Siberian winds that sweep Mongolia (often picking up sand and dust) and buffet Beijing regularly – it was icy out there. I wondered how the Imperial Chinese kept warm in amongst all that stone.


While in Beijing we thought we’d check out the old Olympic site. Given China’s ability to do things on a grand scale, we weren’t disappointed. The Bird’s Nest Stadium is pretty cool – the structure of the covering ‘Nest’ in intricate and interesting to see.


But even better stuff was hidden away from the track. We found a huge gift shop, still selling Bird’s Nest keyrings, tea mugs, posters, ornamental pen holders, “authentic” “genuine” Chinese vases, toys, statues… the selection was endless. And people were buying them! The Chinese tourists we came across really are into their souvenirs.

Next to the giftshop was a bizarre little display – wax figures of all the IOC presidents. Now I know where to go when I need a plastic-looking, creepy version of Jacques Rogge or Pierre de Coubertin. It was wonderfully odd.


Here is a photo of a photo of Juan Antonio Samaranch looking decidedly startled upon meeting Wax Juan Antonio Samaranch.


We also enjoyed the ‘Do not walk on the grass’ signs outside. How wonderfully twee.


No trip to Beijing is complete without a visit to the Great Wall. Many cities have ‘must-see’ destinations, but this would have to be one of the most ‘must-see’ places I’ve been.


The wall, segmented as it is, can be accessed from a few different places on day-trips from Beijing, and the most common is the Disneyland of Badaling. We opted instead to head further out of the city and spent a day hiking the ruined and partially-restored wall at Simatai, its most lofty point. The wall curled around the mountains to the west “like a dragon’s tail” (as per the sign) and gave constantly entrancing views. We climbed and climbed, passing about 12 watchtowers and feeling the strain in muscles we hadn’t used for a while. The steps were uneven and often very narrow, necessitating a weird sideways approach.


We planned to reach the highest accessible point and then catch the chairlift part of the way down the mountain, thrilled that we didn’t have to negotiate the stairs back down (with gravity ever eager to make the descent more rapid). But – bugger it, due to the high winds the chairlift was closed. We carefully crept back down the wall and made it, safe and sound. All along the trip, we stopped constantly to marvel at the sights. After the heavy smog of Beijing we were thrilled by the endless views.


Finally, when I said at the start that everything is bigger in China, I meant everything. Check out this magnificent mullet.



Hi Mum, I’m in Chengdu (and Xi’an)

Oh Chengdu, you were the shining light in our itinerary. We had spent many happy hours speculating about what a giant Dainty Sichuan restaurant you were going to be. So why the fuck did I get gastro there the day I arrived!? It’s not fair.

We arrived in Chengdu in the morning, after two days spent on the train and were both eager to hunt down some ma la (that’s the signature Sichuanese combination of hot and numbing) food. We even went so far as to walk in to a local Carrefour and inhale over the huge mounds of Sichuan pepper sitting there. It’s a bit sad I know, but all our fellow Dainty Sichuan devotees/junkies will understand. That night, we had planned to meet up with a Canadian girl, living in Chengdu, who writes a blog on local food and go out for a mouth-numbing and ring-of-fire inducing hot pot. Sadly for me, it wasn’t to be. I’d begun a to feel a bit off colour during the afternoon and tried napping it off, but by the time we were walking across town to the restaurant things were looking bad. We arrived at the restaurant, and as much as I really, really, really wanted to want to eat, the overpowering smells of chilli, pepper and meat made my stomach turn in an ominous way. So I headed for the safety of bed with its proximal porcelain. Apparently the hot pot was amazing. So it goes. I should add that I did get to try the hot pot on our last night in Chengdu, and it was amazing. Hot to the point of chilli sweats and disconcertingly numbing, but a simmering pot of gold that makes everything that goes in come out delicious.


By the afternoon of the next day, I was prepared to face the strenuous activities on offer at the Wenshu Monastery and, more specifically, its teahouse. These included: drinking tea, having your teacup refilled, drinking tea and watching old people playing cards, drinking tea and having their ears cleaned by roving excavators. The pace of life in Chengdu, while a big city (about 11m people), is very laid back and this place was typical of that – people just seem to spend their days hanging out. It was the perfect place to convalesce.


That night, I was ready for some good local cuisine. We asked the girls at the hostel where we could get some good ma po doufu – one of our Dainty favourites and usually a good source of chilli and Sichuan pepper. They recommended the place down the road and we arrived with high hopes. We ordered the ma po along with some fish-flavoured eggplant and were disappointed to find a lack of heat in both dishes. Something was wrong. We later realised that we’d forgotten to specify that we wanted the dishes spicy – the default position at restaurants in Asia is to remove all traces of chilli whenever they see a white face. This was a mistake we didn’t repeat.


Our third day, we were off to see Chengdu’s other tourist attraction – Pandas (aka China’s diplomatic weapon of choice). There isn’t much to say about them except for the fact that they’re incredibly cute. I think the photos say it best. We were lucky that we arrived early, as got to see the pandas in action and they tend to spend the rest of the day asleep after consuming their body weight in bamboo.


That afternoon, we had another crack at getting some good food into us, and we hit the jackpot, using our Dainty Sichuan menu as an aid to my rudimentary Chinese. The result was three dishes that were hot, numbing and oh so delicious. I could go on and on about how good they were, but that would be cruel. Feeling smug with our discovery, we headed back to our hostel to sleep off our food babies, but our joy was short lived. Amanda had started to feel a bit off colour. So began another round of bed rest and tea house convalescence.


Our combined days laid up in bed and our tender stomachs put paid to our plans to both eat obscene amounts of Sichuanese food and also to visit the nearby town of Langzhong, but that’s the way things go. The food we did try fell both sides of the benchmark set by our beloved Dainty Sichuan – I have to say that while the Melbourne version holds up pretty well againt its Chengdu counterparts, the local version still wins by a few lengths. Chengdu also boasts a few “Sichuanified” snacks that I wish we could get at home. The first is Lay’s “Numb & Spicy Hot Pot Flavor” chips. These bags of awesomeness are seriously addictive and do an impressive rendition of the actual hot pot taste. If you ever see them, buy them. The second was McDonalds’ “ma la chicken burger”. We had to try this burger (for research purposes only, of course). And you should feel lucky that we tried it so that you don’t have to. The burger does have some hot and numbing flavour, but it tasted really artificial and came with the latent regret that only McDonalds can deliver.


Having done Chengdu, we decided to make a 36-hour stopover in Xi’an on our way through to Beijing. Xi’an was a whirlwind stop of delicious muslim Chinese food, a drunken evening out with the population of our hostel making dumplings and visiting a local nightclub, and a hungover trip out to the terracotta warriors. The excavated warriors were an awe-inspiring sight, even through our whisky haze, and were our first taste of the massive scale on which Chinese imperial monuments are constructed. If we’d known how much we would enjoy Xi’an, we probably would have spent an extra couple of days there; however, as we were getting toward the big May Day holidays, we needed to book all our travel in advance. Oh well, there’s always next time…



Hi Mum, I’m still on the road

While in Vietnam, we had decided to change our plans slightly and break up our trip from Hanoi to Kunming by spending a couple of days in the old French hill station of Sapa. We took the overnight train and bought a ticket for a taxi up to the town from an official-looking vendor at the station. That was the point at which, unfortunately, we were scammed for the first time on our trip (that we know of…). We arrived in Sapa tired and ready for breakfast and a shower. Instead, we got a taxi driver wielding a metal bar at us and demanding payment a second time – claiming that the ticket we bought was not the right one even though the company we bought the ticket off had put us in his taxi. We were in no mood for bullshit and stood our ground until the owner of the hotel that ran the service gave him his money. Sapa was putting on its best for us. The town itself is a nice enough place with an alpine feel, though it seems to be in the middle of a construction boom and will soon probably be a concrete jungle at altitude. There is also the momentarily charming presence of ladies in traditional hilltribe dress scattered throughout the town. However, we soon discovered that they are just there to sell hilltribe handicrafts and trinkets to passing tourists, or to descend on tourists having a meal, or to follow them from one end of the town to the other and back again (this is no exaggeration) in the hope that you will buy something. Unfortunately for them, we were more stubborn than them and left Sapa without any hilltribe goods.

After a few lazy days in Sapa we descended the mountain, passing through dense fog and bright sunshine on the way down, and got dropped off at what purported to be a travel agent. This was where we were to meet a woman who would ‘help us’ across the border into China. Mostly, her help consisted of tottering along in high heels, ignoring us, crossing the road unexpectedly and making us lurch after her, instructing us to fill in departure cards that we already had, and pointing usefully at the signs marked ‘Immigration’. We don’t think we paid any extra for this service – thank goodness.

After having heard some stories about power-happy border officials, we were happy to face nothing more complicated than a few ‘Welcome to China’s and a quick zap of our foreheads to make sure we weren’t bringing H1N1 into the country. Alex’s first encounter with Chinese citizens in China itself was coming face to face with a tiny, wide-eyed toddler who, clearly awestruck, wandered over to shake his hand. His mother burst into laughter when we tried out a ‘Ni hao’ and smiled broadly. As we left the buidling, another, grandmotherly type patted the top of her head and then gestured at the top of Alex’s and exclaimed something like ‘So tall!’ Alex’s adventures as a 6ft3 Scandi bearded giant in China had begun.

We found our bus to Kunming and settled in, but not before encountering our first Chinese toilets. I know bus station toilets are never going to be the most sanitary, but I can’t go into any detail about the ghastliness of this one without losing the entirety of our loyal readership. I can reveal, however, that the loo in the middle of nowhere, mid-bus ride, outstripped the first in horrendousness. I could barely believe it.

Anyway, Kunming. We spent a night here, marking time before we could head out. In our experience it seems to be a relative upstart in terms of cities, rich-looking and full of neon and 6-lane streets. Not particularly charming.

We eagerly headed out on an overnight train to Dali. We had a full day to spend in this small town situated between Erhai lake and the impressive Cangshan mountain range. As with many Chinese towns, it’s neatly divided into ‘new town’ and ‘old town’ and we spent the day wandering the streets of the old town. It’s quite delightful, with small streams running down through the streets and plenty of ‘old’ houses (the more we travel in China and see its ‘Disney-fication’ the more skeptical we grow about the real age of these buildings). And finally, after eating some pretty average food in Kunming, we found some delicious food in Dali. First, some light-as-a-feather small steamed buns as an early breakfast, followed up by freshly made guo kuai, a fried and baked cakey flatbread that was crispy, warm, sweet, savoury and dense all at the same time. A bargain for about 20c. Later on, we had lunch at a hole-in-the-wall eatery that was filled with 11-year-old schoolgirls, who giggled and stared as Alex bumped his head on the ceiling. The proprietor served up a warming bowl of chewy wheat noodles in a slightly chili-hot broth, topped with what tasted like a rich pork ragout. After all the eating, we spent the afternoon walking, and then sitting by the stream on a garish pink couch, drinking endless cups of green tea. How very Chinese.

That evening we were collected by our host for the next few days, an English teacher who has opened up his home near Shaxi, in small-town Yunnan province, as a homestay. We were anticipating 3-4 days of experiencing relatively authentic Chinese homelife, with perhaps a bit of hiking. Instead, although the accommodation was pretty impressive (a converted Chinese theatre), the host had decided to accept our cooking for accommodation while also doing extensive work to the courtyard, so that we awoke to the sound of angle grinders and shouting. Moreover, the host was barely around and we spent a few aimless hours trying to find somewhere that might sell us lunch. Add to this some mild altitude sickness (for Amanda) that put paid to the idea of hiking the hills, and an influx of flies in our room that required an amusing (if grotesque) Insect Armageddon before retiring for the night, and we decided to head off distinctly earlier than planned.

Given a few extra days in our schedule, we decided to head to Lijiang, further up towards the Burmese/Tibetan border (although of course one must be careful around here when referruing to any kind of legal delimitation between China and its "components", Tibet and Taiwan). Lijiang seems to be relatively well off the Western tourist trail in China (although this still means plenty of Westeners get there) but is Big News in terms of the Chinese domestic tourist trade. It’s known colloqiually as the ‘Venice of China’ and the old town really is a most attractive mess of winding walking streets, rivers, streams and bridges (great fun to wander round until you actually want to find something). However, like Venice, these streets are mostly thronging with tourists and filled with wall-to-wall tourist trade – scarf weavers, leatherworkers, bars and restaurants (which mostly serve some pretty dire and oil-drenched food), dismal ‘trinket’ shops, frangrant shops selling delicious dried and flavoured yak meat, and silversmiths. Amusingly, the silver shops all had men sitting out on the stoop, beating a bar of silver to prove that they made eveything inhouse. Of course, they just seemed to beat the same piece of silver every day, making it into nothing more dramatic than a slightly longer bar.

During our couple of days in Lijiang, we were as much a part of the tourist scenery as the bridges and buildings. Stopping for a beer during the afternoon, we noticed at least a dozen tourists taking photos us. Some were more subtle than others, but it was an amusing game for an hour or so to bust them and enjoy their sheepish grins. On one occasion, we were stopped by a couple who wanted their photo taken. Initially we thought we were to be the photographers, but we soon discovered that the guy wanted his photo taken next to the giant lao wai (Amanda was not required). Finally, we were accosted by an English teacher and his school group in order for his students to get some conversation practice. Unfortunately, they were all to shy to talk so we ended up having a chat with their teacher and posing for more photographs. We thought that our high curiosity value to the locals was relatively unusual, mostly based on Alex’s height (and hairiness?), but just yesterday here in Chengdu we saw a list of ‘Civilised Tourist Behaviour’ rules that included revolutionary ideas such as ‘Don’t take photos of foreigners’ along with ‘Resist superstition’ and ‘Don’t spit’. We’ll believe it when we see it.

Hi Mum, I’m in Hanoi

After another overnight train trip, we arrived in Hanoi smelly and tired. Not the most ideal way to get your first taste of a city, so it’s a credit to Hanoi that we immediately warmed to it.


We first walked around the large central Hoan Kiem lake, watching the (mainly) elderly citizens of the city exercising. Most of them seemed to be doing variations of Tai Chi, but some seemed to be just flailing their limbs about madly and looking pleased with themselves.

We retired to a side street for a cafe sua da (strong Vietnamese coffee, over ice and served with condensed milk) and watching the street come alive. A hole in the wall across the street was doing a brisk trade in morning soup, so we fell into line and grabbed a (tiny) stool. Other people seemed to be served up a soup of noodles, broth, some kind of poultry, bamboo and a chunk of blood, but as Westerners we were denied this last. I was secretly thankful. Afterwards we worked out that the delicious meat was actually swan. I barely need say that it tastes of chicken.

By this stage it was not yet 8am and we couldn’t check in until midday. Clearly, some kind of sightseeing was in order.

We headed to the ‘Hanoi Hilton’, a prison in Hanoi that was originally built by the French to house independence fighters and other rebels. Once the French were expelled, it was used for ordinary criminals, but also famously used to house American fighter pilots shot down during the Vietnam war (including John McCain).

There was a definite skew in the storytelling here. According to the exhibits, all the people imprisoned by the French were noble and wonderful and were subjected to unimaginable horrors by the vicious French. In contrast, the American pilots had a simply wonderful time in the prison (and there are photos and video to prove it!) and really, if it hadn’t been so strongly suggested by their government that they return home to their families after the war, they would have happily stayed there forever.

We also visited the National Museum that morning, and got thoroughly up to date with Vietnamese history and culture up to about 1900. (Did you know the Vietnamese repelled an invasion by the Mongols? Neither did I.) We also visited Ho Cho Minh’s mausoleum and the house where he lived for many years.


I didn’t know too much about HCM, and after visiting this latter site I feel like I know even less. It felt like a Disneyland celebration of HCM – completely lacking in substance or information, and with a purely uncritical eye about the man and his role in Vietnamese history. I came away feeling kind of sorry for the guy – whatever he was like, all the interesting aspects of him have been expunged, and he is now pretty much some kind of saint. Forgive me if I’m skeptical about the reality of that.

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After having fulfilled the ‘culture’ quota of our trip, we spent the rest of our time in Hanoi walking the busy streets of the old town and finding good food.

We visited this place:

It’s apparently run by some kind of Vietnamese celebrity, and is only open in the winter months. This hole in the wall serves precisely three different things – sweet soups made of taro or black sesame, or sweet dumplings filled with either ginger coconut or black sesame, served in a ginger soup. Very Asian takes on sweet flavours, but everything (and especially the dumplings) was delicious. (We know; we sampled the whole menu.)

We also found an alleyway near the market north of the lake which was an embarrassment of delicious food items.

We had some delicious barbecued dishes, and were thrilled to find these gelatinous ‘footballs’, filled either with a pork and mushroom mixture, or a sweet coconut filling. We’ve had something similar at yum cha in Melbourne, but these were freshly made and absolutely yum.

As expected, we had some delicious pho soup for breakfast, served with crunchy doughsticks.

And in the evening we sought out bia hoi establishments. Bia hoi is basically homebrew beer, which is delivered to individual vendors daily in smallish kegs. The price ranges from 4,000-8,000 dong (about 25-50 cents) per glass, and while the quality varies considerably, some of them are very decent. Our favourite place was this bustling bia hoi joint, south of the Opera.

It was pretty big, and humming with an after work crowd. We both attracted plenty of stares, being the only Westerners there, and I attracted even more of them, being the only woman (apart from the waitresses). It was great fun; the waiters bring out enormous trays of glasses of beer, then roam around the place replacing any glasses that are even close to empty, regardless of whether you’ve ordered it or not. It would be criminally easy to get ridiculously drunk here. There was a great convivial atmosphere and some half-decent food, and it was a great night.

After a few days in Hanoi, we did what every single tourist does – we headed out to Halong Bay.

About 3-4 hours out of Hanoi, this huge coastal area filled with dramatic limestone karsts rising out of vivid green/blue water has become a ridiculously popular destination with tourists. Trips to the bay, usually overnight, leave daily, and at least 300 junks cruise the same few areas, crowding into sheltered coves overnight and visiting the same caves during the day. Watching the midday departure and arrival of thousands of tourists being packed onto hundreds of boats is a sight to see.

Alex and I were very keen not to have a horrific trip to Halong, something that seems relatively common, with competition fierce and some providers desperate to cut costs. We did our research and picked a relatively expensive trip that would give us 2 nights on the junk, and a program that took us off the beaten track, to some more remote parts of the bay.

While we had a pretty good time on the tour, it became apparent to us that the tour we had booked and the tour we were getting bore very little resemblance to each other. We had a fun day kayaking around a relatively clean part of the bay, but apart from that the trip was marred by confusion about where we were supposed to be and when. We had also become too used to being our own bosses on the road – the common tour group experience of being ordered to eat now, sleep now, wake up now was anathema to us.

After some stern words to the travel agents upon our return to Hanoi (we can’t, in all honesty, recommend Buffalo Tours) we did manage to recoup half of our costs. On that basis, we have to say that Halong Bay is a spectacular part of the world that is being sadly ruined. If you can, bring your own boat, and get the hell away from everyone else.

Hi Mum, I’m in Hue

Actually, we’re in Kunming at the moment (with a slight backlog of posts). Being in that well-known bastion of free speech, China, we’re also within the warm and protective embrace of the Golden Shield – which means no access to WordPress, Facebook or Twitter. At the moment, Flickr is available, but that is apparently a tenuous status. What this all boils down to is that we’re going to have to post blog entries by email. (Do let us know – by email – if this entry comes out wonky.)

Anyway, back to Hue.

Hue was a few hours by train north of Hoi An, during which we passed some spectacular coastal scenery. We arrived to a wet and miserable city – it was the first real rain we’d encountered on our trip. We had to break the jeans and jumpers in order to go foraging for our favourite thing – food.

Hue used to be the imperial capital under the Nguyen emperors. There are plenty of remnants of their pomp and majesty (more about that later) but in reality they were little more than puppets under the French colonial regime. One of the remnants of their rule is Hue cuisine. It’s said that emperors insisted on extravagant meals of 50 unique courses, with tea brewed from dew collected each morning. Some of the dishes are still widely served in Hue especially banh beo, tiny shallow dishes filled with rice flour jelly (like a thick and glutinous rice noodle) and topped with minced shrimp and a piece of pork crackling. Ladle on a bit of sauce, detach from the saucer, eat it in one bite and move on to the next. Delicious.

Most other Hue food we tried was relatively similar – combinations of thick rice noodle, minced shrimp and some kind of crunchy pork. It wasn’t very fulfilling as a full meal (severe lack of greenery) but wonderful with a bottle of the local beer, Huda. (Another of Hue’s local brews, Festival, is one of the best beers we’ve found in Asia.)

<a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/46118215@N05/4484301940/” title=”P1020048 by Barry the Observer, on Flickr”><img src=”http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2705/4484301940_2de98d014d.jpg” width=”500″ height=”375″ alt=”P1020048″ /></a>
We had a good spread of such food at Lac Thien, a stalwart of the Hue scene, always featured in guidebooks and run by friendly Mr Lac, a deaf mute. While you eat, he proudly fashions bottle openers from a length of wood and a bolt, signs them and gives them to his guests. The restaurant appears to be thriving, despite its neighbours – a bunch with an admirably entrepreneurial spirit, but slightly less than full respect for intellectual property. The surrounding restaurants bear names like Lac Thanh and Lac Tran and boast about their inclusion in the Lonely Planet and Rough Guide. I’m sure they lure in some gullible punters, but gratifyingly the original seemed to be the busiest.

<a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/46118215@N05/4483635711/” title=”P1020044 by Barry the Observer, on Flickr”><img src=”http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2697/4483635711_b9ba7a2da8.jpg” width=”500″ height=”375″ alt=”P1020044″ /></a>

One of Hue’s drawcards is the Forbidden Purple Palace, a walled palace within the citadel of Hue (and now neither for. Much was destroyed during the Vietnam war (and possibly also the war with the French? Don’t quote us on it) and by an earthquake, but there seemed to be a lot of work going into restoration.

<a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/46118215@N05/4484272632/” title=”P1020034 by Barry the Observer, on Flickr”><img src=”http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2758/4484272632_e40ebcc3ed.jpg” width=”500″ height=”375″ alt=”P1020034″ /></a>

<a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/46118215@N05/4483641703/” title=”P1020045 by Barry the Observer, on Flickr”><img src=”http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4016/4483641703_94c73dbbda.jpg” width=”375″ height=”500″ alt=”P1020045″ /></a>

It’s beautiful, in quite a tame way. We wondered around for a few hours, enjoying the relative quiet.

The next afternoon we had a train to Hanoi to catch, but spent the morning travelling up the Perfume River to see a couple of tombs of the Nguyen emperors. They were designed by the emperors themselves during their own lifetimes (a bit egotistical, not to mention morbid) and were pretty impressive.

href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/46118215@N05/4483967321/” title=”P1020070 by Barry the Observer, on Flickr”><img src=”http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2488/4483967321_19001ffa0d.jpg” width=”500″ height=”375″ alt=”P1020070″ /></a>

Hi Mum, I’m in Hoi An

Another country, another UNESCO World Heritage-listed site. Yawn.


Except not. Hoi An, the 18th-19th century village that served as a hub for Vietnamese/Chinese/Japanese trading, managed to escape the ravages of the Vietnam War and of the rampant growth which seems prominent in other cities in Vietnam. Its small streets, picturesque river and tiny alleys serve as a reminder of what the town used to be like, long before the tailors and the tourists moved in.


There must be thousands of tailors in Hoi An. As soon as you mention that you’re passing through Hoi An, everyone has something to say about the tailoring. It’s great! So cheap! Really shoddy quality! Not as good as you’d get in Bangkok/Hong Kong/Saigon/Melbourne/Mumbai! Overpriced! Not worth it! Absolutely worth it!

Something that gets as many polarised views as this can’t be all bad. (See: Vang Vieng.) We’re moving to London and need a new wardrobe anyway, so why not? We ended up spending four days in Hoi An (having planned to spend a lot of that time at nearby China Beach, but the grey skies and low 20s weather put paid to that idea) and end up buying clothes from four tailors. We spend amazing amounts of time getting fittings, being carted around town on the back of a moped, often wearing bits of the suit being made, to visit ‘my uncle’, the head tailor, who’ll fix this lapel or that shirt. We make very good friends with the young, bored, vain girls who work in their family’s shop and spend their spare time looking in the mirror and buying cool, commercially made stuff. (Bespoke clothes? How old-fashioned!) We fend off continual cries of ‘Hello, you want something? Come into my shop!” In the end, we ship 15kg of suits, jackets, shirts and dresses to London, having paid a relatively tiny amount for what we think is really good work. (One of our tailors, Mr Xe, was only “90% happy” with one of Alex’s suits, and has promised to make him another one gratis and send it to London.) And we have a lot of fun doing it.

In the down time, we cook (a bit).


We did a morning class at Morning Glory restaurant’s cooking school. It’s more of an exercise in assembling ingredients than really cooking, because (as you can see) there is absolutely no prep work to be done. Luckily, the food we make is delicious and we’ll be using these recipes again.


We also spend a lot of time just wandering the streets and enjoying the sights.




And of course, we eat. We have the local speciality, cau lau, a spicy broth with chewy wheat noodles, ‘croutons’ (deep fried squares of the same noodles) and herbs, down in the bustling market. It’s wonderful. The woman in the stall next door orders us to come and sample her banh xeo, small crispy mungbean flour crepes with pork and prawns, eaten with a handful of herbs and wrapped in rice paper. We are very obedient.

Another evening we find this woman plying her wares down by the waterfront.


She was making banh can tiny little fried crepes filled with a single quail egg in each, eaten with lettuce, herbs, papaya salad, a vinegar dressing and a dollop of the local chili jam.



It’s so delicious that we return the next day, and make friends with the little girls who were eating here as a treat, because it was the 35th anniversary of the liberation of Hoi An.


It also coincided with Earth Day, when all (well, almost all) electrical items were switched off in the town for an hour. The townsfolk sold paper lanterns with small candles for people to float down the river while the power was out. It was a beautiful night.


Despite the inevitable carnage.