Bob and my most recent trip out of Hanoi was a 2 day trip on Monday/Tuesday to Tam Dao, a National Park in mountains 80km north, with a town of the same name. We rode there on our motor bikes through the river flats that extend for many kilometres in all directions, until we reached the mountains, with a 1,000m climb in the last 11km of the ride. The national park covers the entire mountain area and, apart from the area of the town, comprises luxuriant rain forest. With the mountains rising straight from the flood plains, you can imagine how much rain they receive. We trekked through the rain forest, on Tuesday morning, climbing a substantial way up the highest mountain before running out of time.

In addition to the fabulous food, hot weather and wonderful countryside that we're experiencing, three anecdotes from the past 2 days will help explain why we like the people so much. During our trekking in Tam Dao I cut my left leg. It kept bleeding, despite our best efforts. While motoring back to Hanoi we stopped for a coffee at a roadside café in a small village. A young man came in for a beer and noticed my bleeding leg, expressing concern. He went off into the rain forest and we saw him return chewing some tree leaves. He came over to us, called the woman who was serving us to help clean the leg and to bring a long piece of cloth as a bandage. He put the chewed leaves over the wound and wound the cloth around it to hold it in place, before returning to his beer. It was all without fanfare and solely for my benefit. Needless to say, the wound stopped bleeding and is healing nicely!

Today we headed to a local 'hole-in-the-wall' (literally!) street eatery, with 2 small tables, for lunch comprising a bowl of fish noodle soup. A local Vietnamese man was enjoying his lunch and a couple of beers with his mate. Delighted to see us, and without more than one word of English, he engaged me in a spirited and friendly conversation, excitedly announcing 'Kangaroo!' when discovering we were Australian. With much insistence, he fetched me a glass full of ice and proceeded to pour Bob a beer and me a soft drink. He kept refilling Bob's glass to overflowing throughout the lunch and his fraternal discourse, eventually insisting that he pay for our meals as well.

The third incident occurred this afternoon while I was enjoying a couple of beers at our local bia hoi (draft beer at a simple outdoor venue). An old fellow rode up on his motor-bike, with a pile of tennis rackets on the front. He ordered one beer which he downed while still sitting on the bike at the edge of the road. I spoke briefly to him indicating his fitness and strength, and he spoke to us (well Bob) in French. He had just finished playing tennis with friends and was having a beer on his way home. He was a professor of medicine at the Hanoi University and was 84 years old! He wanted to know where we were from and whether we played tennis – he wasn't impressed by our running and cycling!

I love Ha Noi!

We have fitted in so easily to our life here, are part of the community and understand the ebb and flow of the street life with ease.

Nevertheless, we shall do some travelling while we are here, and have booked two flights to this end; first, to Nha Trang on the southern coast on Monday, 4 August, from where we plan to make our way to Da Lat in the hills for a few days.

The next journey booked is to Siem Riep (Xiem Riep in Vietnamese) in Cambodia a week or so later, leaving Ha Noi on Sunday, 17 August and returning the following Sunday. In the meantime we hope to jump on our zippy little Yamaha 'Nouvo' Motor scooters and do some further travel around the Ha Noi region.

To this end, we started travelling further afield earlier in the week, scooting the 65-odd kilometres down to the Perfume Pagoda (Chua Hu'o'ng) on the madness and joy of the Vietnamese road system. A very hot day, it was good to be moving in the open air, and I reluctantly replaced my spiffy little orange-flowered broad brimmed helmet hat with a sensible hulk-green head protector with a visor. I love my orange helmet, but unfortunately once one gets up to the dizzying speeds over 30 kilometres an hour, the brim acts as a parachute, both flinging my head back and slowing down my progress and attempting to act as an effective noose.

It was a good learning experience for us both, especially Bob, who became a little sunburnt on the arms and legs, and re-assessed his rather optimistic time frames for travel on the bikes to our proposed destinations. We found that a break for a drink and a stretch about every hour was necessary, as I had suggested having had spent some lengthy time in the saddle on my daily commutes and trips to the airports and so on.

Today we are attempting to book tickets for the Football Friendly between the Brazilian Olympic side and the Vietnam national team on the 1st of August. Without Vietnamese, finding information is tricky to say the least, however I seem to have a website for on-line bookings, however since it 'opened' for bookings at 9am, I have not been able to access it. I hope that we can go to the match, in this football mad country (there are at least three dedicated soccer channels on TV, with the sports channels and Vietnamese networks all having heavy coverage as well), it would be a wonderful cultural experience.

[To Be Continued . . . .]

The day of our return saw the arrival of her youngest daughter, the incredibly gorgeous Ingrid on a break from her studies in her first year of Uni after a Gap year.

We had a lot of fun, although commuting between the cat's house in Chua Lang and our apartment in Quan Thanh was presenting something of a logistical and time challenge, as the approximately 6km journey was undertaken in invariably heavy traffic.

A few days later, the 'boys' arrived, Sam (10) and Paul (30-something) from Canberra. My motor scooter skills are improving no end as I pillioned Bob the 40-odd kms to the airport, and rode home in the dark along the speeding traffic of the freeway while Bob and the boys travelled to the apartment in a taxi.

The next few days were spent visiting the Water Puppets (surprisingly good!), eating a great deal of good food, and becoming extremely competant at ferrying around Ingrid, Sam and my sister (or combinations of two, but never three at a time) around the streets of Hanoi on the back of the bike.

with organised tours and have done very few - the treks Bob and I did in Thailand and Laos 2 years ago were personally guided, as was the trip my sister and I took. This, however had a cast of - many - and there was much waiting around and it confirmed why I don't do tours. Our arrival at the wharf at HalongWhile the 3 boys, Bob, Paul and Sam went to Sapa, Ingrid and I took an overnight trip down to Halong Bay, a justified World Heritage listed are of natural beauty. I am not good City was reminiscent of herding sheep, with thousands of tourists being shepherded off, and then on to the flotilla of almost identical faux wooden hulled junks built for the tourist trade.

Despite my gloom at the tour group funk, once we were underway and the other boats started to thin out into the open bay and casts of the rocks jutting from the water, it all seemed worthwhile. A pleasant afternoon was spent cruising around the islands to the mandatory stop at a large, but crowded, cave system. We then spent an hour kayaking around the area, before stopping for swimming and mooring for the night.

I feel terrible.

Terribly responsible that is. I arranged for my gorgeous niece Ingrid to catch the 3:00pm shuttle to the airport (too much luggage for me to carry on the bike for that distance), having been assured that it would allow ample time to check in for her flight.

We made the bus in plenty of time, and waited, and waited, and . . .

It finally got underway at about 3:21pm and I was concerned and nervous at the prospects for an easy check-in.

Check-in closed and she missed the flight. Damn you JetStar! (OK, technically it was not JetStar's fault, but they suck and the website refused to allow access to her booking all day, so they are the kicking post du jour).

Mr JetStar calls back. We try to sort it out again. he assumes that I am Ingrid. Tells me I missed the flight from Hanoi. Getting somewhere now. Attempt to explain the predicament again and see if the flight can be caught. Mr JetStar goes away to find out. In the meantime I am googling like crazy to find other flights to Australia. Ingrid had to have such a short visit, because flights were booked out - this is confirmed by my extensive google-fu. Try other alternatives, such as Hanoi to Bangkok and then to Sydney. Not looking good at all.

Feel despondent.

Mr JetStar calls me back after being cut off again. He is rally trying to help, although the language gulf is telling. Don't know about her being able to board the flight. Maybe yes, maybe No. However says that if she goes to the counter for a late check-in, for a payment of USD $75 she will be confirmed on the next flight (tomorrow night). Sounds the best that one could hope for, but I have no reference, nor name to confirm this. Hope for the best. Mr JetStar effusive about being pleased to be able to help.

Call Ingrid. She is boarding flight and is hopeful. I say goodbye quickly, and look for hotels in HCMC on-line. Am happy with selection, however they need vouchers printed out first. Attempt to call Ingrid's mama. No answer. Leave message.

So, here I sit feeling frightfully impotent, refreshing the screen for flight arrivals in HCMC to access the little information possible.

And I wait, and hope that I don't hear from Ingrid, although don't hold up much hope for the successful connection. Only a day or two ago we were basking in the sun of the World Heritage listed Ha Long Bay on the northern coast of Vietnam. It was gorgeous. However, after a too-long bout of Delhi-belly (we're blaming the cheese and crackers from her JetStar flight!), and a lot of hanging around, it seems a shame to prolong the trip in this inauspicious manner.

Bad Aunty Carolyne!



POST SCRIPT: Just received a text from Ingrid. She made the flight to Sydney. Yay. Now I can relax (a bit).

Bad Aunty!

I don't even want to look to see how long it is since I've blogged - I fear that I won't recognise the date in this century.

After recovering from a bout of gastritis that laid me very low for too long, my big sister arrived for a short break en route home to Sydney from Hong Kong. She arrived late in the afternoon, and almost imeadiately we boarded a train to Lao Cai on the Chinese border for a three day tour of Sa Pa.


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We shared our overnight train carriage ('soft sleeper'), with two male polyglots, a Dane who spoke perfect English, was reading German and getting along in Viet; and (maybe) a French Canadian. His seemingly perfect French (too ignorant to really know for sure), and native mid American accent seemed to point to this. We both slept well, and were only disappointed that the call for coffee in the morning before we reached our destination was for an overpriced (10,000 dong) insipid paper thimble of nescafe.

We shared a minibus up the mountain to Sapa with various other tour groups, and after winding up the pass through a series of switchbacks and passing an increasing number of impossible terraces cut into the mountain sides to grow rice.

After showering and breakfast at the Golden Sea Hotel, we had time for a short walk through the markets before being met by our Guide ?Phin. Soon we were on our way, seeking to avoid the worst of the incessant cries of "Buy From Me" from the elaborately clad hill tribe women that lined the streets and accompanied any tourist who moved from the sanctuary of the guarded hotel or cafe.

Light rain started and stopped throughout the walk which was a pleasant stroll up the sealed road (Silver Waterfall Road) to begin with