Day 4: Cizor Menor to Puente La Reina
Woke up late this morning, by that mean 6:30, to find most people had already left. This didn’t worry me as everyone moves at their own pace on the Camino and by 6:45 I was wandering out of the suburbs of Cizor Menor/Pamplona.
The walk gave a splendid view if the mist covered mountain with it’s elegant and massive windmills. A daunting task but I was feeling, all aches and pains aside, quite good so I decided to put on a bit of extra pace and see how long I could keep at it. Turns out I could keepthe pace going most of the day and had arrived at my destination, about 20km’s away by 11:30.
Which is not to say I didn’t stop at the top of mist mountain with it’s metal cut outs of pilgrims past, the sound of the wind being sliced by the massive white windmills and the wind biting through my soaked shirt after a steep climb. At the topic the mountain some enterprising Spaniard had a food van and, never on to pass on a cafe con leche, a sat down to admire the view.
I then powered down the steep scree slope each step biting into my toes. I stopped awhile to shoot the breeze with an American bloke who’d been in my dorm the night before. At 70+ years of age and seven Camino’s under his belt he was a wealth of information. Leaving him I met up with my Quebecois friends and stopped at Utergad for cafe con leche (yes, again).
A great walk through market gardens and then I began to see the beginnings if wine country as I passed through a few vineyards. I was feeling good, the air was fresh, life simple and my aches were, in a weird way, pleasant.
I arrived in Puente La Reina just after 11. A beautiful town, narrow streets, cafes, little shops, washing hanging from windows and some hustle and bustle as people went about their way. Passing through the town, over the bridge of Pilgrims, and up a steep climb I find myself at a great Albergue. Washing machines (not that I used them), smallish dorms, great showers, swimming pool and a bar. A bit like club med for pilgrims.
Today’s been a good day. I’m beginning to get into the groove and my body is responding as well as can be expected for somone who only decided to do this a week and a half ago. We’re beginning to form friendships and know each other and this makes the evenings feel communal. I may be in pain but, so far, I’m enjoying my Camino.
Later that day after a shave, langurous shower and a swim I decided to head back into town. Only to find it a sleepy village rather than the hustle and bustle I’d passed through earlier. Spaniards must live their sleep because between 6 & 8 in the mornings you rarely see people moving about in villages and then in the afternoon, everyone has a siesta and life doesn’t start again until about 4pm. I kinds like the pace of life here 
In town I had a beer (una cana) … tried to have a conversation in French with fellow pelegrinos I met at the pub … I think I entertained them with some startling comments about la ville est tres bon … didn’t seem to offend them so I guess they half understood. This Camino has a massively European feel to it … English is not the most used language and as time goes by I find myself quite enjoying having to dredge through my memory for Spanish or French words. Occasionally I’ll use Dutch or understand a few words of German but invariably the Northern Europeans have a fantastic command of English. So far I’ve met nobody from the UK on the trip, very few Americans, a couple of Canadians (generally Quebecois), one Aussie ands kiwi – the rest are European.
Sipping my beer I began to see the town come alive, the woman across the road opened the massively heavy wooden door to throw some soapy suds down the stone road, a few shutters began to open and the noise levels in Calle Mayor began to rise. One the pleasures of the Camino is experiencing life in little towns that, as a tourist, you would probably never visit.
– Posted from my phone
Day 2: Roncesvalles to Larrasoana
Woke up at six to the sounds of fellow pelegrinos getting ready. Brushed my teeth, packed my bag and I was on the road by 6:20. A short walk through a misty forest was a nice beginning to the day. Turns out this forest was a notorious haunt of witches in the xvi century …. the forest did have a bit if the Blair Witch feel about it.
Stopped off in ….. for cafe con leche and baguette jambon next to the centuries old church and facing stone walled houses with heavy creaking window shutters painted in primary reds and greens. A good way to start a day’s walking.
The start of the day was cool and mist hung on all through the morning. Only later in the day and out of the forests did the heat and sun become a factor. The pathway varied from roads to concrete walkways to rough country paths and dry river beds and my feet felt every inch of the walk.
At one point I walked the way of the Sheep Shit, a perilous journey if ever there was one, if not quite in the manner I’d expected. After surviving the way of the Sheep Shit, which relied on accepting that there was no escaping the bovine faecal matter and just getting on with it, I arrived in the village of the sheep.
I know it was the village of the sheep because they gathered at the fences to mark my entry. You never heard such bleating and baaaaaa’ing. Then again I never did see a human in that village so perhaps they were bleating about feet … all very Orwellian. Perhaps you notice that I’ve got feet on the brain today?
Following the village of Animal Farm I walked through the forest of pine cones. The path went up and you saw pine cones, the path went down and you saw pine cones – you get the idea.
In this forest, about 5km out of Zubiri, most people’s halt for the day, a got talking to a well travelled South Korean kindergarten teacher. Our conversation spanned teaching and travel and took my mind off walking. The nature of el Camino is that you often walk and talk with others although, perhaps more often, you walk by yourself and stop to talk at villages and their cafes.
In Zuburi I said goodbye to my companion, bought a gatorade, ate a snack, admired the beautiful stone bridge spanning the river and then headed out for my destination, Lorosoanna. Wow, was that a bad decision. My feet had been aching and my chafing, despite strapping had got worse (I’d find my legs bleeding later in the day) and much if the journey was in sun. Part of the journey was through an industrial estate with it’s pounding machinery and scenic views of black conduit and rusting drums.
The scenery at the end of the walk got better with little farm houses and bales of hay. As wonderful as this was I was happy to get to Larasoanna just before 2pm. There I dumped my pack, changed shoes, sat down and waited for the Albergue to open. Later when I had to stand up I felt 50 years older but I was happy. Today I have a sense of achievement. I pushed myself a bit and I’m ok for it, better yet tomorrow will then see me in Pamplona with more time to spare. They say the Camino is full of messages about life – perhaps that was one of them.
– Posted from my phone
Day 5: Puenta la Reina to Estella
I saw a green arrow and felt lost today. Now normally a green arrow indicates going forward in the arrow’s direction but you see, on the Camino, I’ve been following yellow arrows. They govern my life telling me where to go everyday… and then today there was a green arrow and I felt lost. Order was soon restored upon spotting a cairn of stones set up by an earlier pelegrino who’d clearly felt similarly lost.
Sleeping on the Camino is a challenge. It comes in bits and pieces and while you’re physically exhausted the noisy dorms and muscle aches and pains mean you sleep in hourly increments. Not that it has a great effect because we all get up early to walk. As I did this morning. A five am wakeup and on the road by 5:30. Today I wanted to see how long it would take me to walk the planned 23km. This’ll give me an idea of how many extra km’s my body can do later on in the month. Took me five hours this morning which included a little climb. Not too bad as I got to my destination without having to forgo my morning cafe con leche and breakfast in a village on the way. No point being here if I don’t take in the sights, no?
This morning’s route took me over a steepish hill and through some delightful old towns. The path was mostly through fields that contained scores of ant’s crossing from left to right (south to north) – why I don’t know but I’ll think of today’s route as Ant Way.
From Ant Way I passed through fields of vineyards and climbed my way into the town of Ciraqui where sonorous bells echoed through the narrow streets and birds twittedred above as they flew in Hitchcockian patterns. Coffee with fellow pelegrinos, comparison of personal ailments, broken English, Spanish and French conversations and then I was on my way.
I arrived in the beautiful old town of Estella and snoozed awhile outside the yet to open Albergue. Soon enough fellow pelegrino’s arrived and we waited patiently outside massaging feet and thighs as we waited (first blister appearing on my feet). One of the trip’s highlights is getting to know this group of fellow pelegrino’s.
That evening I spent a pleasant few hours with the elderly American bloke I’d met earlier visting a few bars, trying out the tapas and canas. A nice way to spend an evening in such a delightful town. At the last pub I caught the last of the epic Wimbledon final between Roddick & Federer amongst a group of Spanish sports fans. Pubs are, tapas aside, pretty similar the world over 
– Posted from my phone
Day 3: Larasoana to Pamplona (before the bulls start running) then onto Cizor Menor
Yesterday a friendly Korean bloke sleeping in the bunk next to me told me about cafe in town that served brekky at 6am. After wandering down and enquiring and then finding out the lady baked her own bread I was sold. So this morning I rocked up at 6 with a whole bunch of others only to find it not open. So the morning started without breakfast – good thing I had a snack bar with me.
Today was great walking. While I still felt stiff and sore I was in the zone. I started off walking with my Korean mate and we wandered alongside a forest stream. Water gurgling, birds chirping and ugly black slugs on the path you had to dodge. What more could you want?
From the forest I pushed ahead, my groin problem is slowly fixing itself (thank god for boxer briefs bought on the way) and even though my thighs, calves and feet hurt it was that good hurt feeling you get which helps concentrate the mind.
I stopped off for breakfast of cafe con leche and bocadillo huevos y jambon (ham and cheese baguette) with a mixed French and Canadian group that I are trekking in the same rough pack as me. The height of the conversation was calling me skippy…. gotta love that show …. 30 years on and everyone still remembers it. The little town of breakfast dated back to the xii century and, as with many towns in this Navarre region a rough stone bridge over which you walk to enter.
Leaving Trinidad de Arre I began to walk through the suburbs of Pamplona which was a pleasant walk. A quick hike up a hill, through the city walls and I was in this narrow cobble streeted old town.
The town was buzzing and every shop had displays of red and white in preparation for the running of the bulls in a few days time. I wandered around saw a few sites, stopped for a drink and then, before I knew it was out of the old town and into the new. I had thought about staying but it was still morning and I was feeling ok to walk.
I wandered out of town, past graffiti calling for Basque Freedom, through the University of Navarre up a steep hill and into the town of Cizor Menor just before twelve. A good day’s walk and at the end I was delighted to find a great Albergue, with a garden, smallish dorm rooms, washing facilities and, best of all, no massive queues for the showers so I could have a decent shower. So this is what heaven is. The Camino soon reduces life to simple things
After showering and washing and just general chilling a german guy and I went for una cana (draft beer) at the local bar. Man did that beer go down well! I wandered through the town a mixture of centuries old buildings and newer developments but even the newer developments felt village like, often centred around a little plaza or square.
That evening I went with some fellow travellers to the local bar for the pelegrino meal. Wow, was that a mistake. The day had been so good that I guess I was due some bad (the yin and the yang if the camino, as it were). The meal consisted of a half centimtre thick piece of beef, fat, bone and gristle cooked, baked and grilled so that it resembled my trekking shoes. This was then served by the unhappiest waitress in Europe. Everything was too much trouble and a request for extra water was met withmassive disdain. Despite all if this my companions and I had a good laugh about it all, at the end daring each other to ask her for her number. An unpleasant meal but a pleasant evening.
– Posted from my phone
Day 1: St Jean Pied de Port to Roncesvalles
The day started with a bit of a splutter as fellow dormers started getting up at 5am. I had slept, we were all in bed by 10:30 (while the sun was still out) but sleep came in bits and pieces. I hadn’t planned to wake til 6 so I left them to it. Then I got out of bed had a conversation with the owner that I understood nothing of except for cafe. Whereupon, to my delight and bemusement, proceeds to pour coffee into what I thought was my cereal bowl. So there I sat drinking my coffee out of a bowl two handed as if a priest drinking consecrated wine.
The I headed out, filled up my water bottle at the church and was serenaded out of town by the seven o’clock bells. A brief sortie into the local boulangerie to buy pain au chocolate and un baguette in broken French and I was out of town.
I chatted to a few people on the route before the heavy breathing put paid to that. I wandered up through farmers fields, dodged clumps of bullshit, watched cows swish their tails, birds of prey soar on the winds and often I just stared at my feet.
The route is well signposted and varies from pathways through forests to roads. Everything is well marked with red and white swatches, yellow arrows or yellow shells. My travelling companions were varied but the most common spoken languages were Spanish and French.
I stopped every now and then to drink, admire the view or just take my pack off. The roadway rose higher and my earlier confidence gave way to one foot in front of the other slog. The scenery is fantastic, green fields, undulating hills, distant towns.
Hours later I strolled into the Spanish town of Roncesvalles to hear the two o’clock bells heralding my arrival. Seven hours start to finish – not to bad, my feet have held up well, the body feels a bit sore but the biggest problem is underwear that’s begun to chafe. I’ll have to sort that out soon or I’ll be making mince meat of my groin
Roncesvalles or Ronceveaux as the French know it is quite small, although that said I did take the route directly the Abbey rather than pass through town.
There’s a pub, a couple of restaurants (one of which I have just booked in for my €9 peregrino meal), the Abbey, a church and the Alebergue within which I’m staying. It’s the oldest pilgrim refugee on the route and looks like it once lived life as a church. The walls are roughly hewn stone, and heavy arches support the curved wooden roof. All that with the 100 or so beds makes it one of the most unusual places I’ve stayed in and at €6 one of the cheapest (at least in Europe).
In an hour or so I’ll go across for my pilgrim’s meal. No idea what’s in it, hopefully some carbs, but what I’m most looking forward to is the quarter litre of wine. Aside from my mince meat legs, today has been a good day, challenging, scenic, new experiences, friendly people, blue skies and fresh air. Tomorrow my biggest concern will be where to get breakfast. I could get used to this life.
– Posted from my phone
Arrival in St. Jean Pied de Port
I’ve arrived in St. Jean Pied de Pont (SJPP) after boarding a delightfully slow chugging train through the foothills of the Pyrenees. The train stopped at some quaint old towns before dropping us off here.
After checking to the office that assigns the Compostela, a sort of pilgrims passport that you get stamped each night you stop and which will, should you make it to the end, give you a certificate in Latin from the church stating the completion of your successful pilgrimage.
A helpful bit of advice later, including that there would be no food available and only two places for water on tomorrow’s trek across the Napoleon pass, I checked into the next door Albergue (a sort of hostel where only pelegrinos are allowed to stay). A quick shower, wash, chat in broken Spanish/French and I was off into the town. It’s a geat old town with slowly undulating cobble stone streets, buildings dating back to the 1600’s, great restaurants views of the surrounding mountains. It feels lived in and even though it has many pilgrims doing the trek it doesn’t feel tacky in it’s tourism. Greetings to pilgrims appear genuine and the old town area is extensive and lived in with people peering out of shuttered windows and the most amazing cheeses on sale in shop windows. If the Camino Frances keeps in taking me into towns like this I’ll be happy.
I wandered around for a while only to be stopped by the first place with cold beer and a view of the city walls. In a short while I’ll go search for an all in pelegrino meal including the obligatory quarter if a litre of wine before trying to get to bed early. I’m buggered but happy. It’s been a long journey to get here and tomorrow is going to be the mother of all days.
– Posted from my phone
Paris: Charles de Gaul Airport by TGV to Biarritz
Arrived at Paris CDG airport – what an airport, efficient, clean, bright and, dare I say friendly, the antithesis of Heathrow.
The TGV station is in the same terminal (2) as Vietnam airlines so a short walk, a quick line up and I’d collected my tickets to get to Biarritz. I’m planning to get off at Bayonne to catch a local train to my jumping off point.
I’m now on the TGV which is comfortable, and in which I hear a multitude of languages being spoken. As you can see from the photo below my seat companion doesn’t look the friendliest of fellows. Next stop Bayonne,
On the connecting TGV to Bayonne I spot the first indicator that I’m on the Camino de Santiago, a backpack sporting a shell. The shell is an indicator of a pilgrim on the journey to Santiago de Compostela.
I’ve had a lot of luck with connections. At Bayonne a few minutes saw me catching the connecting train to St Jean Pied de Port. And then … it hit me … sitting on my backpack on the floor as if I was in an old sub-continent rattler I looked up to see pilgrims, pilgrims and more pilgrims. I can see there ain’t gonna be much solitude on this trek.
– Posted from my phone
Waiting on a flight: Saigon to Paris
Ah Saigon airport and it’s horrendously priced Illy coffee. I quite like the airport here, it’s small, clean and friendly. There’s not much to do but the coffee, though expensive, is decent.
I’ve just checked in – total weight 8.5kg which I think isn’t too bad. About a 1kg of that is trail food, nuts & muesli bars which I’ll wittle down. I will have to add water though so walking weight is close to 10kg. No doubt that’ll soon feel like 100kg
Well about 30 hours or so I should be in St Jean Pied De Port and, all going well, the next morning I’ll be on the Camino. Can’t wait!
– Posted from my phone
The journey starts at Notre Dame Cathedral in Saigon
I fly out later tonight and am now busily transferring money at the bank. Earlier this morning I played tennis with friends then headed off into town to meet a friend before going to the Dutch consulate to see if I could get my Dutch passport renewed.
We’d arranged to meet at the nearby Notre Dame cathedral, a Saigon landmark. I took the opportunity to go inside – it somehow seemed fitting that on this day that I headed off to do the Camino de Santiago. I parked my bike, circled the high red brick walls, wound my way round the rosary seller, dropped some money in the donation box then looked around. Once again I found myself enjoying the peace, the calm that pervades churches. Last night when I put my pack on reality began to set in but today I felt, in that brief visit to the cathedral, that my journey had begun.
– Posted from my phone
In Saigon planning for a long walk across Spain – El Camino de Santiago de Compostela
So here I am having a coffee and looking down on Saigon’s Le Loi street towards the Opera House. I’ve spent the morning looking for trekking gear. A smallish trekking shop in the backpacker district of Pham Ngu Lao got me a fleece, some shirts and trousers but the two key things I need, trekking socks and a lightweight sleeping bag, still elude me in Saigon.
In any case I’m not too concerned after all part of the el Camino Frances (the name if the particular route I’ll be taking) is overcoming challenges. I’m sure I’ll manage to pick up what I need in the jumping off town for the trek St. John Pied de Port.
Time for me to head off for lunches and dinners with departing friends. Did I mention school’s out and all the teachers are scattering in the wind across the globe. I love my job
I’m also using this post to check out a new iPhone app that will, hopefully, allow me to blog while I’m on the long walk.
– Posted from my phone
I’m excited about an 800km walk
I’ve just had a blinding urge, not sure exactly why, to go and walk 800km. This isn’t normal I know ……but it’s been something I’ve been thinking about for a while and had begun (in my head) to plan for … next year. Then suddenly this weekend I realised that this year might be my best opportunity to take this walk as next year I still don’t know what I’m doing and I may just as easily return to Oz as stay in Saigon. I’m not usually given to such bold spur of the moment decisions (although I’ve hardly shirked from big decisions in my life) but I honestly feel like this is something that I need to do.
The 800km walk I’m talking about. Well, it’s called the Camino de Santiago de Compostela and is something I’ve always wanted to do since a good friend of mine waxed lyrical about it after he’d done it a few years back. A quick synopsis of the trip is that I will, if I can arrange flights at such a late stage, fly from Saigon to Paris, take trains from there down to Southern France and to a town at the base of the Pyrenees called St. Jean Pied de Port. From there I will walk across the Pyrenees into Spain. Crossing Spain I would hope to be able to walk through the towns of Pamplona, Burgos and Leon before finally arriving, some 30 days later, in Santiago de Compostela. The trip is an old pilgrimage route that still serves pilgrims. Not being religious this isn’t my reason for going, though I do enjoy religious symbolism and have some affinity for Catholicism, I’m going because it sounds like a test of character and, dare I say, something that sounds good for the soul.
I know I’m crazy. I’ve done no training. I have no real trekking gear and little chance of finding it in Saigon in six days. I have no real plans beyond getting to Paris and then figuring it our from there. I may not even be able to book the flights ….. but I am stoked (that means excited for the non-Australian’s amongst you). I cannot wait …..I will genuinely miss not going back to Oz to see family and friends this holiday but I will see them at Christmas. A pilgrimage calls …whooo hooo.
Phnom Penh – West of Saigon and slightly wilder
Phnom Penh has this reputation as being slightly wild west’ish. It has a reputation for unbridled corruption, girly bars, gary glitter expats, locals with guns and other assorted depravities and vices. What many people fail to mention is that while some of the above may exist in The Penh it’s easily avoided and hardly indicative of this charming town.
I sat atop a puttering boat on the Ton Le Sap river, drinking a few beers with friends watching Phnom Penh drift by. Sipping my Beer Lao I watched tiny Mekong style boats throw out fishing nets. Father to steer the boat, mother to unfold the nets into the muddy water and youngster to get in everyone’s way. Rounding the bend we came across a little fishing village, with it’s corrugated shanty town type roofs and wooden quays for boats to tie up. Across the river and into an eclectic little bar, officially called Maxines but more well known as Snowy’s place, named after the Australian owner, artist, long time PP expat and all round easy going guy with good music and a cosy bar anyone would love to own. The sun set and the lights across in Phnom Penh flickered on and cast their shadow puppet like rays on the shifting waters. A dinner that night riverside with dancers who look like they’ve just fallen off the wall of Angkor Wat and come to life. I marvel at the lithe dexterity of this flower holding beauty as I dig into my meal of water buffalo. A 45 minute flight from Saigon but I felt a world away.
And then again the next day I felt a world away again as I viewed big skulls, medium skulls, tiny skulls, their jaw bones missing, craniums caved in and teeth missing all piled atop another in a gruesome yet affecting memorial to the victims of the Khmer Rouge. I wondered at the skulls, the eyeless staring sockets, the empty places where noses are meant to be. How could there be so many. So many in one place and there were many places like this. When I say this ….I mean a killing field. Just outside of Phnom Penh, a tourist tuk-tuk ride away another tourist site to be visited until you see the skulls. There are layers of skulls in this museum to the dead and all I can think of is wishing they’d stay buried….but then perhaps it wouldn’t feel so real. It suddenly makes the overheard tour guides story of babies being beaten to death by being swung against a nearby tree feel less like a story and more real …..and yet …..so unreal …could someone really do that I kept thinking. I guess the evidence was before me.
I returned to town, my thoughts washed away by a brief turn through the Russian market with it’s freshly slaughtered animals and beheaded fish with tails still flapping. Walking along the street I stop at a street vendor’s to look at the fried spiders a friend had told me to try (she’d even claimed they were delicious). I looked and looked and looked …. I thought about it, thought about it some more and finally … I just chickened out and walked on …I didn’t even try the snake on a stick, the handfuls of maggots, the fried cockroaches or even the thumb sized grasshoppers …I leave slightly disappointed in myself …here I was determined to have new experiences and there (on a stick even) was a new experience and I just passed it by …..
Later I sat with friends in the Foreign Correspondents Club (FCC) and watched the river float by while we downed gin and tonics. I doubt the club sees many journalists today ….perhaps they ought to rename it the NGO Club for that’s what most expats here do. A town full of people who work hard all day, party and eat well at night, get frustrated at corruption that’s endemic and soul destroying but return to work the next day. They’re a stubborn, hopeful bunch these NGO’s and while they sometimes despair it’s clear to the visitor that Phnom Penh is the better for their presence. I think these things as I sit in a leather seat and watch an elephant trundle past down below.
It’s a great little town is PP. It’s not quite the wild west but it is undeniably interesting, relaxing and thought provoking. I heartily recommend a visit.
Saigon to Phnom Penh: Planning a weekend away
Royal Palace - Phnom Penh (picture from wikitravel site)
Whew … the silly season of teaching is amongst us. The end of the year is always hectic. Assignments to mark, exams to write and mark, reports to muddle through, kids and teachers getting sick ….this time of year at schools is always a rush with eveything happenng at once, tempers fraying and in four weeks it’ll all end with a shout of joy at the last day of school and the start of the summer holidays.
To give myself a little breather in between I’m popping across to Phnom Penh for the weekend with some friends. I plan to do nothing so much as sit by the fabled riverside and relax with a cold beer. Well, sorta ….I’ve been reading up on wikitravel, the go to site for when you’re travelling somewhere, and there are a few things I’ll want to get to once I’m in PP.
The palace, a few of the key Khymer Rouge sites and the local market. That’ll be enough for one weekend. I fly out tonight and back in on Sunday evening …ready to be assailed by all the end of year arrows of outrageous fortune. Whoo hoo … just a few hours to go …and I’ll be in PP … a city that everyone who’s been there raves about as being a fun little place for a weekend getaway.
War Remnants Museum Saigon – a sombre experience
A few weekends ago I finally got off my fat backside to go do one of Saigon’s touristy sights. The War Remnants Museum is one of the must see sights for many who travel through here. This is despite the fact that no-one here talks about the American War (as the Vietnam war is know as over here). No-one talks about it because it’s history as far as most people are concerned and has little bearing on their life. As a citizen of a country which sent troops over here I have not once had a derogatory comment come my way. The exact opposite in fact, people here are friendly, hospitable and respectful. I’m not sure that all Vietnamese who visit Australia get the same type of reception that I do over here …. to our shame.
Back to my point. In my time I have only heard one person make a comment about the war. It was a person I have the occasional chat to in my weekly routine. We were discussing the public holiday for the Liberation of Saigon when he remarked that it wasn’t exactly a happy day for him. He then went onto say his father had fought in the South Vietnamese army. He then went on his way and I was left thinking that was the first time I’d ever heard any reference to the war.
So I find myself outside the museum on Vo Van Tan street. I park my bike at a nearby restaurant, bargain briefly on the parking fee seeing as I’m not going to eat there and head across the road for an iced tea as I wait for the museum to open. When the museum opens I find myself surrounded by tourists. Some backpackers, some coach tourists and some, that, back in my hotel days, we used to call FIT’s, free independent travellers. There are also quite largish contingents of Vietnamese tourists.
Outside the main museum building are parked a number of tanks, helicopters and planes which remind me of nothing so much as movie props. I am reminded of the comment I once heard/read that the Vietnam war wasn’t so much a war for my generation as a movie. These thoughts soon disappear as I enter the Tiger Cages which remind of the stories of Abu Ghraib as I see a manacled mannequin in a tiny cage and read of, and see pictures of, tortured prisoners.
From there, and in more sombre mood, I head into the main building. There I am assaulted by pictures of war that are familiar. Then I see some that are not familiar …..bodies dragged behind armoured vehicles, pictures of the village of My Lai, beheaded North Vietnamese soldiers, bayoneted Viet Cong, napalmed women and screaming children. I am by now feeling very quiet and find myself easily angered (oh, the irony) by a couple of young backpacking lads behind me laughing.
For some respite I go to the children’s room to see cheesy drawings of peace and friendship. They’re cheesy but they reflect the Vietnam that I know … the one in the photos seems nothing like the place I live in. I leave the museum to catch up with a friend. As I walk out I reflect on the fact that the museum is clearly a place of propaganda. There is no balance in this place and yet, almost every bit of evidence on the walls of that museum come from Western journalists. The horrible things on the walls did actually exist, they have not been made up. I don’t think the Vietnamese were angels in this war but I do sometimes wonder how they can so easily, not only forgive, but welcome their former foes with open arms. It’s a credit to them.
Vung Tau – Ned Kelly, op la and fishermen’s boats
Day two in Vung Tau (I wrote this a week ago) and I find myself sitting in a place called Ned Kelly’s. Actually it’s called Ned Kelly’s 2 and is a bit nicer and better situated than the first. Now why would an Aussie travel across the world just to sit in a place called Ned Kelly’s, a place that couldn’t be more Australian than if you called it g’day mate. Truth is I still can’t do Asian breakfasts and my hotel breakfast was gruel, gruel and more gruel – the horrible, clumpy, gluggy rice breakfast dish also know as congee or bubur ayam. So I looked for a place along the coast with comfortable chairs, good views and that would serve a decent banh mi op la (baguette and eggs) and ca phe sua nong (Vietnamese white coffee) ….. a nice compromise between what I wanted to eat while still acknowledging where I was. That’s how I find myself at Ned Kelly’s .. the op la is superb and the coffee is hot and steaming ….. better yet the view across the harbour is delightfully Vietnamese.
I sit there looking at all the blue and red fishing boats sitting in the harbour of the "front beach" …. fishermen potter around their boats in stuttering little runabouts, one man rows a little boat while another, in a similar boat, uses both feet to row as if in some gym rowing machine. In front of me parade a series of Vietnamese couples cruising the avenue looking at the sites.
Around me I see a mixed crowd, two blokes talking about work, a Vietnamese family, the expat owner and his Vietnamese wife and a couple of what must be old diggers talking about Long Tan.
I return to my op la and the fantastic view in front of me. I try to ignore the modern art building that looks like a slightly crumpled much more metallic version of the opera house but it’s hard to ignore. It’s not particularly ugly but this modern art ferry terminal just seems horribly out of place – a sign of Vietnam’s future where they see Singapore as their ultimate role model. I find myself quite liking Vung Tau despite the fact that everyone I talked to about the place wasn’t a fan. It’s no Bali and the beaches in the main part of town are crowded. The town itself is quite interesting and it has superb roads running through town, along the coast and around the large hills in the area they call mountains. It has good cafes and restaurants and decent hotel. A great place to visit especially if you’re on a bike.
