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

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

Saigon to Vung Tau by scooter.

This morning I rode through sunshine, through traffic, through fields of ducks and then I rode through a monsoonal rainstorm. Now I sit here in Vung Tau sipping a coffee while I look at the waves from the South China Sea crashing against the busy Vung Tau "back beach".

I headed out of Saigon mid-morning. My copy North Face backpack neatly packed and nestled between my knees in my bike’s luggage rack. I may have looked like your Nanna riding a nanna bike but I felt like an easyrider. My journey out of Saigon was heralded by flowing flags and banners. Alternating symbols, first a star then a hammer & sickle on identical blood red backgrounds. Yesterday was the anniversary of the liberation of Saigon and today was May 1st – no doubt the real reason for the banners. I chose to look upon them as my very own honour guard of communist symbolism as I rode down to the beaches of Vung Tau.

The ride out of Saigon was relatively uneventful and I chose to put on some 90’s rock tunes on my iPod as I rode out. Turning onto the road to Vung Tau (highway 51a) I stopped to buy a baguette and iced-green tea. The smiling Chi (older woman but not too old) who in retrospect I think I should have called a Ba (a woman a fair bit, maybe mother’s age old) consented, smilingly, to me taking a photo of her and her streetside, freshly baked Banh Mi.

 

A few miles further just beyond Bein Hoa I found myself visiting Dairy World. Or at least that’s what I think it was with it’s massive cow statues, and mentions of Bo Sua (Beef/Cow milk). I rode in through Dairy world, stopped off to buy a drink and some freshly baked little doughy things stamped with the decidedly English word “egg”. Quiet delicious and a nice little break on my journey.

From there I zoomed off. In my earphones the 4 Non-Blondes sang to me and asked me "what’s going on now" as, on the sidelines, a panorama opened up. To my left misty covered mountains, to my right fields of white ducks, rice paddies and buffalos standing sentry duty on the banks of sodden, muddy coloured rice paddies.
My trusty Yamaha purred between my thighs, my iPod picked another great tune, the wind kept me cool, the rush of air over the handlebars and onto my face kept me smiling. I found myself singing out loud as I enjoyed the visceral rush of riding and the screensaver scenery around me. I don’t know what my fellow riders on the road thought but I was having a ball riding and singing.

And then the clouds rolled in. The air began to thicken and the small pockets of blue left in the sky began to close up. As one the traffic around me began to speed up as if our combined horsepower alone could keep the rain at bay. ’twas not to be and the first drops started breaking. I pulled over to a nearby stall and bought a poncho. Pulling it on my head the baby blue poncho did much to enhance my easyrider cool. Off I rode into the storm the tunes still playing and me still singing.

Within minutes the wind began to pickup and soon the rain was falling hard, fast and needle sharp. I slowed my bike to a crawl and still the rain hurtled into my face at breakneck speed like kamikaze pilots eager to inflict damage. Just prior to my face turning into steak tartare I pulled over to a garage and waited with 50 or so fellow riders. After 20 minutes or so the rain seemed to ease and I, knowing Vung Tau was still 50km’s away was keen to get on with it. I rode back into the needles and rode and rode and rode. When the rain eased I sped up and when it came thundering down I slowed to a crawl but I kept going. My smile slowly turned to a grimace but through it all I was finding a perverse joy. Here I was riding a bike through the rice paddies and buffalos of Vietnam while doing battle with the monsoon, how could I not be enjoying this.

On I rode and eventually I arrived at the outskirts of Vung Tau. My poncho had not served it’s purpose, ripped up by the wind, rain had soaked through and then, just to make sure I really was wet the gods had sent truckers and fellow bikers to ride through massive wake producing puddles just as I was riding past them. On four separate occasions I was engulfed by a wave of water taller than me and my bike. You’d think my sense of humour was being tested 😉

In Vung Tau I drove through the rain, saw a likely hotel with great views of the ocean and likely to have room service, hot coffee and hot water. So here I am at Sammy hotel drinking my ca phe sua nong while the hot water runs in my bath. I’ll go out again when the rains die down. What a long, wet, enjoyable ride that was.

Only the English can do a school like this. I visit Wellington College.

 

I’ve left Cyprus now and am happily ensconced in a little village called Crowthorne about an hour South-West of London. Actually I’m staying in a student dorm. When my boss was talking to me about the training in London he asked if I would stay in the student accommodation. I thought about it knowing that, if I refused, he would be ok with it and would put me up in a nearby hotel but I had two reasons for staying in a dorm. The first that the school was already spending quite some money to send me here and it would be churlish of me not to reciprocate and save the school some money. The second reason was that I’ve done hotels to death. My first career being hotel management I’ve stayed in hundreds of hotels – they hold no attraction for me and often I still feel like I’m on a busman’s holiday when I’m staying in a hotel. I haven’t however stayed in student accommodation since my Uni years and here was my opportunity to stay in school accommodation in an old British establishment school dating back to the 1800’s – I figured only an idiot would choose to stay at a nearby hotel.

So here I am in student accommodation. They’ve put me in a new building and I’m in a prefect’s room so while I have no TV I do have an ensuite. This room suits me fine and is far better than many places I’ve stayed at over the years. The school I’m at, Wellington College, is however something different. It is a fantastic old establishment, a school like only the English can do schools. Old buildings, dining halls, Chapels – a rugby field, a shooting range and buildings oozing history. Think Harry Potter type school. I wander around the grounds for a few hours. The place is quiet as students are away for holidays so while I’m not quite alone it is peaceful. I wander about hallways filled with busts of Lords and Generals who fought in Waterloo and the Crimea. The origins of the school are military and you can still see the military tradition hold strong but this is not a military school. For awhile I try to find evidence of the lives of young people because everything seems so historical. Find it I do however as posterboards under busts of long forgotten campaigners of the Frontiers and the Boer war display student work and notices. I read one notice and smile as I see some concern that the girls at school are wearing too much “bling” and are not being called up on it. This school may ooze wealth and history from it’s pores but it is still clearly just a school.

Micro-credit and why I donate to Kiva

 

 

I don’t know these ladies above from the proverbial bar of soap. I have however lent them some money.

I’ve only lent them a small amount, $25 to be precise but then again the five of them are only looking to raise just over $1,000. Note that I haven’t donated the money just merely loaned it out. When they pay it back I’ll loan the money out to someone else. Welcome to micro-credit a way of lending small amounts of money to people who will use it to pull themselves out of poverty and into self sufficiency.

Now normally small entrepreneurs such as these would be unable to lend money from banks because of the small sums involved. With the help of KIva people such as myself can now assist those who would like to make their lives better for themselves and their families. Micro-credit itself isn’t new and it’s modern day resurgence can be traced back to the Grameen bank in Bangladesh. What is new is the non-profit web based organisation Kiva and how it acts as a conduit between people who would like to help out and those who need the cash.

So far I’ve loaned money to four groups/individuals. No-one has defaulted and as the money comes back in I loan it out again. I don’t consider it charity but more a way of giving someone a leg up in this world.

This is why the group of ladies above have borrowed money from me and others like me.

Mrs. Vu Thi Hien (ID Number 23060006), born in 1971, would like to borrow 4,452,000VND to invest in rearing pigs. Even though she is a teacher, she still performs agricultural tasks with her husband. Besides teaching in school, she rears pigs to increase her family’s income and raise her two children who are still going to school. He family’s average monthly income is about 3,500,000VND (about 219USD). Her group also consists of:

Mrs. Dao Thi Mai (ID Number 23060007), born in 1966, borrows 4,452,000VND to invest in raising livestock. She is also a teacher. Her family’s average monthly income is about 2,500,000VND (about 156USD).

Mrs. Le Thi Lien (ID Number 23060009), born in 1964, borrows 4,452,000VND to invest in rearing pigs and chickens.

Mrs. Dao Thi Ly (ID Number 23060011), born in 1977, borrows 4,028,000VND to sell electrical goods.

Mrs. Nguyen Thi Thao (ID Number 23060033), born in 1980, borrows 2,204,000VND to invest in rearing pigs. 

Translated from Vietnamese by Yen Thanh Pham, Kiva Volunteer

Vũ Thị Hiến, sinh năm 1971 (Ms 23060006), tham gia vay vốn ở mức: 4.452.000 vnđ để đầu tư chăn nuôi lợn. Là một giáo viên nhưng chị vẫn tăng ra sản xuất cùng chồng. Ngoài công việc giảng dậy, chị vẫn chịu khó chăn nuôi thêm lợn để tăng thu nhập và nuôi hai con còn nhỏ đang độ tuổi đi học. Thu nhập bình quân của gia đình chị khoảng 3.500.000 vnđ/ tháng. Cùng vay vốn với chị còn có: Đào Thị Mai, sinh năm 1966 (Ms 23060007), tham gia vay vốn ở mức: 4.452.000 vnđ để đầu tư chăn nuôi. Chị là giáo viên thu nhập bình quân của gia đình chị khoảng 2.500.000 vnđ / tháng. Lê Thị Liên, sinh năm 1964(Ms 23060009), tham gia vay vốn ở mức: 4.452.000 vnđ để đầu tư chăn nuôi lợn, gà. Đào Thị Lý, sinh năm 1977(Ms 23060011), tham gia vay vốn ở mức: 4.028.000 vnđ để đầu tư cửa hàng cơ khí. Nguyễn Thị Thảo, sinh năm 1980(Ms 23060033), tham gia vay vốn ở mức: 2.204.000 vnđ để đầu tư chăn nuôi lợn.

PS. Mrs. Vu Thie Hien and friends still need some help to reach their targeted loan amount. To lend to them go directly to http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&action=about&id=72087)

Here’s another lady I’ve loaned money out to. I don’t have a particular reason for who I lend out to except that I have a preference for countries I’ve lived in (Indonesia) or am going to (Vietnam).

Want to know more? Go to kiva.org

Ni Komang Rani owns a small food kiosk in her front yard. The earnings from the kiosk is used to supplement her husband’s income. Her husband, Nengah Jasa, works as a truck driver in the Javanese route. Since her husband’s income is barely enough to cover daily living expenses, Rani started a kiosk with starting capital of $110. Rani stocks her kiosk with merchandises like snacks, foods, drinks and others. Rani opens her kiosk at 6 am and closes at 6pm. Each morning, Rani goes tot he market to purchase goods to be sold. She goes to the market at 5 am every day. The market is not too far from her home. She earns about $55 each day. Rani saves her earnings for later days. All her children has been married. She will use the loan from Dinari to purchase more goods varieties to be sold and expand her offering.

Translated from Bahasa Indonesia by Kresna Hartandi, Kiva Volunteer

Hidup dikota membuat Komang Rani membuka usaha warung didepan rumahnya. Untuk membantu suaminya , Nengah Jasa, yang bekerja sebagai sopir truk ke Jawa . Karena Penghasilannya sebagai sopir tidak mencukupi untuk kebutuhan ekonominya. Maka Rani membantu dengan membuka warung di rumahnya.Dengan modal awal Rp.1.000.000,- Rani melengkapi isi warungnya dengan bermacam-macam barang dagangan seperti makanan, minuman,sembako ,snak,dan lain-lain. Rani membuka warungnya pada pagi hari jam 6 pagi sampai sore jam 6 sore. Setiap pagi Rani juga pergi ke pasar untuk membeli keperluan dagangannya,sekitar pukul 5 pagi,karena rumahnya dekat dengan pasar negara. Keuntungan yang diperoleh sebesar Rp.50.000,- perhari, Rani bisa mempergunakan untuk memenuhi kebutuhannya sehari-hari ,karena kebutuhan sembako harganya sangat mahal sekarang ini,maka Rani juga harus bisa menabung untuk masa depannya,karena anak-anaknya sudah semua menikah dan tinggal bersama suaminya. Pinjaman yang diperoleh dari Dinari dipakai untuk menambah modal usahanya agar dagangannya semakin banyak dan berkembang.

Technorati Tags: micro credit,kiva,loans,teacher,teach,expat,vietnam,indonesia,school,saigon

The 6 Characters You’ll Meet At Every Expat Bar

The 6 Characters You’ll Meet At Every Expat Bar . This is a link to a great post on Gadling bravenewtraveler about the characters found at expat bars.

I’ve come across an example of each one of them at one time or another. No doubt in Saigon I’ll meet a few of them again….

Are expats a different breed? Why do we expatriate?

Whilst doing some more reading up on living in Vietnam I came across this fantastic blog called Dreaming of Hanoi. The blogger concerned is an expatriate by culture. A so-called third culture kid (3ck). 3ck’s are generally children who have spent a substantial time living in a culture different from their birth culture. Whilst I wouldn’t classify myself as a 3ck I certainly did experience growing up in two distinct cultures and have lived long enough in another two distinct cultures to have taken on some of that 3ck feeling of knowing and feeling comfortable in more than one culture.

What I loved so much about “Dreaming of Hanoi’s” blog was this section where she links this feeling of cultural rootlessness to phrenology (the pseudo and long since discredited “science” of determining personality traits by the bumps on our heads).

 

Perhaps, as the doctor in Heart of Darkness believes, the truth lies in phrenology: should we measure expat skulls to find some peculiarity that activates the urgency to expatriate? ( and will I ever succeed in writing a single expat-related post without referencing this novella?):

“‘Ever any madness in your family?’” asks the doctor as he takes calipers to the cranium of Marlow, our fictional counterpart. “‘I have a little theory which you messieurs who go out there must help me to prove.’”

This post made me laugh out loud. I identified with a lot of it but mostly I was taken with the idea of my head being felt up, a la Marlow, to find evidence of 3ck madness.

The original post can be found at http://preyanka.com/2007/07/expat-theory.html

Photo used under creative commons licence: http://www.flickr.com/photos/21717214@N07/2803117556

Technorati Tags: phrenology,expat,vietnamese,dreaming of hanoi,3ck,third culture kids