More Pictures of Bhutan

That speck of white is the Taktshang Monastery or Tiger's Nest as it is commonly known.
Every country has its propaganda
We're going where?
The speck is getting bigger!


I am going to post the pictures of our adventures in Bhutan although I haven't written the blog yet and may not be able to post it for some days since we leave for the hinterlands of China early tomorrow. Yes, we climbed up to the Tiger's Nest and survived, although I don't know how!

Pictures of Bhutan

Mt. Everest from the Royal Druk airplane
The main street of Paro, Bhutan with dzong (fortress) in the background
The world's sweetest Bhutanese guide, Kuenley
Monk in courtyard of temple

More Pictures of Chinatown in Bangkok

Chinatown Street
Tiny crabs for sale
Street market
Lady making a betel nut concoction (somewhat addictive we hear)

The Miracle

View from our window in the Oriental Hotel Bangkok
The Authors' Lounge at the Oriental where high tea is served and Joseph Conrad and Somerset Maugham (I think) used to hang out.
Tom and I on the grounds of the Oriental
The Terrace of the Oriental

This is our last night in Beijing and I am now two countries behind in the blog. It's not my fault though! Honest! The other morning we were leaving the hotel in Bangkok to fly to Beijing when I fell down. Right in the middle of the hotel lobby! Of course there were about a million people around, all very concerned (or amused as the case may be), but I knew immediately that the only thing hurt was my pride so I dusted myself off and assured all that I was fine and off we went. Oh by the way, my computer was in my well padded bag and it didn’t even occur to me that it may have taken the brunt of the fall. You guessed it, it did. When I tried to log on to write my blog in the airport, I got a most ominous screen which I hoped was interference but nothing changed later. Long story short, when we got to Beijing the first thing I did was tell the guide I had to find an Acer store that could diagnose the extent of the problem. Hopefully, a small adjustment would be all that was needed.

Our guide, Amanda, and the hotel concierge worked it out and by the next morning the computer (without me) was on its way to Acer across the city in a cab with a hotel bellman accompanying it and Amanda’s cell phone number taped to its cover. We were in the Temple of Heaven when the call came—terminal. Or in Amanda’s words, your computer is destroyed. I panicked because all of the pictures were on it, but they said the hard drive was ok. About ten phone calls later we had communicated that we wanted a new computer similar but better than the old one, the cost (not too bad), and that we would pick it up after 3:30. Amanda said she would go with us which was really nice of her considering our Mandarin Chinese is a little shaky, so around 4:30 we arrived at the Acer repair center where at least three people had literally dropped everything to get another computer (they had to go to a different place for that), re-program it from Chinese to English, get it all set up, and whatever else you have to do and by 6:00 we were back in a cab with a brand new twice as powerful Acer, the old hard drive which was intact, and memories of some new friends. The true miracle is that I have got it up and running without Eric to help me! And as you can see, I am now able to post pictures and can even post some makeshift captions! So here are some pictures of the Oriental and now I'm going to post some more pictures while I can.

More Pictures

Buddha in Residential Neighborhood
Floating Market Bangkok
Starlet in Chinatown

The Grand Palace with Royalty

RB from the Bottom of his Feet

Reclining Buddha

Our Second Day in Bangkok

Our second day in Bangkok with Bee and our driver was an action packed day. We left the hotel early and drove about 80 km to the largest floating market in Thailand. When we arrived we got into another canal boat and motored at a leisurely speed through another residential canal similar to the one described from yesterday. Out of nowhere appeared a very large white Buddha, just a little neighborhood icon for the locals to revere. Some very nice homes all with spirit houses are along this canal and it took about ten minutes or so to reach the floating market.

For some reason, we didn’t stop at any of the stops along the river but went instead to a large shopping complex on the water where there were vendors galore selling everything from straw bags to large rugs to metalware of all kinds, clothing of every description (mostly cheap) and lots of corny souvenirs. The bargaining was fun though and Mary and I came away with a few goodies.

The most interesting thing about the market was the mile after mile of shops and stores right on the water. (Well, it seemed like mile after mile, but it was probably much less than that). I’ve always thought of floating markets as a bunch of boats floating and selling their wares and there was a little of that, but here most of the commercial activity was stationary but right at the edge of the water. People would come up in their boats to buy the goods and there was a lot of trading going on. It is quite fascinating to watch yet another way humankind has invented to make a living. So much of the same thing is being sold from one shop to the next you wonder how they manage, but Bee said they survive so they must sell something. I suspect the camaraderie is just as important or more important than the sales, because the talking and gesturing and backslapping and handshaking and smiling and laughing that goes on is clear evidence of that. In my opinion, we didn’t spend enough time at the floating market, but we had to leave because other amusements were waiting back in Bangkok. So after a while, back into the boat we piled and headed back to the embarkation point for the ride back to the city.

Back in Bangkok, we headed for the Jim Thompson house, the former home of an American ex-pat in Bangkok who single-handedly revived and rebuilt the silk industry in Thailand during the 1950’s. He became very rich and highly revered by the Thais for his efforts on their behalf, but on a trip to Cambodia in 1963 with a friend, he went out for a morning walk and never returned. No one has ever found out what became of him but there is endless speculation including that he was captured by head hunters in the jungle and that he was an undercover CIA agent and disappeared of his own free will. His house is now on the tourist circuit because it is an especially fine example of Thai architecture and design and filled with wonderful antiques and authentic furnishings from that era. It is made entirely of teak and is comprised of three separate smaller houses joined together by passageways. Quite beautiful. Hot, though. I don’t know how he stood it without AC. Since our last visit, they have added an air-conditioned restaurant where we had lunch before touring the house.

After our visit with Jim, we drove to Chinatown, a fascinating section of the city which Mary and I did not see on our first trip. We walked the streets and alleys with Bee at the lead for a couple of hours fascinated by the brilliantly lit gold shops, the street-side food vendors, the Chinese banners that span the streets, the tiny shops barely wide enough for one person to enter, and things not only visual but sensual—like the sounds of traffic and music, the smells of dried fish and Chinese herbs, chestnuts literally roasting on an open fire, a profusion of tiny fried quail’s eggs, and a young woman in a white halter dress with red polka dots, red floppy hat and white go-go boots surrounded by cameras, obviously a starlet or model of some repute. We took her picture too and she turned and smiled fetchingly enjoying the foreign attention.

I had brought some Chinese cough drops from our favorite Asian market in Dallas and given a few to Neil who had a bit of a sore throat. He liked them and while we were in Chinatown he opined that maybe we could purchase something similar so that we would have an ample supply. Bee took the empty package and showed them to a shopkeeper who immediately produced the exact same brand! Dr. Chang’s throat lozenges or some such name, but he must be a famous guy to have made it all the way to Dallas. In retrospect, I wish I had bought a few packs myself because I think they were a lot cheaper. It’s becoming a very small world.

We returned to Paradise, aka the Oriental Hotel, in time to get cleaned up and descend to the dock for our dinner cruise aboard the Menhora, the same boat we girls had taken three years ago and remembered so fondly. Mary and I had gone to the concierge the day before to make the reservation and the concierge had said that that particular dinner cruise involved taking another boat to another pier but if we took the Oriental dinner cruise (for about $10 more), we would be picked up right at our own private pier. No, we said, we wanted the Menhora, because we had done it before and loved it. Is your cruise the same, we asked. Exactly the same, she said, same boat, same food. The only difference is that the boat picks up at the Oriental instead of someplace else. So we happily paid the little extra money for the convenience of being picked up at “home.” Well, there was one small difference as it turned out. The boat was indeed the same, but the food was served buffet style, with the buffet table taking up the entire center of the main deck. tThat left only the periphery for the tables where we were seated, and oh by the way the food was cold and lousy, the atmosphere was hectic what with everyone having to get up to get their food, and the bottom line was we were very disappointed. To add insult to injury, the real Menhora sailed right by us with a smallish group, table service with uniformed waiters and open bar at the end of the deck in full evidence. Mary and I were furious. So the next morning we headed for the manager’s office and after a polite but forceful harangue, a highly chagrined and endlessly apologetic day manager refunded half our money but not our wounded pride for not having delivered the promised experience to our beloveds.

The truth is, the cruise was still lovely—the boat beautiful, tables decked with the finest silver and linen, good wine in silver buckets, the same uniformed waiters, etc. and of course it was the same fabulous river with all of its magical lights and river traffic, etc., but it WASN’T THE SAME! I guess the lesson learned is that you can never really go back and that nothing is ever really the same.

Sitting in Bhutan but Writing about Bangkok.

Today is April 7, our last night in Bhutan. I have mountains of material about this fascinating country, but I haven't told you anything about our stay in Bangkok which remains one of my favorite cities. Here in Bhutan we haven't had access to the internet until today where we are spending our last night in a most interesting hotel called Zhiwa Ling in Paro. This is a change from where we were booked but more about that later. As usual, posting pictures is difficult because the connection is so slow and sometimes just before it loads it screams ERROR at you and you have to start over, so I'm going to post what I have and try pictures later or maybe tomorrow when we are back in Bangkok for one last night before flying to Beijing.

After Chiang Mai, we flew back to Bangkok. Our stay in Bangkok was enhanced in several ways. First, by our guide, Bee, a young woman with a terrific sense of humor, great command of the language, and a lot of sensitivity to our needs. Her father named her Bee for the first letter of his BMW. She has a younger brother, Em, but thankfully the parents didn’t have a third child who would have been stuck with the name DoubleYoo.

Second, we stayed at the Oriental Hotel. Now people, if you ever come to Bangkok, do not stay anywhere else. Of course, it is well known as one of the best hotels in the world, but we have stayed in a few others with such reputation and seldom have they lived up to the hype. The Oriental is exquisite in every way. Mary and I had stayed with our group of ladies at the Sheraton three years ago and we loved that, but the Oriental is light years above any place I’ve ever been. The view from our room was straight down the Chao Praya and one could do nothing but watch the river activity all day long and be happy. The room itself was perfect, and mind you, this was not a suite, just one of their standard rooms. It had an internet setup with printer, fax, secretarial supplies and even magic markers (!), a bathroom where the lighting permitted you to actually see yourself in the mirrors, and the bed was one you didn’t want to get out of. Unfortunately, to catch our 6:00 AM flight on the morning we left for Bhutan, we had to arise at 2 AM, probably a world’s record for early rising. There is a butler on every floor and if you ring for yours, they are ringing your bell within seconds with ice or whatever you need. Fresh flowers and fresh fruit daily in the room, fresh towels in abundance, plenty of room to put your stuff, and the décor is, as the brochure says, “elegant but not stuffy.” The lobby is one of the prettiest I’ve ever seen, and the service impeccable. Tom is so spoiled he is insisting I bow to him at home and greet him at the door with hot compresses. Dream on, sez I. This was our big splurge and it was well worth it.

Bangkok is a fabulous, modern, vibrant city with one major drawback. It is hotter than the hinges of hell. It had been quite warm in Chiang Mai as well, but we’re talking Dallas mid-August sweltering in Bangkok, well over 100. I remember visiting the Grand Palace with the ladies on our first trip and having to be covered from head to toe with long sleeves, long pants and even no backless shoes. But they’ve relaxed the rules a little and sandals, sleeveless tops and skirts are now allowed. So we thank God for small favors. Just as we had the first time, we took a boat down the Chao Praya to the Grand Palace so the breeze made the heat less oppressive. It was very crowded in spite of getting a really early start, but I must say it was every bit as impressive as the first time I saw it. Bee was most informative and she would find us a spot of shade while she explained some fascinating tidbit or another. The sheer amount of gold is dazzling, and every inch is encrusted with mosaic or glass or in a few cases rare jewels. The Emerald Buddha is still there I’m happy to report, and he is made of jade, not emeralds.

On our first trip to Bangkok, a few of the ladies went on their own to see the Reclining Buddha, a famous local attraction, but for some reason Mary and I opted not to go. We both have always regretted it. This time, RB was on our agenda and we finally got to see him. Forty-five meters (that’s about 135 feet long) and 15 meters high, he is housed in a rather compact temple with just enough room for his substantial length and for the sight-seers and worshippers to walk around him. There are large square pillars every 20 feet or so and a fence between the pillars, so you can’t see him all at once—just vignettes of the various parts of him. For example, when you enter you can see his enormous smiling face propped on his hand, arm akimbo to support his body resting on its side. As you move down his length, you can see the folds of his robe and the curve of his legs beneath and of course the entire statue is in dazzling gold. When you get to his feet you can turn and walk up the other side, but don’t miss the bottoms of his feet—they are inlaid with mother of pearl and marble (I think) in a most intricate design and with all ten of his toes complete with exaggerated toe prints. His head is covered in tiny (scale-wise) ringlets and his earlobes are very long, to indicate his Buddha-hood. He is a most impressive sight.

After we visited the Grand Palace and the Reclining Buddha, we went by water taxi back up the river and had lunch at a seafood restaurant right on the water where again the fascination of the river activity is the main attraction. After lunch, we took a longboat into the clongs or canals which run snake-like in all directions off the main river. A longboat is like a cigarette boat, long, narrow and VERY low-slung and difficult to get into but after we were situated it was easy to maneuver (for the boatman, not us) into the more shallow and narrow arms off the river. We saw how Bangkokians live, both rich and poor, with their homes built right on the water. Some were luxury homes with palm trees, elegant patios and wrought iron gates, others were more middle class looking, and still others were quite poor looking, but almost every house was festooned with flowers, hanging baskets and plants. Spirit houses (small personal temples) are in front of many of the homes, small stores interspersed among the homes, and of course every so often a temple appears right in the middle of this water residential area.

Our next day in Bangkok was action packed so I'll put it in a separate blog.

Note: I have tried for the past hour to post pictures, first five at a time (no can do), three at a time (no can do) and then just one, and even it would not post. I know it has something to do with the very slow connection, but now I'm concerned I won't be able to post this blog! So I'm going to try right now and worry about pix tomorrow. So sorry, I know my prose needs pictures, but I gotta work with what I got. Love to all from the backwoods of Bhutan!

The Elephant Camp

This blog is for my Grandchildren.

Dearest Avery, Michael, Cassidy, Jessica, Savannah, Maile, Dylan, Hunter, Holland, Ella, McKenna and Caroline, I miss you all but especially so when we visited a very special place in Northern Thailand. Check on your globes where that is so you can picture what I am about to tell you.

Two days ago Granddaddy and I and our two friends were picked up at our hotel in Chiang Mai in Northern Thailand and driven by van to a place about one hour away. We were on our way to an elephant camp. We left the city behind and before long we were in the Thai countryside with flowers blooming everywhere and Buddhist temples scattered along the road. When we reached our destination, we got out of the van next to the Ping River and crossed a very rickety bridge that shook and trembled with our every step. Our guide, Ruchi, had said C’mon let’s go, but immediately was way ahead of us and after a minute or so of inching slowly along the bridge while holding on to the ropes on both sides, I figured out that if you walk faster, it is easier to keep your balance. So by the time we reached the other side of the bridge, we were balancing quite well. At the exit of the bridge there was a sign that said “No more than 12 people can be on the bridge at one time.” I looked behind me and at least 25 or 30 people were walking single file all on the bridge at once. But the bridge did not collapse, happily for us.

We were in a true jungle. There were about eight elephants knee deep in the water and as we walked further in, there were more in an large enclosed pen. A small stand was selling bananas and sugar cane for feeding to the elephants so we bought some and hand-fed them. They would grasp the sugar cane with the tip of their trunks and plop it into their mouths with one fluid sweep. I noticed another sign that said “When feeding the bananas, please give one bunch or half at a time. This keeps the elephants from losing patience.” We thought that was pretty funny but we didn’t want to find out what would happen if an elephant lost patience, so we stuck with the sugar cane.

I learned something interesting at that moment. Ruchi told us that Asian elephants (with the smaller ears) have a lip on the bottom side of their trunk tip so that they can grab hold of something just like you would with your hand. African elephants (with the big ears) don’t have that lip so it must be harder for them to pick things up. Imagine having to pick something up if you didn’t have a thumb. These Asian elephants were able to grasp things with amazing precision.

After we fed them for a while, the trainers signaled for the elephants and immediately the elephants knew what was coming. A bath in the river! Elephant handlers or trainers are called mahouts and maybe some of you have heard that word before. Each mahout has his own elephant and they usually start out together very young. So the young mahout (maybe 12 or 14 years old) is assigned a baby elephant (I think about three years old because they are with their mothers until then) and then as the years go by they grow up together. The ideal situation is for them to grow old together, but usually the elephants live longer than the people and so more likely an elephant will have several mahouts in his or her lifetime. Ruchi told us that when a mahout gets married, his wife understands that the elephant will always occupy a more important place in the mahout’s life than she will.

The mahouts jumped onto their elephants and they walked one at a time into the river where the mahouts scrubbed them with big stiff brushes while they sprayed water at each other and at the mahouts, and some of them lay down in the water and put their legs in the air. And some of them just sat down and sat there enjoying their bath. And you know, because you’ve all seen elephants, that they smile just like people do, especially when they are happy. I’ll only be able to show you a couple of pictures of this happy scene, but I have lots of pictures and will show you all of them when we get home.

Then we moved on to a performance area where we took a seat with just a few other people and pretty soon about ten elephants with their mahouts paraded out onto the grounds. Don’t forget that this is not like going to the circus at Reunion Arena. This was in the jungle and the seats were very simple and the grounds just bare dirt. The elephants gave a demonstration of how they help their masters by doing very heavy work that men alone aren’t strong enough to do. First, each elephant would drag a large log (a whole tree really) from one side of the space to the middle. Each elephant did this until they had a pile of logs which they then proceded to place in a big pile just like Lincoln Logs! The amazing thing was that two or three elephants would pick up one log by placing their tusks under the log and then holding it with their trunks and walking with it to the place where the pile was to be. Sometimes, instead of the log falling onto the pile nice and straight, a log would end up catty-wampus or on an angle. No problem. There was another elephant at the end of the pile whose job it was to push the errant log into its proper place. At the end, the pile of logs was as neat as it could be. All the time I was wishing you all were there because you would have loved it. And the elephants were smiling and waving their trunks in the air.

Then they demonstrated how they raise one leg so the mahout can have a step to step on for getting on top of their backs. Or they would put a back leg up so the mahout could stand on it to get down. But the best part was the elephant painting. The mahouts set up an easel and the most talented of the painting elephants took some paint brushes and painted a real painting, choosing the colors and the brush and making the brush strokes with its trunk. Ruchi said they have been known to actually paint flowers! The paintings were for sale but we never did have an opportunity to buy one. Look up elephant paintings Chiang Mai on the internet and see what you find.

Then it was time for our elephant ride. We climbed up some steps so that we wouldn’t have to climb the elephant and stepped into a howdah which is the little two-seater car that is strapped to the elephant’s back and off we went. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was a lot harder than I thought it would be to hold on and keep my balance. I kept thinking I was going to fall out of the howdah. That would have been so embarrassing! The first thing they did was go downhill and that’s the hardest part. After they leveled off it was a piece of cake.

Pretty soon we were old pros and a group of about 15 elephants each with its mahout and two of us greenhorns were lumbering through the jungle, sometimes on very narrow passageways and sometimes uphill or downhill. As I said, downhill is the hardest because you think you are going to be thrown forward, but we weren’t. Finally, we got to the river and the elephants walked through the water back to the camp. The whole thing took about an hour. We looked for gibbons (large monkeys) along the way but we didn’t see any.

The end of our visit to the elephant camp was a ride on a large bamboo raft down the river. The raft was propelled by a rower with one pole and we each had a turn at poling down the river. It’s not so easy because you have to stand up and move the pole from one side to the other just like on a canoe but it’s much wider and the bamboo slats are very uneven. I only tried for a minute or two, but Granddaddy was a pro in no time! It was a long ride, at least another hour, and we had time to reflect and be lazy and wonder at how beautiful the graceful beasts are and how much like humans they seem. While I was floating down the river, I imagined the following story.

About a thousand years ago, in an ancient Thai village, when the elephants roamed free and life was even more simple than the life I just described, there was a very kind and benevolent king, King Michael, who was the ruler of that part of the jungle. His people loved him very much because he took care of them and was careful to be sure they always had enough to eat and work to do building grass huts and growing crops. The animals in the jungle loved him too and the elephants and the gibbons and the beautiful colored birds would all flock to the village to be near him. King Michael had three beautiful daughters, the Princess Avery, the Crown Princess Jessica, and her Royal Highness the Princess Cassidy. Because the elephants were always there visiting and had nothing else to do, the princesses would ride all day on their backs across the river and up and down the jungle paths.

Eventually, His Majesty decided that since the elephants were spending so much time in the village, they could help the villagers cut down trees and carry logs so that the villagers could build log houses instead of grass huts. And in return he would be sure they had plenty of bananas and sugar cane to eat. But the elephants didn’t know how to do the work. So King Michael appointed three villagers, Br’er Dylan, Br’er Hunter and Br’er Holland, to be mahouts to train the elephants to work. Pretty soon the three mahout chiefs had recruited lots of other junior mahouts in the village to help and in time they taught the elephants how to carry the logs from the deepest parts of the jungle to the village. And then they taught them how to stack the logs to build houses that were much more sturdy than the grass and thatch huts that the villagers were used to living in. The three princesses were a little annoyed, because now the elephants didn’t have as much time to play as before.

As time passed, the village grew more prosperous and people from neighboring villages wanted to come there to live. Three lovely maidens from a nearby community came with their parents to reside in the now prosperous village. Their names were Savannah, Maile and Ella. They were not princesses like Avery, Cassidy and Jessica—they were only poor children whose parents were peasant farmers. When they arrived at the village, they wanted to help their parents build their new house and so they asked the young mahouts to show them how to direct the elephants.

Dylan helped Maile, Hunter helped Ella, and Holland helped Savannah and before long they were having a lot of fun riding the elephants while the elephants pulled the logs. They even taught the elephants how to pick up babies with their trunks and carry them gently to the river’s edge for a bath. Maile and Ella had a baby sister named Caroline and Savannah had a little sister named McKenna and the babies loved to be lulled to sleep cradled in an elephant’s trunk while Maile, Savannah and Ella kept a protective watch over them.

One day the three princesses were riding on a raft down the river while a boatman poled them over rapids and through eddies and another servant fanned them with banana leaves. Maile and Savannah were on the shore directing their elephants when they noticed the princesses sweltering in the summer heat in the middle of the river. Hello! they cried. Come over here and help us cut logs for houses, they called. The princesses were shocked! They didn’t do the work of mahouts, they thought, and so they continued down the river. Finally, Avery sat up on the raft and said to the others, “This is really boring—riding back and forth on the river, but if we help those girls we will get to ride the elephants just like we used to and we can have fun again.”

The others were not convinced, but after some discussion, they decided to give it a try. They were princesses, after all, so it wouldn’t do to just pitch in and work like common ordinary villagers. They would watch for a while and then maybe if they felt like it…

So they ordered the boatman to pole to shore and let them off of the raft. After disembarking, they stood and watched while the villagers and the elephants worked.

Br’er Dylan, who had recently been promoted to chief mahout, said to Her Royal Highness, the Princess Cassidy, “Ma’am, if you’ll just jump up on this elephant and help her pull her log, I’ll be able to go into the forest and cut down another tree.” HRH was quite indignant, but what could she do, so she did as he instructed. Then Princesses Avery and Jessica were instructed to do the same. At first, they couldn’t quite get the hang of it, but Dylan, Hunter and Holland, and Maile, Savannah and Ella were laughing and joking and making a game out of what the princesses had thought of as work. And with the help and gentle instruction of the mahouts and the girls, the princesses began to get the hang of it. So pretty soon they were all talking and laughing and working and the time was flying by.

Just then King Michael happened by in his royal coach and saw all the children working together and the elephants behaving like well-oiled machines and he was puzzled. Are those my daughters working with the peasants and the mahouts, he thought. My goodness, they are my daughters and they are having so much fun! I have never seen them laughing so hard. Because he was such a wise king, he quietly moved away and did not intervene or interrupt the progress of the work.

At the end of the day, the girls and the mahouts took their elephants to the river’s edge where they allowed the elephants to bathe in the river and wash away the day’s grime and the aches of the long haul. The mahouts showed the princesses how to take grass brooms and sweep the dirt off the elephants’ backs while at the same time giving them a gentle massage. The children bathed in the river as well, and they felt refreshed and cool.

When it was finally time to go home for the evening, the three princesses looked with wonder at their new friends. Princess Jessica said, “I must say I never knew it could be so much fun doing so much work!” Princess Avery and Princess Cassidy agreed. Savannah smiled and said, “Having something important to do is the most fun one can have.” Maile came forward and said, “And if your work is helping other people it is even more fun.” And Ella, the youngest of the three, said, “And if you are having fun, you will do your job well, and doing a job well is the best fun of all.”

The years passed and the village grew and King Michael had descendants that carried on his tradition of love and kindness and the children in this story grew older and married and taught their children how to work and the village grew and grew and today it is called Bangkok, the capital of Thailand, and sits on the banks of the mighty Chao Phraya River where the elephants once roamed.

Good night my babies, I love you all, love, Grandmommy

Oh My! Chiang Mai

Friday, March 30: We are on the airplane going back to Bangkok after our three night stay in northern Thailand. We considered not going at all because while on the Ginger we heard several horror stories about the air pollution in the whole Chiang Mai area as a result of some out of control fires. We had heard that the pollution index was over 300 where a safe level is 59 and 200 is considered dangerous. They said it was so bad you could see the particles in the air and they got into your eyes and mouth, not to mention that you couldn’t see any of the sights and that it was getting worse instead of better because of lack of rain or wind. We thought maybe as an alternative we could stay in Hanoi a bit longer or even fly to Singapore for a few days. But as you can imagine, changing our itinerary at such a late date would not be easy. So in the car on the way back to Hanoi, we used our trusty cell phone and called our connection in Bangkok to get the scoop. I was appointed spokesperson, and believe me you never know how much they understand not to mention the poor quality connection, but I spoke to “Kiki” who said she hadn’t heard any such thing but she promised to check and call us back. I told her we were all around 70 years old and we couldn’t risk the health problems we would be exposed to with such bad air. Two hours later, we were almost to Hanoi and still no call back so we called again. Kiki said she called their office in Chiang Mai and they said the air was no problem, military helicopters had sprayed water, the winds had come up and all was well. Of course they are going to tell you that because they don’t want to lose the business or have to deal with a change in plans. But based on her information, we decided to go as planned and hope for the best. We weren’t very optimistic though since even the internet had confirmed the bad air scenario, although that my have been somewhat dated news.

When we got to Chiang Mai, we were met at the airport by cute and bubbly Ruchi, our first female guide. After all the initial introductions had been made and we were loaded into the car with our truckload of luggage, Ruchi said she had to confess how pleasantly surprised she was to see us because she was expecting these old people to emerge from the plane and we were so young! I didn’t explain that I had exaggerated our ages just a wee bit so as to make my point with the agent in Bangkok. Anyway, I guess they understand more than we think we do.

As for the air, it was absolutely no problem. Ruchi said that it had indeed been terrible for a while but it was getting better daily and we would be able to see everything we came to see. You couldn’t see or smell pollution, in fact the city was the cleanest we’ve seen so far with no litter in the streets and in general seems more prosperous than Vietnam and certainly more so than Cambodia. I for one was glad we hadn’t canceled because I definitely wanted to see a bit of northern Thailand. She took us to the hotel, a lovely zen/feng shui compound where we would spend a couple of quiet days.

The next day we toured Chiang Mai, saw a couple of amazing temples, had a lovely lunch in a truly authentic local restaurant with no tourists, walked around the local market for an hour or so and then had an evening dinner and traditional dance performance at an all teak restaurant with hot and cold running participants including a two-manned yak. Oh, I forgot to mention, only Mary and I went to the dinner and dance--the gentlemen were wiped out and took to their beds. Now who is the weaker sex again?

Sailing Along on HaLong Bay

We are back in the van on our return trip to Hanoi having spent the last 24 hours on board the Ginger Junk in Ha Long Bay which is part of the Gulf of Tonkin. I think I mentioned that we had high expectations for this sojourn and we were not disappointed. I was prepared for hot weather, but it was cool and comfortable since there was very little sun. But we were able to see the karsts (limestone pinnacles) with no problem in spite of the haze. In fact, although I have nothing to compare it to, I think I prefer the hazy weather because it makes the water and the karsts look so other-worldly.

We boarded around noon yesterday onto a tender which attaches itself to the junk moored a little ways out in the harbor. I was expecting a sleepy little village but this harbor is very busy with hundreds if not thousands of people milling about and so many boats of all types that one wonders how they will all fit into the bay. We had to descend some treacherous steps to get onto the tender, but made it with Thien’s help and then waited for the others. I could write for hours about the group of 18 that we were ship-mates with but suffice to say it was a most congenial group. They were all American except for a couple of ladies from England and Scotland and while we try to avoid going where the Americans go, I’ll make a big exception in this case. It didn’t take long for us all to become great friends and the variety of people was so interesting. A couple and their darling little boy from Austin but living in Singapore for a few years. He’s with Dell. The English/Scot ladies, widows maybe, were delightful and so interesting. Dierdre, the Scot, volunteers in Sri Lanka as a caretaker in an elephant camp once or twice a year. Then there was the college professor and her husband and sister. The sisters were born in Baltimore, so great rapport there. Two vivacious and lovely ladies traveling sans husbands, one from Columbus, Ohio and one from Rye, NY. They had some great stories to tell. A really nice couple from California that Mary and Neil may see again since they live near their Coronado house.

After we boarded, we were ushered up to the Salon for a brief orientation and description of the vessel and voyage to come. The staff was made up of five or six 90-pound Vietnamese guys, all very sweet and helpful. Then we were shown to our staterooms which were quite lovely considering we were on the high seas—two comfy beds, closet, marble bathroom with shower and big windows looking out on the incredible vista. A quick stowing of gear (must be ship-shape you know) and then up to the upper deck, a spacious expanse of teakwood with comfortable chaise longes and chairs. There we started to get acquainted with the others. Once we were out of the harbor though, the sights began. As you can see from the pictures (which I hope I can post), we sailed among the karsts sometimes so close you felt like you could reach out and touch them. Although I had seen many pictures on the internet, this was another case of you have to be there. The mountains are much larger than they looked like in the pictures and the grandeur is yet another example of the wonders of this earth. To get a sense of the scale, look at the boat against the karsts. I think the guide said there are 3,000 karsts in the bay, some with names but most with only numbers to identify them.

There were two shore excursions while on board, both requiring about a million steps to climb up in order to see the views from all sides. It’s worth the screaming calves, knees and thighs to make the trek. We also went into a huge cave where we could disembark and walk around. One can imagine that centuries ago people lived in these caves to protect themselves from the elements, but it must have been pretty spooky without the electric lights that today light your way.

Mealtime was great fun—gourmet lunch and dinner the first day. The crew had set the tables according to the parties—four seats at a table for us, three for the Singapore couple with child, and two for the other twosomes. But at lunch we pushed the tables together so that we all could sit together and by dinner the crew had picked up on our desires and had arranged the tables the same way. We were in bed by ten so as not to miss tai chi at 7:00 AM.

The next morning, after tai chi (you can see the tai chi “master” but I have spared you the pitiful attempts of our group to follow him), we had another shore excursion to see some more of the amazing variety of these island pinnacles, after which we were served a lovely lunch buffet and back to the marina by eleven where our faithful guide Thien was waiting. This is a must do for anyone visiting Vietnam.

Our Second Day in Hanoi

Sunday, March 25: We left the Metropole again this morning for the three hour van ride to Ha Long Bay for the much anticipated overnight on the Chinese junk called the Ginger. Unlike the Victoria Express, the Ginger gets great press and the people we’ve run into who have been on it have all raved. Gourmet food and wine, lovely teak staterooms and of course the breathtaking scenery makes this one of the highlights of our trip. I wrote the previous train saga on the first part of our morning ride and now I still have an hour or so to tell you about our second day in Hanoi.

Around ten yesterday morning, we had re-organized our luggage for today’s trip to a warmer clime, again planning to store the larger bags until our return. We decided we would hire pedi-cabs again, but held out little hope of our same crew being available.

But lo and behold when we emerged from the hotel, there they were smiling and waving. It was like old home week. We indicated that we would be engaging their services for the better part of the day and that elicited bows and beaming faces. I climbed into the same cyclo as before and we headed for the Hanoi Hilton. I had seen the War Museum in Ho Chi Minh City on the last trip and could have skipped this replay, but the others wanted to go so we went. It was grim, though not as grim as the War Museum which is only about the Vietnam War and the atrocities that occurred then. This place, dubbed the Hanoi Hilton by the GIs, had already been a prison for more than a century and there were graphic descriptions of the horrible conditions and torture that the prisoners received at the hands of their Chinese and then French captors. Only one small part was devoted to the American War and there were pictures of our soldiers before, during and after their detainment, a young and handsome John McCain among them. Talk about propaganda! The information on the walls went on and on about how well the Americans were treated compared to the previous occupants of the prison, how they received special clothing and food, warm blankets and even playing cards and other entertainments. The faces in the pictures told the true story, though, and a prisoner of war is still a prisoner of war. In the other parts of the prison there were life-size re-enactments of people with ankles shackled to their cots unable to move and of the guillotine and other instruments of torture, some of which were not described but the images conjured up were bad enough. In the American area, no talk about torture or death, just what a picnic it was for our guys. Although it is called the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, the Communists still have their hold on the country and they tell you what they want you to know, true or not.

Afterwards, our drivers took us to the Cathedral where Mary and I remembered having been dropped before for our foray into the Old Quarter with its maze of shops and restaurants and of course the usual street scene of cooking, trading, commerce and god knows what else. We had lunch at a seafood restaurant where I ordered oysters with cheese (to the horror of my mates) and the waitress said you want one? Yes I said thinking she meant one order, but she brought me one oyster. It was a normal sized oyster on a huge shell with a tiny egg, maybe a quail’s egg, and some lovely cheese sauce. I know it sounds hideous, but it was so delicious I ordered four more. With the corn and crab soup as a starter it was enough. Neil is even more adventuresome than I am and tried to order the swimming (or streaming) bladder and cockles soup but the waitress gestured that he wouldn’t like it so he switched to something a little more conventional.

After lunch, we walked the street for a little while but it was clear that Mary and I had to ditch the guys in order to do some uninhibited shopping. So we sent them off with their drivers to a temple and then to the hotel for a nap while we roamed the shops of the Old Quarter with our drivers hovering nearby. I spotted a very interesting parchment type wall panel in one of the shops with some lovely old painting and Chinese writing and quite frayed around the edges. Would have bought it in a minute but didn’t think it would survive the suitcases. How much, sez I? $39 says the clerk. Is it old? Yes, very old, she says. How old? Sixteenth century she says. Now that was a buy. $39 for a four hundred year old antique maybe from the Ming Dynasty. Too bad we had to pass it up. I think this was on the same level as the “genuine fake” handbags we picked up in Bangkok on the last trip. Or the 100% plastic pearls we’ve been warned about by our guides. It looked good though, and we are not purists.

We made it back to the hotel with barely time to post a blog and change for dinner at a lovely and authentic Vietnamese restaurant called Lac Viet, which we learned was the ancient name for Viet Nam. The restaurant is housed in a beautiful old building that is open to the elements in certain areas, with three or four stories, each room with a different theme indicated by the paintings on the walls: the Library, the Ai Dao room (the traditional long dresses worn by the women), The Days Past room and a few others. The extensive menu made of wood and parchment paper was mind boggling so we asked the waiter to bring us whatever he thought we would like and we loved it all. We had farmer’s roasted pigeon, chicken in a clay pot, and morning glory with pork (a lovely green vegetable that none of us had ever tried before), as well as some wonderful appetizers. Perish the thought that we should go to bed hungry.

The Train to SaPa

We have met the enemy and it is called the Victoria Express train. It’s after the fact by a couple of days now and the vivid memories are fading, but I can’t miss the opportunity to tell you about the overnight train from Hanoi to SaPa. In retrospect, it doesn’t seem so bad, but at the time it was something to be dreaded and endured and definitely not savored. To drive by car to SaPa from Hanoi takes about twelve hours over some bumpy terrain, too much wasted time, so everyone takes this train which leaves around ten and arrives at six in the morning. It had been described as an Asian Orient Express, provided you travel in the “soft sleeper” car and not in the hard seat or hard sleeper cars. Only those staying at the Victoria Hotel in Sapa are permitted to buy tickets on the first class soft sleeper so the aura of mystery is enhanced and the air of exclusivity preserved.

At first, when we were planning the trip, there were no separate cabins available and the four of us had agreed to stay in one cabin for four, but after a little internet research I determined that was not in our best interests and so we prevailed upon our agent to apply a little pressure and sure enough we were able to reserve two cabins in the “deluxe” car. Thank you, Lord, for the alternative would not have been possible.

Thien picked us up at 9:00 PM and we were whisked to the nearby train station where we had to schlep over several sets of tracks and down long expanses of station before arriving at our car. Luckily we had stored our major luggage at the Metropole and only had carry-ons. Thien accompanied us to our cabins and then took his leave. I think he slept in the fourth class car, i.e., sitting up on hard wooden seats, so by comparison we were in the lap of luxury.

Let me describe the lap of luxury. Two narrow bunks on either side of a small cabin with pillow and blanket on each. The cleanliness of the bedding was questionable but I must admit it didn’t smell so they must wash it between passengers. In between the bunks was a small table with trash bin and a vase of fresh roses (a little perfume on the pig?), and no place to sit up for reading or writing. Community toilet and sink at both ends of the car, basic but usable. No putting on jammies or brushing teeth—too difficult. For Tom and I the bunks were barely long enough, but poor Neil was literally squished into the space with no wiggle room. Sometimes there are advantages to being short.

So we went to bed. Now let me preface the next part by saying I’ve only been on a sleeper car once or maybe twice in my life and I remember being lulled off to sleep by the gentle movement of the train and the soft drone of the engines. Not so the Victoria Express. Promptly at 10 we lurched out of the station and within five minutes the banging started. All night with only intermittent breaks it sounded like a machine gun volley or perhaps like the grand finale of the July fourth fireworks display at Beaver Creek. We still have no idea what it was but it continued unabatedly all night, sometimes with loud pops and sometimes just a continuous staccato. And the lurching didn’t stop either. For an “express” train it sure made a lot of stops along the way, with each start-up practically hurling me to the floor. So much for gentle movement. Of course Tom, as always, slept through the whole thing.

So it was that bleary-eyed and groggy we pulled into Lao Cai station and began the hour’s drive to Sa Pa and the rest of our stay there was glorious.

But alas, it was necessary to return to Hanoi and repeat the whole experience. I guess better the devil you know holds true here because somehow the return trip wasn’t as bad. The banging continued but maybe I had acclimated because I actually slept a little bit. We arrived in Hanoi at five A.M. and with early check-in we were back in our rooms by six, the train having been survived if not enjoyed.

But enough of this whining. We are such spoiled brats. In retrospect, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.