goodbye world, hello reality

I’m returning to Caqalai on a Friday afternoon, in time for one last weekend of relaxed island living at its best: perfect sunshine during the day, starry skies at night, Fijian lovo for lunch on Sunday and some great dives to conclude my divemaster internship. 

on the boat with the Suva crowd, after diving the Outer Reef

Time flies, unfortunately - before I know it I have said goodbye to Sharon, Gary & Amanda and the Caqalai staff, packed up my tent and loaded my backpack onto the boat that’s heading to the mainland. 

goodbye Caqalai - it's been a good month

 Once back on Viti Levu I make my way to Pacific Harbor, a small resort town on the Coral Coast halfway between Suva and Nadi. Pacific Harbor serves as the home base for two dive operators that offer Fiji’s famous shark dive; I spend the night at  Uprising, a “flashpacker” resort (which is new and clean, but doesn’t appeal to me at all), then join Aquatrek the next morning to go shark diving.  

Upon reporting to the dive shop I am given a black hood to cover my blond hair and I am relieved of my yellow fins - apparently yellow tends to attract bull and tiger sharks - before signing my life away and getting on the boat. Our group consists of a four person camera crew filming some documentary and a number of Californian tourists; not my favorite mix, but the diving itself is amazing nonetheless.  No tiger shark graces us with a visit, but we get to see the feeding of plenty of bull sharks, nurse sharks, lemon sharks and all sorts of reefsharks plus a plethora of other fish including a truly massive giant grouper.   

moving in for the kill

After two dives and having patted both a nurse shark and a bull shark I’m back on the boat, shivering from the cold water and exhilarated while sad to have finished my last dive for now. 

I still have two more nights on Viti Levu before flying out and decide to leave Uprising’s sterility behind in order to move on to the Beachouse, another backpackers’ resort on the way to Nadi.   As soon as I get there I know that I’ve made the right call: the Beachouse isn’t as new as Uprising, but it is impossibly charming.  

the Beachouse - a little piece of paradise

last day, morning ride

I spend my last 36 hours of paradise relaxing in the sun, reflecting upon my four months’ worth of traveling and preparing myself to re-enter the real world.  I am not sure if I am quite ready for the trip to be over… but all good things must come to an end, and at least I know that the journey I am about to embark on in Boston is going to be an adventurous one as well.  

last beach, last sunset - goodbye Fiji

This is where I say goodbye; some of my ~4000 pictures will be up on the web in one form or another soon, and I’ll put links on Twitter and Facebook; this travel blog, though, is done - thanks for having stayed with me all the way to here.  If you read this, I’ll probably see you soon: either in Germany or somewhere on the East Coast.  Looking forward!

[PS: I'm planning to have my primary blog up and running again within the next four weeks.] 

barefoot living: one month in Fiji

The flight from Auckland to Fiji is a short one.  Having spent three weeks in cold wintry New Zealand I am thoroughly excited about the prospect of living on the beach for a month.  My plan is to transfer to Caqalai (pronounced Thangalai), a 14 acre island an hour off the coast of the mainland, to pitch my newly acquired tent on the beach and complete my divemaster course.

my island refuge: Caqalai

Due to irregular bus and boat schedules I have to spend one night in Nadi and another one in Suva but on Friday July 3 I finally arrive on Caqalai which has capacity for roughly forty guests; at low tide it’s possible to walk around the island in less than twenty minutes. Other than basic accommodation, the dive shop and a few hammocks on the beach there’s not much there – exactly what I wanted.

island living

Caqalai at night

I pitch my tent right on the beach at the southeast corner of the island, nicely positioned for both sunrise and sunset.  Even though the waves wake me up in the first night (the high tide mark ends up about a meter from my tent) I eventually get used to my beaachfront property and settle into a rhythm that consist of nothing but diving, reading, eating and sleeping.

sunrise from my tent

a special treat: meke on Caqalai

The days blend together.  Unfortunately we get rained on more often than not; and even though the diving is fun and I have plenty of books to keep me entertained, the quest for sunshine makes me escape from Caqalai after three weeks on the island.  When Gary and Amanda, an Australian couple spending two month on Caqalai, decide to pack up their three kids and go on an four day excursion to the mainland’s sunniest spot I spontaneously tag along.

Mai with Jack, Amanda & Gary's youngest

After one aborted attempt to leave the island (because of strong winds the waves are too choppy for the boat to make it – we tried) we finally leave Caqalai a day later than planned and make our way to Volivoli at the northernmost tip of Viti Levu, Fiji’s main island.  For two days I get to indulge in luxuries that are out of reach on Caqalai: hot water, proper bathrooms, internet access, alcohol, food made to order, a pool – and: hot, sunny weather.

soaking up the sun in Volivoli

I’m enjoying every moment of my mini-vacation from vacation.  Unfortunately I have to leave after only two nights because I need to report back to Caqalai to assist Sharon (the dive instructor) with one last open water course in order to finish my divemaster training.  At this point I have less than one week left until I have to leave Fiji to start the long way home…

back to my tent on Caqalai

back in Auckland: NZ full circle

The ferry crossing from Wellington to the South Island is rough indeed.  It takes three hours, and thanks to poor weather we are faced not only with a two hour delay but also with 5-10 meter high waves.  I can’t remember the last time I got seasick but I sure get close to it on the ferry.  There is plenty of throwing up all around me and I’m feeling more than a little queasy, but thankfully manage to keep my lunch down.  It’s a relief when we enter the calmer waters of the Queen Charlotte Sound, and an even bigger relief to see that apparently I did not forget to set the handbrake after all: my van and the cars around it are in good shape.

By the time we get off the ferry it’s dark; my only ambition for the evening is to find a quiet rest area where I can park for the night.  I find a perfect one, secluded and on a lake, en route to Abel Tasman where I plan to spend the next day.

night sky over the South Island

When I wake up in the morning, however, the weather is awful and the roads are icy.  So instead of heading west towards Abel Tasman I return to Picton and then make my way south towards Christchurch, Mount Cook, Queenstown and Milford Sound. I am rewarded by a beautiful drive through wine country central and along the coast, as well as blue skies further south.

black sand beach on the way to Kaikoura

lazy seal

By now I’ve established a pleasant rhythm: I get up moderately early, spend the daylight hours driving around and taking pictures, park when it gets dark and curl up with my Kindle and iPod for an hour or two before falling asleep.

reflections

After three days of driving I reach Milford Sound just as the sun is setting.  I stay for two nights, and even though it is too cold for me to be motivated to explore Fjordland on foot I thoroughly enjoy a half day cruise through the sound and the underwater observatory, a 30ft deep structure which is a comfortable alternative to diving in 16 degree water.  We see plenty of seals and bottlenose dolphins, and I finally come across my first Kiwi birds in the wild – not during the cruise, but in the parking lot of the cruise terminal.

Milford Sound, Mitre Peak at sundown

Kiwi!

bottlenose dolphins accompanying the boat

Milford Sound

Fjordland from below

Two days later I’m on the road again.  I slowly make my way back up north, arriving back at the Cook Strait ferry after a few days with a fine collection of impressions and pictures from the South Island.

leaving Milford Sound, roadside icycles

breakfast on the beach

Otago coast, Moeraki boulders

on the ferry back to Wellington - goodbye South Island

This time the ferry crossing is smooth, and on June 29  – after almost three weeks on the road – I’m back in Auckland.  I have 36 hours in the city, then I’m off to a month in Fiji.  New Zealand is beautiful, but I’m thoroughly looking forward to diving and the beach after the cold!

it’s getting colder… NZ ctd

I’ve timed my stay in Auckland to match the time window that I was assigned to organize my HBS housing online, and thus spend the better part of the morning glued to my laptop.  After reviewing my housing options and balancing my books, though, I’m off to what should be a fantastic day on the bike in the Coromandel Peninsula.  I’m lucky and the weather is holding – I only have to endure two quick showers.   After 300km along the coast and many, many twist and turns (and just about as many smiles) I arrive in Whitianga, a sleepy little harbor town on the east coast of the Coromandel.  I’m sufficiently smitten with my hostel that I decide to give myself a day off and stay for two nights; after all, it doesn’t get much better than paying NZ$ 35 for a single with a view – directly on the beach, sunrise complimentary.

the Coromandel

Whitianga, at Backpackers on the Beach

My plan for day #2 is to check out Cathedral Cove and Hot Water Beach in the morning, then sit on the beach and read for the rest of the day.  When I wake up early – my room is bathed in ruby red thanks to a spectacular sunrise over the beach – it’s freezing, and my motorcycle is covered in frost.  I spend twenty minutes warming up the engine, but despite patience and lots of choke the bike is giving me trouble to the point of the engine stalling out on the road repeatedly.  I grudgingly turn back before reaching Cathedral Cove, leave the bike in the sun for two hours while taking care of some housekeeping items, then start the three hour journey back up to Auckland.  In Auckland I convince the dealership to take the bike back and promptly use the refund I get to upgrade my ride: my new vehicle is purple and green, but it comes with rain protection, heating, and a bed; I’ve officially joined the camper crowd.

sunrise over the beach in Whitianga

Even though I’m not excited about driving a campervan I do enjoy its convenience.  The drive back down to Whitianga is smooth, and the next day I finally make it to Cathedral Cove which is serene and beautiful.  It’s a twenty minute hike from the parking lot to the beach; for a while I’m the only person there.  As I step onto the beach in the morning sun Goethe pops into my mind:  Hier bin ich Mensch, hier darf ich’s sein.

Cathedral Cove

the postcard shot

at peace

After my morning hike I bid farewell to the Coromandel and head south towards Lake Taupo and the Tongariro National Park.   Along the way I check out some of the many hot springs around Taupo, take in the sunrise over the lake and drive by Mt Tongariro, Mt Ruapehu and Mt Ngauruhoe, but decide to skip the Tongariro Alpine Crossing – even though it is allegedly NZ’s best one day hike – because it requires proper winter gear and also because I have to admit to myself that going on a 20km solo hike through snow and ice in the middle of nowhere is not the safest thing to do.  Still, driving by Mt Tongariro and Mt Ngauruhoe makes for some nice scenery.

Lake Taupo in the morning

steam from hot springs on a thermal walk

thermal walk

my new vehicle, Mt Ngaurohoe (LOTR's Mt Doom) in the distance

I am learning to appreciate my new, more sensible vehicle even though I quickly discover that using a motorcycle atlas to navigate with a campervan probably isn’t the smartest idea.  At one point I find myself on 80km of poor condition gravel that the motorcycle atlas had marked as a great scenic ride, and later the same day I get stuck in soft sand on a stretch of beach – but at least I remember to get on my knees and dig before making things worse, and after five minutes I’m free again.  No more driving on the beach for now.

80kms of this: fun

at least the scenery was pretty

And then I’m in Wellington, at the southernmost tip of the North Island, and aboard the Interislander headed to the South Island.  I’m comfortably lounging at the bar in the very front, happily typing away on my laptop.  There’s an announcement advising us passengers that we have to expect “less than favorable conditions” in the crossing of the Cook Strait due to poor weather, and thus should take care when moving about.  Seasickness candidates are encouraged to sit in the back.  This should be fun…

a winter interlude: NZ

The journey from Sipadan to Auckland is a long one.  I leave the island at 4:30pm on June 8 and arrive at my hostel in Auckland at 7pm two days later.  The worst part of the trip is the eight hour flight from Kuala Lumpur to Melbourne because my neighbor is an uber-talkative Malay girl; I spend most of the flight pretending to sleep.

We land in Melbourne shortly after midnight on June 9 and I seek refuge in one of the 24 hour airport cafes where I backup my pictures and blog.   After six hours and three double espressos I catch the airport shuttle and spend the morning hours walking around in cold, rainy Melbourne.  I have a hard time understanding what people see in Melbourne but also know that my first impression is tainted by the cold, the rain and lack of sleep.

gloomy morning in Melbourne

The flight from Australia to New Zealand is short, thankfully, and Auckland isn’t quite as cold as Melbourne was.  I find my youth hostel and fall into bed shortly after 8pm.   There’s nothing on my agenda for the coming three weeks; the next scheduled event is my flight to Fiji on July 1.  After having caught up on sleep I take a day off to read and do some shopping in Auckland, and then it’s Friday, June 12, and I am off to pick up my motorcycle.  Against better judgment – it is winter, after all – I’ve rented a bike, thinking that if I ride in Boston in December and January surely New Zealand in June can’t be that bad.  I briefly consider regretting my decision because it is raining when I set out from Auckland but since I am equipped with proper gear (compliments of the dealership I rented the bike from) I generally manage to stay warm and dry.

my bike

I’ve decided to head north from Auckland first, primarily to dive the Poor Knights.  In the end I spend four days exploring the Far North but pass on diving – the cold makes the thought of getting wet utterly unappealing, and my running nose has me thinking that equalizing under water may be a problem.  Instead I follow the western coastline from the black sand beaches close to Auckland through Waipoua Forest and via Ninety Mile Beach up to Cape Reinga, then head back down to Auckland along the East Coast via Doubtless Bay and the Bay of Islands.

at Cape Reinga, the Far North

the lighthouse at Cape Reinga

a road in Waipoua Forest - as if it was built for motorcycling

A lot of the roads are fantastic, and fortunately I get plenty of sunshine in between the occasional rain showers.  At times I wish I had a different bike, but overall I’m very happy with my little 250cc Suzuki cruiser: it’s comfortable for longer stretches, the engine is limited enough to not allow me to accidentally push beyond my limits on the amazingly twisty roads, and the bike is light enough so that I can take it onto unsealed roads and beaches – more or less a necessity in New Zealand.  I manage to resist the temptation to ride along the full length of Ninety Mile Beach (the beach is a legitimate alternate route to Highway 1 up to Cape Reinga, for more than 90 kilometers) because getting stuck in the sand without a riding buddy and no cell phone coverage is a sufficiently nightmarish scenario to deter even me, but I do take the bike onto Ninety Mile Beach and other accessible beaches for shorter stretches now and then.

on Ninety Mile Beach

After four days of great riding in the Far North I am back in Auckland for a night, readying myself to head south into colder regions.  I stay at the same hostel that I had stayed at before and am extraordinarily happy to find not only the shopping bag that I had forgotten to pack (containing a brand new pair of $80 Lucky Brand Jeans – gotta love NZ – and a rain cover for my backpack, both items desperately needed), but also the opened bottle of chardonnay in the fridge that I started a few days ago.  Two glasses of wine and a good night’s rest later I’m back on the road, southbound.

ready to ride!

diving in Malaysia ctd: Sipadan – Mabul

On my way from the Perhentians to Borneo I spend another night in Kuala Lumpur, this time at the airport – I’m coming in late at night, and flying out early the next morning so there’s no point in going into the city.  I stay at Tune, the hotel version of Air Asia: clean, comfortable but tiny rooms for a low standard fare and pay as you go add-ons, ranging from towels over air conditioning to wireless. I’m a fan.

At 7:20 the next morning I’m on the plane to Tawau, Borneo.  About two hours into the flight the co-pilot nearly gives me a heart attack: there’s a serious sounding, somewhat lengthy announcement from the flight deck in Malay and the passengers around me start to get up, move about, and everybody’s craning their necks to catch a glimpse out of the left windows.  I’m caught on the right-hand sight in a window seat and have no idea what’s happening around me. Mentally I’m preparing for the worst, thinking that the announcement must have said one of our engines is on fire or that there’s some malfunction in the hydraulics of the left wing… but no, when the co-pilot finally repeats the announcement in English it’s just to let us know that we’re just passing over Kota Kinabalu, a bit to the left.  Phew.

Once in Tawau I get picked up by Scuba Junkie for the overland transfer to Semporna, the gateway town for Sipadan.  Semporna is mildly awful (though not as bad as Kota Bharu) but at least there’s a sizeable dive crowd and I’m spending most of my time on the water or at the dive bar.  And after two nights and one day of diving in Semporna it’s time for me to dive Sipadan and transfer to the Scuba Junkie resort in Mabul, a small island about an hour off the coast of Borneo.

first day with Scuba Junkie, diving Sibuan

Malay soldiers on Sibuan

Sipadan is incredible.  At the edge of the continental shelf, there’s a 600m vertical drop just a few hundred yards away from the island.  As we pull up to our first dive site I look down to check visibility and the first thing I see is a turtle swimming in crystal clear water; during the dive briefing there’s a dolphin doing back flips about twenty yards away from the boat.

on the way to Sipadan - perfect visibility

first turtles

We have a nice advanced group assembled – two young couples from the UK and the US respectively, myself and my dive buddy Susan who spent the last two years in New Zealand as a dive instructor.  The people are great, the diving is spectacular; we see enough turtles and sharks to lose count.

beautiful Sipadan

reef shark

and another turtle

After diving South Point and Coral Gardens we have lunch on Sipadan where a big monitor lizard keeps us company, then move on to Barracuda Point which is consistently ranked as one of the world’s top ten dive sites.   Time flies, and before I know it we’re back on Mabul Island where I check into my room at the Scuba Junkie resort, still glowing from the day at Sipadan.

our big surprise lunch guest

monitor lizard, once more

after the last dive at Sipadan

In the afternoon of my second day on the island I check out the hotel on the other side of the village, a more upscale dive resort and the only place on Mabul that has wireless internet.  Sitting at the bar arranging travel logistics I end up chatting with John and Dan, two French Canadian lawyers in their early thirties who turn out to be just about the funniest guys I’ve met on the trip.  Drinks turn into dinner, and for the next three days I spend my mornings on/in the water with Scuba Junkie exploring Mabul and Kapalai  and my afternoons and evenings with John and Dan.  Good times are had.

Right after midnight on June 7 we manage to scare up a bottle of champagne (quite probably the only bottle on the entire island) so I spend my 24^th birthday in paradise, drinking Moet & Chandon under the full moon.  We close down the bar, and the early morning hours find the three of us drinking chardonnay and listening to Norah Jones on a tiny little viewing platform some 15 ft above the resort.  I could hardly ask for a better birthday.

the neighbouring resort, Sipadan Water Village

John and Dan at the bar at SWV

sunset at SWV

the Water Village at night

June 7, full moon over Mabul island

sunrise on Mabul

Two days, many drinks and an infinite number of bad jokes later I say goodbye to John and Dan after one last shared lunch, and as the guys disappear on a little speedboat bound for Sipadan I get ready to head back to the mainland.  I’m sad to leave, but have a big smile stuck on my face thinking about the last couple of days.

back to the airport - sunburnt, tired, happy

bye bye warm water diving, next stop New Zealand

diving in Malaysia: Perhentian Besar

Saturday evening, May 23. I am back in Saigon for one night after having spent 24 hours on the bus from Hoi An to Ho Chi Minh City. I only have half a day in Saigon before moving on to Malaysia so I spend my time resting and running errands. I arrive in Kuala Lumpur late on Sunday and snatch the last available bed at a hostel in Chinatown, just before midnight. The combination of wifi, food and beer lures me to the reggae bar downstairs. The late hour and thus progressed state of intoxication of the bar dwellers means a seemingly unlimited supply of free drinks for me; despite the rowdiness all around me I manage to blog, then excuse myself.

My hostel is in a convenient location and dirt cheap, but is described by the Rough Guide as having “more than a passing resemblance to a public toilet.” Unfortunately this is true, and I decide to skip the shower for now. I spend the day trudging around Kuala Lumpur, check out the Petronas Towers and the aquarium, then catch the afternoon flight to Kota Bharu.

Petronas Towers in KL

I’ve timed my flight to allow for a full day in Kuala Lumpur, knowing that I would have to spend the night on the mainland before taking the ferry over to the Perhentian Islands.

Kota Bharu is every ounce as bad as the travel guide made it out to be. The guest house that was appraised as “by far the cleanest option” is full for the night so I make camp next door in an unappetizing hostel. The place is even less appealing than the hostel I stayed at in Kuala Lumpur, and the fact that guests are required to walk barefoot inside does not do anything to make me feel any more comfortable. Moderately disgusted I seek refuge in the town’s 24 hour McDonald’s, which seems to be not only the cleanest restaurant around but also the only place that boasts air conditioning and wireless internet.

It’s after midnight when I reluctantly give up my cool, well-lit corner which comes with a complimentary power outlet, and return to the guest house. I clamber into bed but lie awake for what seems like an eternity – in the heat, with flies buzzing around my head, trying to NOT think about what I read of Kota Bharu and bed bug infestations. Sometime in the early morning sleep finally arrives.

I’m up at 7am, feeling disgust towards the room and myself and the world. I haven’t taken a shower since Saigon. The plan now is to stick it out, catch a bus to the jetty in Kuala Besut from where I’ll get on a fast boat to the islands. As I’m at the bus station to scout I’m approached by a cab driver who offers me a reasonable fare. After two days with unappealing lodging and no showers, comfort and convenience win over frugality. My mood deteriorates when the cabbie tries to rip me off, drops me a good ten minute walk from the jetty, and the ferry is delayed by about an hour. Once I’m on the water though, feeling the wind on my face and watching the mainland disappear behind me, I’m starting to smile. This is going to be good.

And it is good. I arrange to get my rescue diver certificate at Watercolors on Pulau Perhentian Besar, and stay at their adjacent Paradise bungalows (where I finally get to take a proper shower). The dive center is run by Germans, my instructor Kres is Danish. The restaurant’s specialties include pizza and muffins; I’m not complaining – but probably am gaining weight, rapidly. The weather is variable, but the general setting is gorgeous and after weeks of sweltering heat I don’t mind the occasional downpour. The rescue course is fun albeit exhausting, and the diving is very different from Vietnam.

at Watercolours on Perhentian Besar

My first day on the island is spent away from the water; I have to get recertified as an emergency first responder; this was long overdue, the last time I practiced CPR must have been when I got my driving license in Germany – a LONG time ago. According to my instructor, the course is slated to take six to eight hours (right): we start at 9am with a leisurely cup of coffee, and at 11:20am I’ve run through all the exercises and finished the final exam scoring 98%. Take that, EFR. The downside is that my instructor is now modestly intimidated; on the upside I got the afternoon off to go fun diving and explore the island.

beach bliss

the dive center and my instructor, Kres

That’s my general rhythm for the next few days: training in the mornings, a few videos and theory here and there, some practice sessions in the water, some fun dives, and some lounging on the beach with my Kindle and swimming in the crystal clear waters of the bay two beaches over.

crystal clear water, 32 degrees centigrade

And then I’m done with my last rescue training dive. It’s 4:40 in the afternoon and I am floating in the warm azure blue waters of the South China Sea. I can see all the way to the bottom, there’s a coral reef underneath my feet at about twelve meters that we just dived. My instructors and I came up early to complete my last rescue scenarios, and now we’re lounging in the lazy afternoon sun as we’re waiting for the other divers to surface. We’re at a remote site, away from the fishermen’s village and resorts and other dive boats. Kres and Kate have climbed back onto the boat and are lying in the sun, I am hanging out in the water. The Perhentian islands in my back, the northern most tip of Perhentian Besar is maybe a hundred yards off to my right: a rocky little pinnacle at the end of a narrow ridge lost under a thicket of jungle. In front of me there’s nothing but the big blue – endless ocean, stretched to the horizon. Our boat is a small wooden thing barely big enough to hold eight divers and the captain. From my vantage point I can only see a yellow umbrella in the back of the boat, and the shoulders of our local captain who’s crouched under it for protection from the sun. Parts of Kres and Kate’s mellow conversation drift over to me now and then, but other than that the only audible sounds are the birds and crickets and monkeys on the island in my back, and the soft licking of the waves against the side of the boat. A school of fusiliers close to the surface sparks a silver firework in the water. I get lost in the deep blue below, then lie back and watch the clouds drift by. This is pretty much the closest to paradise I can imagine.

my favorite bay

where the living is easy: Saigon to Hoi An

May 10, it’s time to move on to Vietnam.  The overland border crossing from Cambodia to Vietnam is smooth:  I’ve booked a tourist bus from Phnom Penh in Cambodia to Saigon (aka Ho Chi Minh City), and the bus company takes care of everything.  I get picked up at my hostel in Phnom Penh, have to surrender my passport for the first half of the ride but get it back right before the border crossing – complete with fully filled out arrival/departure cards, customs declarations and health forms.  The only annoying bit is that some border official boards the bus and singles out me and the other two Westerners on the bus for temperature checks.  The entire border ordeal takes less than thirty minutes, though, and we arrive in Ho Chi Min City in the late afternoon.

My priorities in Saigon: #1) find a hotel #2) get laundry done #3) eat dinner #4) arrange transport to Da Lat for the following day and #5) blog.  Over dinner I meet a young Aussie couple who I run into once more later in the evening at a bar that has lured me in with its free wifi, power outlets and cheap beer.  I’m not in a mood to spend much effort or money on being social, though, so after I’m done blogging I turn in for the night.

Monday is yet another travel day – the third in a row since Angkor Wat.  I sleep in, have breakfast, collect my laundry and get on the bus to Da Lat.  I’ve heard awful things about traffic in Vietnam in general and about tourist buses in particular, but there is no train connection to the mountain resort and I can’t afford to fly.  The traffic is indeed crazy but at least there aren’t many trucks that are bigger than our bus, so we generally get right of way.  As the sun sets and we are in the mountains with another hour to go.  And, sure enough, in the dark about 30 kilometers from Da Lat one of our bus driver’s bold attempts to pass a car finally fails.  The driver hits the brakes hard, curses, the tires lock, the bus swerves.  Some of the passengers in the front are screaming, then we’re off the road, there’s a loud bang and the shattering of glass as we feel the impact of something hard, the bus skids for a few more seconds and we’re finally standing still.  After a moment of shocked silence people start pouring out of the bus to survey the accident scene.  The front window has been smashed and the driver was sprayed with shattered glass, but other than that and a few bruises nobody is hurt.

after the accident

We realize quickly that the bus won’t get going again anytime soon.  While waiting on the side of the road I’ve made friends with a Norwegian couple, and the three of us find another ride for the remaining 30 kilometers to Da Lat.  Naturally the driver of the van that picks us up takes advantage of our situation and extorts 50,000 Dong apiece from us (the bus ticket from Saigon to Da Lat cost 110,000 VND apiece), but at least we get to our destination – safely, this time.

Once in Da Lat I wander around a bit to find a hotel (the one I had hoped to stay at is fully booked), then go to The Hangout Café to meet up with the Easy Riders and discuss the route for the next five days:  I’m planning to go from Da Lat to Hoi An by motorcycle, following the old Ho Chi Minh Trail and exploring the Central Highlands with an Easy Rider guide.  For the next five days I’m the capable hands of Tuy, a 33 year old Vietnamese who is university educated, has traveled extensively in Asia, used to run a farm and two hotels, and is an overall fabulous guide.  We cover a good 850 kilometers, and along the way I learn about the differences in perceived motorcycle capacity between the West and Vietnam. In Europe or America you fit onto a motorcycle either:

1. A rider and a medium size piece of luggage or
2. A rider and a passenger

In Vietnam it’s (for example):

1. A husband, his wife and two young children
2. A driver and three orange-clad Buddhist monks
3. A woman and about 200 pineapples
4. Five adolescent boys
5. A man, a woman and six live chicken
6. Two men and three dead pigs
7. Two youths and four full-size tractor tires
8. A man and a Miele washing machine

Unfortunately I don’t manage to take photos of any of the above because I’m on a motorcycle myself, but the following pictures are a collection of impressions from stops on the way.

the first morning, our bikes at the old French (now defunct) Da Lat train station

part of the "Crazy House" in Da Lat

Central Highlands, at the Elephant Waterfall

elephant helping with the rice harvest in a hilltribe village

traditional hilltribe village community hall

my bike on an old American landing strip, "Phoenix" airfield

French legacy: the Wooden Church in Kontum

noodles fresh off the press, hung up to dry

we drove our bikes across this bridge.... OK, no, we didn't - but the hilltribe people used to take motorcycles across the river here! I walked across, that was scary enough...

last day, our motorcycles in some tiny village in the mountains

Five days and 850 kilometers later I have braved some of Vietnam’s crazy traffic and road conditions (riding a bike in deep mud? on roads where there are more potholes than asphalt? along curvy dirt trails with steep inclines, lose gravel and oncoming trucks? no problem…), seen a ton of sights along the old Ho Chi Minh Trail, been introduced to proper Vietnamese food, crossed too many wobbly bridges, and learned a lot about the “American War”.  Shortly after noon on Saturday, May 16, we arrive in Hoi An where I say goodbye to Tuy, seek refuge from the heat in my air-conditioned hotel room, and look forward to a treat after five days on the hot, dusty road: a dive excursion the next day.

Hoi An

charming Hoi An at night

As I’m walking around Hoi An I have some trouble finding either of the two dive centers at first but finally happen across Rainbow and book two fun dives with them.  We head out early the next morning, with three divers and a crew of 7.  The diving itself is eh-okay – cold water, poor visibility, and I’m not a big fan of my dive master.  The day overall is enjoyable though, and in the late afternoon I’m back at the other dive center, Cham Island Divers, where I’ve decided to do my advanced open water course.  The Cham Island Dive Center gets its name from a small island about an hour away from Hoi An, sparsely populated by fishermen and used as a military base, where the dive center operates a basic restaurant and offers overnight stays in a sheltered bay.  Thanks to improving conditions and cool people I like my AOW course enough to end up spending five days with the guys at Cham Island, with two overnighters in tents on a solitary beach on the island.  The first night on Cham Island in particular is fantastic: it’s just me, Alex and his fiancée Kate (both of whom are instructors) on half a kilometer of white sand beach with crystal clear water.  The three of us go out for a night dive before having dinner on the beach, then share a few beers over a game of dice and turn in once the island’s electricity is shut off at 9:30pm.

on the boat - bliss

on Cham Island

The light wakes me up at 6:30am the next morning.  I’ve slept in a bikini so I just unzip my tent, take ten steps and am in the ocean greeting the morning sun.  Kate and Alex are still asleep and I have the bay all to myself – this truly is paradise.

Cham Island - my tent, our beach

easy living: Alex on Cham Island, afternoon nap

The following three days are spent on the beach, on the boat, or at the Cham Island dive bar in Hoi An.  On May 21, after six days in Hoi An and four days of diving with Cham Island, I am seriously considering skipping Malaysia and New Zealand so I can stay in Vietnam and do my dive master at Cham Island.  I have already sacrificed Halong Bay and Laos so I could spend more time in Hoi An, and in the end reason prevails: I book a bus ticket back to Ho Chi Minh City for the following day – but since the bus doesn’t leave until 6:30pm I come out for yet another day of diving in order to try out the scuba gear that I bought.

after the second night dive, around the fire on the beach

good times @ Cham Island's dive bar in Hoi An

In the late afternoon we’re back at the pier and I have to say goodbye to Kate, Alex and Jamie, another Brit who was diving with us for the last five days.  I head back to the hotel, stop by the tailor’s on the way to pick up some of the clothes I have had made, and finally board the bus for my 22 hour journey back down to Saigon where I spend one more night before flying to Kuala Lumpur.  It’s not easy to leave Vietnam, but I am looking forward to seeing Kuala Lumpur and can’t wait to go diving in the Perhentians and Borneo.

Cambodia

I’m up at 4am on May 7 in order to catch the morning train to the border.  My destination is Siem Reap in Cambodia, and even though there are plenty of travel agencies around Khao San Road that offer cheap cross-border bus tickets I have decided to go on my own – it’s moderately cheaper, and I’ve read too many awful reviews about the Khao San Road buses to be willing to take my chances.  At 5am I am checked out of my hostel and in a tuk tuk, en route to the train station.  The ticket for the six hour train journey costs me a whopping 48 Baht ($1.45), exactly as much as breakfast at the Dunkin Donuts that I’ve spotted on the main concourse.   Equipped with a Dunkin croissant and iced coffee I board the train – it almost feels like I’m back home in Boston.

5:30am in Bangkok; comfort food

The train itself is pretty much in the same shape as the old shabby commuter rail I used to take to school in Germany every day.  And the journey to the border is supposed to only take six hours (as opposed to my last two train rides that lasted several days each) so I sit back and relax.  After the first five stops, though, I realize that the cheapness of the ticket is more than justified by the heat and the serious over-crowding.

no airconditioning, lotsa people - you get the idea

I listen to music, re-read the very helpful “how-to” guide for independent crossings of the Thai-Cambodian border, and am very happy to get off the train in Aranyaprathet.  I find a tuk tuk driver (or rather, the tuk tuk driver finds me) to take me to the border some 6kms down the road, and am mentally preparing myself to fight off all the touts, tricksters and scammers I’ve been told to expect.

Sure enough my tuk tuk driver takes a right off the main road before we reach the border, and delivers me to a little tent pitched in the dirt that calls itself the Royal Cambodian Consulate.  I laugh and tell him to take me to the actual border if he wants to get paid; he nods enthusiastically and says “yes, yes ma’am, this is Cambodian border”.  Two uniformed consulate representatives run up to the tuk tuk and wave forms under my nose, trying to convince me to pay them 1000 Baht to obtain my visa because the border is closed today.  It takes about 90 seconds of me shaking my head vehemently and reminding the driver that I’ll be happy to find another tuk tuk if he doesn’t want to take me to my actual destination before we get going again – this time towards the real border.  Scam #1, successfully resisted.

At the border I wander around the market for a bit, unsure where to go to obtain my Thai exit stamp.  Once I find the Thai immigration building the process itself is no problem.  The immigration officer is extremely efficient and friendly, flirts a little and lets me go without trying to extort any money from me for a change.  Nice.

After I’m officially stamped out of Thailand, I walk across the Friendship Bridge towards Cambodia.  As soon as I’ve left Thailand there’s an endless number of touts and alleged border officials, yelling all sorts of things at me: “Ma’am you need to buy Cambodian visa here. You MUST have visa to go to Cambodia!” (yeah I’ve heard that one before) – “Ma’am where you going? You going to Siem Reap? Cheap bus to Siem Reap, and Angkor tour. Siem Reap, yes?” (thanks but no thanks) – and from a guy in some sort of uniform who follows me around for almost half a mile: “Ma’am you going to Cambodia, you must fill out health form, over there in tent, is government health form. Ma’am you have to fill out form.  You hear me ma’am? Miss, over there. You MUST FILL OUT FORM.”  I ignore all of them, staring straight ahead, pretending to not understand any English and cradling my bag.  I’m rewarded because I finally reach the Cambodian immigration building without having parted with any of my money or valuables. Scams #2, 3, 4 – avoided.  Woohoo! I’m starting to feel pretty good about myself.

The good feeling lasts right up to the point when the Cambodian immigration official (this time a legitimate one, unfortunately) hands me the forms and demands 1000 Baht.  I smile at him, somewhat incredulously, and say “Um, no – no express visa…  just a normal visa.  I have US dollars…” The guy just gives me a blank stare.  I say “Listen, I don’t have any Baht left – but I have 20 USD right here, for the visa.”  He tells me to exchange money or use the ATM across the street, then shrugs his shoulders and turns away.  I try my luck with another immigration officer, but this one just looks at my 20 dollar bill and tells me I have to pay his colleague.  Great.

After 15 minutes of fruitless back and forth I finally give in – there’s nothing I can do about it.  Grudgingly I pay my 1000 Baht (about 30 USD; it’s more a matter of principle than anything else) and, voila, I’m officially in Cambodia. I ignore all the tourist buses and association taxis, and head down the street to look for a pickup truck – the local budget way of traveling.   I find one soon enough, and am “lucky” to get a spot in the cab right next to all sorts of vegetables and market wares.  The driver and I part way in Sisophon over a price dispute though (he’s all of a sudden trying to charge me $5, the same as a tourist bus) and I climb onto the back of another pickup truck bound for Siem Reap.  This time it’s me and six locals in the bed of the truck, and once again plenty of potatoes and other market goods.  It’s a hot, dusty ride of 130 kilometers that takes us almost three hours – thanks to frequent braking for cows on the road – but with my iPod, water and a mango to snack on I’m plenty happy.

Sisophon, travel companions

traveling in style - on the back of a pickup truck

We stop a number of times, and local vendors run up to the truck to offer us fruit and drinks.  In addition they make a sport out of getting my attention or interacting with me – every time we stop, there’s at least one or two people (male and female) who shout “hello!” and break intro uncontrollable giggles when I reciprocate the greeting, or come up behind me to pat my back or legs.

vendors at one of our many stops

In the late afternoon I find myself in the middle of Siem Reap, and realize that I can’t remember the name let alone address of the guesthouse I’ve booked.   I’m dusty and sweaty and generally gross, but find an internet café and look up my reservation, then drag my backpack up the road to find the place I’ve booked.  Apparently I look truly appalling, because the guy at the reception doesn’t even ask me to check in or pay but just hands me the key to my room and says “you take shower then come back here for welcome drink”.  I have zero issues with that.

After I’ve cleaned up, changed and checked in I head out into the night to find dinner.  I am waylaid though and end up sacrificing dinner for massages at two different places – one better than the other.  The second place place has a pool that I briefly abuse for late night skinnydipping; after that I’m off to bed.

The next day is reserved for Angkor.  Soon after breakfast I’m on the back of a motorcycle taxi, headed to the ruins.  I start out at Angkor Wat but spend the better part of the day exploring Angkor Thom and Ta Phrom.  All three sites are splendid, and despite the fact that it’s excruciatingly hot I have a great time wandering around the ruins.  Ta Phrom in particular is amazing to explore, but Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom are fascinating as well – Angkor Wat simply because it is Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom because of its size and the Bayon Temple’s face towers.

about to enter Angkor Wat

Angkor Wat

the face towers of the Bayon Temple in Angkor Thom

more Bayon Temple; straight out of an Indiana Jones movie

Ta Phrom

in Lara Croft's footsteps

After having spent the better part of the day in the blistering heat, I treat myself to a nice dinner at a Cambodian wine bar and a two hour full body massage.  The next morning I’m on way to Phnom Penh, but not after having squeezed in yet another massage – so in the end I’ve spent 5 out of my 40 hours in Siem Reap on the massage table.

The six hour bus trip to Phnom Penh is bearable, especially because I have two seats to myself.  At the city limits of Phnom Penh, though, there’s a serious traffic jam; as we approach its cause we can see that it’s a traffic accident involving a motorcyclist.  We slowly pass the accident site; while there’s a cop on scene and the other vehicles have been cleared, the bike is still lying on its side in the middle of the road.  Half under it, stretched across the  centerline, is a young man.  From the distance he looks more or less unharmed, as if he’s merely unconscious.  As we drive by the bike and the body, though, we can see that the left half of his face and skull is missing.  There’s huge pool of blood on the road, and a yellow grayish mass splattered all across the asphalt.  That sight, in combination with a visit to the Genocide Museum and the Khmer Rouge Killing Fields, just about sums up my time in Phnom Penh; I’m happy to move on to Vietnam after just one night in the Cambodian capital.

change of pace: Thailand

It’s May 1 and I am on Koh Tao.  I spent a few days in Bangkok but was overwhelmed by the heat and humidity and chaos and the mass of backpackers, so decided to spend a week down south and get my open water scuba license while waiting for my Vietnamese visa to be ready.  After two days of little sightseeing but lots of shopping, drinking and eating at Khao San Road in Bangkok I board a bus for the eight hour journey to the coast.

Bangkok, the Grand Palace

young Buddhist monks at the the Grand Palace

Grand Palace detail - the colors were incredible

Khao San Road from above

Khao San: like spring break in Cancun; not my crowd.

It’s a Thai holiday weekend; the bus is packed.  We leave Bangkok at 8pm and arrive at the ferry port shortly after three o’clock in the morning.  At 4am the catamaran leaves for Koh Tao, and two hours later we arrive at the island.  I am exhausted after a night with essentially no sleep, but after having spent two hours on a boat in pitch black night it’s fantastic to first see the lights of Koh Tao in the distance, then the hilly outline of the tiny island in then and finally the port right as the sun is coming up.

3:30 in the morning, getting ready to leave the mainland

06:00, Koh Tao in the distance - finally

I and half a dozen other people get picked up by the Buddhaview Dive resort, my home for the next five days.  Off we go, with eight people and as many sizeable backpacks crammed onto the back of a tiny pick-up truck.  It is only 6:30 in the morning but the heat is oppressive (has been all night, even out on the water in the middle of the night) so it’s nice to feel the breeze on the short ride to Buddhaview.

the bay at Buddhaview

Once at the dive center we wait until the reception opens, then check in – at which time we are informed that the island currently has no reliable electricity: the main government generator caught on fire a few days ago and is heavily damaged, so the power supply is dependent on privately owned back-up generators and very spotty.  This means that the fans in our rooms may or may not work, that the majority of the island’s ATMs are out of order and internet cafes closed.

I drop my pack in my room, but decide that trying to catch up on sleep is a lost cause; it’s much too hot in my room, and at the same time the early morning is most certainly the best (least sunny / hot) opportunity to explore the island so I walk down the street and find myself some transport: a tiny, ancient motorcycle – the island’s standard means of getting around.  After I get to terms with the fact that I have to kick start the bike and that there’s no clutch, I’m on my way.  Koh Tao has one paved road, and my dive center is at its southern-most point.  I head up north, keeping going for as long as I can (all of six kilometers).  In the north of the island the landscape gets hilly, and the road is so steep at times that even in first gear my little 100cc Honda is struggling to get up the inclines.  At the end there’s a resort tucked away in the cliffs, the entrance marked by a big sign saying “NO MOTORBIKES.”  As I park my bike and walk down towards the cliffs I realize why the sign is there – the road at the resort entrance is so steep that it’s a challenge even on foot.

exploring Koh Tao

I’m really just searching for a way to get down to the ocean but end up chatting with the hotel manager.  The hotel has a reliable power generator… and ocean-view suites with air conditioning, private verandas and en suite Jacuzzis.  The temptation is too great for me to resist; and at $120 a night, really, why not? My first indulgence in a month.

I enjoy the view from my new home for a bit, take advantage of the Jacuzzi (nothing better than lying in cold water when it’s 35 degrees centigrade outside!) and finally fall into bed for a much needed mid-day nap to compensate for having been up all night.

I have to be back at the dive center for our introductory session mid-afternoon.  On the way I stop to get gas for the bike; there are no pumps, instead gasoline is sold roadside by the bottle.  I feel like I’m in a video game, running around and picking up little phials to refill my health.

Koh Tao's version of a gas station

After the short dive course intro I drive back to my hotel and catch the last minutes of the sunset from my veranda.  Once it’s dark I light my anti-mosquito incense, use my iPhone as a stereo substitute, take another cold shower and have a drink out on the veranda with the waves and Chopin in the background.  Cheesy, but seriously enjoyable.

Dusit Buncha Resort

As the mosquitoes start biting I move inside and take refuge in the cool in my soft, mosquito-net sheltered king size bed – what a treat.  It’s only 8:30pm (the sun sets early here), but I am sufficiently tired after my previous night journey to spend  no more than a few more minutes appreciating my Kindle before falling asleep.

I’m up at 6:30am the next morning after a good night’s rest to take advantage of the complimentary breakfast (out in the open overlooking the ocean, on Japanese style low tables with pillows as seats) and then get to the south shore in time to return my 24 hour rental bike.  Even though I seriously considered staying at my luxury refuge for the duration of the dive course, I decide to be disciplined and stick to my budget so move back to Buddhaview with its erratic power supply and shabby rooms.  After I’ve checked out and returned the bike I report to Buddhaview for a morning classroom session, then spend the afternoon learning scuba basics in the pool.

My group of five consists of two French girls who are at the end of their journey, having traveled together for a year and a half (I’m jealous), a Scottish guy who’s friends with one of the dive masters and also has been on the road for a while, and a Dutch guy who’s traveling with his girlfriend for two months.  We’re all roughly the same age, our instructors are great, and we swiftly move through the pool session.  My dive buddy for today and the next three days is Christian, the Dutch guy, who’s freakishly tall but catches on quickly and is fun to be around.  Good times are had by all.

with Christian, my dive buddy

Buddhaview at night

The following days are relaxed and fun, aside from our first open water dives fairly uneventful.  During the day we dive, at night it’s BBQ and drinks at the bar.   Hard to believe that six weeks ago I was wearing a suit and heels every day, working long hours to polish client presentations…. memories from a different life.

Koh Tao

Five days after my arrival on Koh Tao I’m a PADI open water diver  and on my way again, catching the 4pm boat on Tuesday to return to Bangkok for a night.  After a pretty sunset boat ride I’m in for another eight hour bus trip, and arrive back in Bangkok at 4am.

fishers in Chumphon: we're back on the mainland, en route to Bangkok

I’ve booked a cheap guest house for the following night.  As I’m getting off the bus in the early morning and walk through the deserted Khao San Road (even the dogs are asleep now on the streets), I am prepared to battle my sleepiness for another three or four hours with lots of coffee and blog writing, but I’m in for a delightful surprise: my room is ready and waiting for me – I’m essentially getting two nights for the price of one.  I fall into bed and don’t get up until 10:30am, then spend the morning at the cafe downstairs to blog and work out logistics for my next destinations.

My plan is to move on to Cambodia the following day; it was hard to leave Koh Tao and not tack on a few more certifications after the open water course, but I am resolved to do the classic Southeast Asia overland route (Cambodia – Vietnam – Laos) before moving on to Malaysia where I’m sure I’ll do plenty of diving.