nine: saigon, nha trang and hoi an

Vietnam, somewhat oddly, was perhaps the most conventional part of my travels. I bussed along the coast, indulging in my company and staying in shared hotel rooms that were cheaper than hostels. And while I enjoyed it, reflecting on Vietnam vs the rest of my travels makes me realise that my strongest memories and learning experience were made by the unexpected meetings. A few weeks ago, someone asked me to describe a highlight from a trip - "by yourself though, not with other people". I'm still struggling to come up with an example. I had many peaceful, beautiful moments by myself ... but the greatest highlights were with new friends who challenged, entertained, debated, provoked, laughed, explored ... who gave me new perspective.

That said, I was lucky to have wonderful company to share Vietnam with - and there is so much to share! A land of green abundance, a culture and history almost familiar yet so foreign to me, and deliciously fresh food to boot.

We arrived in Saigon to meet T's aunt, staying in their space-efficient 5-storey home that had a function per floor (office, bedroom, guestroom, kitchen, roof). Exhausted and glad to be reunited, T and I embraced the opportunity to eat and sleep and eat and watch Disney and eat. Every adventurer needs a rest day, or two.

We made up for lost time with an early morning tour to the Cu Chi Tunnels. It was a local organisation, with a guide who winked and scored me cheaper admission as I silently passed the ticketing booth pretending to be Vietnamese. Not the first time "all Asians look the same" has worked in my favour ...

I was shocked by the tunnels. Small, dark, cramped, hot. How could people live in there? I guess when the time comes, when the situation is that desperate, you do what you have to do. I admire the resourcefulness and smarts of the guerilla fighters - it's no surprise that they held out - but the idealistic part of me hopes humanity is getting closer to a stability that can largely avoid such desperate situations. As with Holocaust sites, Cambodian killing fields, and memorials around the world, I hope you take the time to visit them and try to understand the worst of human experience. I hope it inspires you to do something about it, whatever you can, whether it's joining a worldwide movement or choosing to be kind and to placate people in your everyday life. On the way to the tunnels, we visited a handicrafts shop where all its artists were disabled by Agent Orange. I believe we can move towards a better world through the coalescence of the smallest of gestures; here, even, is the opportunity to use what you have to support the life of another.

  

 

Righteous rant over.

We also swung by the Independence Palace, and rounded out our day at dinner with T's family. They introduced me to balut, or in Vietnamese, hot vit lon: duck's egg foetus (sorry vego friends). In Vietnamese style, we added taste with a mix of spices and sauce. I have to admit they're delicious, but learn from my beginner mistake and don't look inside if your first bite only takes you halfway through!

The next day, we took our first bus on to Nha Trang. It's a beautiful beach town, but dominated by Russian tourists - most signs are in English, every sign is in Russian.

We decided to go with the touristy atmosphere and look for a Vietnamese massage, finding great blind masseuses at Magic Hands off Nguyen Thien That St. As evening fell, we picked up sweet drinks from the nearby market and took them to the beach, sitting and talking and relaxing until the Vinpearl light across the water turned off.

As with Saturday nights in every country, there was a party along the beach - so of course we dropped by. In front of a small stage, we found a crowd of locals and foreigners, and some surprisingly good music. We came, we saw, we danced ... And we climbed the bars in a playground. Drinking and all that "fun for adults" is overrated.

Not to mention the late night stalls - where you'd normally find kebabs and pizza slices, there were fresh fruits and juices to preempt your hangover.

We lucked out the next day on tour with Mr Pham, a friendly, funny guy who clearly knows his business right down to the perfect tourist photo angles. Most of all I loved how excited he was about his 7-month-old child, having tried for 6 years with his wife - you should have seen him showing off to the head monk of the orphanage!

Our tour took us through a few spots, by riverboat and horse carriage. Absolutely recommend getting on the river to see the beautiful scenery, mountains and islands away from the main harbour. We started at the Hindu Ponagar Temples, which are filled with male-female symbolism - if you know what I mean.

Our next stop was the Pagoda Orphanage, where I was thankful they didn't try to solicit donations but would happily give to such a beautiful place. In fact, engravings on donated furniture and buildings revealed that most support came from Australia - APAC represent! We visited a rush mat weaving shop, and finished out at the mud bath iResort.

Left to our own devices here, we rinsed in a shower and, clueless, joined a mother and daughter in a shared bath. We took their lead, filling a bucket of fresh mud from the tap for our faces and scrubbing all over. We had enough time to scrub between our toes, then dried our muddy skin in the sun before rinsing. Finally, we soaked in a hot water tub ... with four guys around us. Apparently this is the quintessential blokes trip - forget Vegas or golf trips on the weekend! They also provided our entertainment as they flirted with a group of girls in the next tub, only to have the girls' attention stolen by a much cuter little kid, despite protests of "He's only 10!"

We indulged in a strong water pounding massage under the waterfalls, then feeling fully pampered and washed out (pun intended), we just sat by the pools with ice cream and sugar cane juice. We must have paid Pham well because he covered all the extras ... no complaints though.

The next day, we'd booked a snorkelling trip to Hon Mun Island but were undermined by assassination attempts from my stomach. Unappeased by herbal pills and gatorade, I spent most of the boat ride lying on a bench. "Tiger Balm cures everything!" the guides proclaimed as they told me to spread it on my stomach. Can't fault them for thought and effort, but medical effectiveness is another matter ... Thankfully not their day job.

I was lucky to have the support that I did. Back on land, T disappeared on me suddenly at one point and no, he didn't want me to come with him. Worried, I waited a few minutes then went looking for him. All I found was that Nha Trang is small, but it's not that small. Thankfully, it turned out he'd been searching for a Western chemist for me - unsuccessfully, but he did have ice cream, which is really still medicine.

On that note, here are photos of delicious food that didn't make me sick (because Asia brings out the food-photoing Asian in me). Don't be fooled by the simplicity - Vietnamese food may be my true love.

We jumped off our next sleeper bus in Hoi An - which we hadn't realised was a World Heritage site. The entire town retains its traditional style from 200 years ago, beautiful by day and night. Even souvenir shops spill out of old abodes. In Hoi An you buy a ticket that includes entrance to up to 5 sites. Unless you're my parents, who (visiting a year later) snuck into the Heritage part of the town assuming the ticketers were actually scammers ...

I convinced T to rent a motorcycle here, so after a solid buffet breakfast at our hotel Thanh Binh, we rented for a few dollars from the guy outside. Shaky start, almost ran a girl over. A few hundred metres further, we actually crashed into the curb and seriously scraped up T. Thankful to Miss Ly Cafe 22 who took us in, washed and bandaided T.

On foot this time, we visited everything else, a few highlights including: Assembly Hall (impressively decorated temple), Tran Family Chapel (Jap and Chinese architecture, interesting hand symbol with 5 vertical beams for fingers and 3 horizontal supports for main creases); and the famous old Japanese Pagoda Bridge.

T's wounds were a little worse than he let me believe, so we rested the night away and prepared to move on to our next destination ... Well, expect more on Vietnam to come.

Tips learned the hard (or delicious) way

• Apply for a tourist visa online, but when you fly in don't forget to bring the letter, a passport photo and the fee in US$ - otherwise (like me) you might pay more and wait for hours ...
• Foooooood! So fresh, so diverse despite playing with the same ingredients: rice/rice paper, bean sprouts, greens, meat, fish sauce ... Try bún bo hue, banh xeo, hot vit lon (if adventurous), ché ba mau or red bean ché for dessert, fresh produce (rambutan, lychee, custard apple, tapioca as a root), pandan tea - heck, try whatever you can't figure out!
• What an exchange rate! You can become an automatic millionaire - but every ATM will charge you fees
• Bus around with the Sinh Tourist - generally good service and good pricing, plus amazing bunk bed sleepers that reclined into full beds

eight: 12 hours in kuala lumpur

Some bonds take years to build; some are instantaneous, a spark lit in a moment.

Who knows what - or who - you'll find hidden in the streets of KL ...

The first spark I met on my way was in the most unexpected stopover, a brief 12 hours in Kuala Lumpur. I went in with a plan to hit up some sights recommended by a Malaysian friend: Batu Caves, Twin Towers, a few hours sleep, and back to the airport. Well, I managed to tick off my list (except the sleep, which any fictional book will tell you isn't necessary when adventuring) but otherwise I threw my plan out the window.

It started predictably enough: KLIA Express (there are significantly cheaper shuttle buses, by the way) to the backpacker district, Changkat. I chose a hostel here purely because it was cheaper than the airport's baggage storage, but being surrounded by bars, it would have been a terrible place to sleep.

Note that at this point, I hadn't showered in a day - from 35-degree Oman through two flights to KL - and jumped straight on the train to Batu Caves to maximise time, despite being sweaty, sticky, and probably smelly to boot. Backpacker life.

The caves are free and a neat sight, from the statues and shrines built into the rocks to the cheeky monkeys that aren't afraid to steal your offerings. If I'd known/had more time, I would have come back to check out the Dark Caves or do some rock-climbing - well, Malaysia's still on my bucket list, for its jungles as well as what I missed (or who I miss) in KL ...

272 steps, no biggy

Ballsy little buggers

On my way to the Twin Towers, I decided to detour through the Central Markets for some food. I found myself staring at a menuboard, confused by the varieties of "savoury crispy" and "sweet crispy". A man on a nearby stool noticed my lost look, and explained the menu until I could sit down with a chicken floss savoury crispy on the way. Our conversation flowed easily from the beginning.

"I'm going to visit the Twin Towers next," I told E after a while.

"How about I drive you there?" I took a minute to assess - this is the beginning of many a solo female traveller horror film. Even in these early weeks on the road, I had already brushed upon some terrible situations. At the Dubai Mall for instance, I asked a cleaner for directions to the dancing fountains and ended up fighting his groping hands off my chest, even though we were in a public stairwell.

But some instinct in me trusted E already; so I took a breath, and we left the Central Market together.

Needless to say, he wasn't a serial killer, and in fact our drive turned into an exploration of so much more - of Kuala Lumpur's suburbs and street food, but also of life and love and loyalty. Plus I managed to find dancing fountains after all, with a new friend who made up for much of the failings of our fellow human beings.

Learn from my mistakes: bring ID and nice shoes if you want to catch the view from Marini's 

"I can't believe I did that!" Inspired by our spontaneous evening, I mused to E about how we find ourselves saying this same phrase in deep regret as well as in amazement and nostalgia. In the past I have been haunted by remorse, both for mistakes made and for opportunities missed. But I can pinpoint this as the moment I consciously decided to stop wallowing in self-pity and to become less scared of failing at new opportunities. It hasn't been like an instant fix-all for my life (and really, it's advice I'd heard before) but the realisation and its influence has emanated through my last two years - certainly for the better.

I did miss one item on my checklist - I can't remember whether it was because I was underage or underdressed, but we'd missed out on the night view from Marini's. As ever, the traveller's way provided one better: this peaceful solitary view from a secret spot of E's in the suburbs.

Even if I knew where this was, I wouldn't be giving away this secret ...

From 8pm to 4am, E showed me a side of KL and a touch of humanity that couldn't be found alone. He drove me around the city, from delicious noodles and ice coffee to the noisy hostel to a clean shower (finally!) to the airport. We shared a night of platonic but profound discussion, without a single awkward or untoward incident. 12 hours in the capital of Malaysia showed me much more about the world than I found in many other places - but like I said, this was just the first to come ...

P.S. E and I are still in contact a year and a half later; I hope you like this.

seven: muscat and the turtle resort

Oman, in the words of my friend, was like a fairytale land. To be honest, I didn't even know it existed until about two weeks before I arrived... I had planned to visit family in China but, well, it would have been a little awkward at the border without a visa. But I'm so glad that instead, I discovered Oman in all its beauty, the generosity of its people, the uniqueness of this country so far removed from what I had known before. I was drawn in by the features of the desert, but I was captured by all the new people who gave me all the kindness of an old friend.

I arrived in Muscat after my first land border crossing - a smooth transition, with free visas on arrival for those coming from Dubai. Otherwise, however, Oman specifically positions its tourism industry as non-backpacker-friendly. Thankfully food and petrol are cheap, and I found relatively cheap accommodation at Delmon Apartments. It's far from the main sights by the Corniche, but has its own spice with a local market across the street (rather, highway).

Given cheap car rental, several kilometres to the Corniche, insanely cheap petrol and insanely expensive taxis, I decided to rent a car. And drive overseas. For the first time. On the right (but so wrong) side of the road. On my provisional licence. Well, I figured if they're willing to give me the car, I must be okay to drive, right?
Oh - the signs are in Arabic too. Needless to say I only drove for one day, choosing later to sacrifice accommodation quality for proximity.

Still, the freedom of taking myself wherever I wanted for a day was liberating. I picnicked in the Rose Gardens of Al Qurm Park, thankful for some shade in the 37 degree (Celsius) heat, and cruised around the Corniche at night. Matrah Souq, the main market, was filled with the same touristy souvenirs as Dubai - thankfully the mesmerisingly vibrant colours and shoppers made up for the disappointing merchandise.

Al Qurm Park

Conversing in Matrah Souq

Strolling along the Corniche by night

Along the Corniche, lights of different colours highlighted the Sultan's Palace and forts perched on rocks overhead. Unlike the neon-lit mega-cities of Asia, these soft lights succeed in accentuating the beauty of the old stony buildings. I was surprised by the unsupervised kids on the streets at 10pm, playing soccer, riding bikes, chasing each other between arches leading up to the Palace. One, barely a teenager, beckoned me over for a personal tour; I couldn't help but laugh as I rode his (child-sized) bike around, one of the kids for the night.

Lighting up the Sultan's Palace

Kids hanging out way past their bedtime!

After relinquishing the car, I decided to head to Ras Al Jinz on the east coast to see green turtles nesting ... largely convinced by a heavy last-minute discount offered over the phone for this lone traveller. However, my 4 hour bus ride to the nearby town of Sur turned out to be a highlight in itself.

It began with an early arrival (hold back your shock friends from home, yes I did learn punctuality while addressing my fear of missing transport in a foreign country) that gave me the opportunity to befriend my driver. Unexpectedly I ended up receiving simultaneous lessons in Arabic and Spanish from him - well, why not? He even made some unplanned stops for me to see some of the beautiful desert valleys, Wadi Al Shab and Wadi Tiwi.

My terrible photography just can't do this justice

But he wasn't the only character on the bus. I spent part of the journey lamenting the potential US$50 taxi ride I faced for the 40 kilometres to the resort at Ras Al Jinz (keeping in mind my 200km bus ride cost less than an American burger) to a medical student, Abdul Rayem, who joined our conversation. I must have been either insanely annoying or Puss-in-Boots-pleading-eyes cute, because when we stepped off the bus in Sur, he told me simply to wait. So I waited. Lo and behold, his best friend, Ahmed, arrived with a modern pumpkin carriage. They not only drove me the 40km to the resort but they waited at the reception to see me checked in, refused any gifts of gratitude, and left without any further ado.

Rather than the creepiness you might expect from 2 men with a young foreign girl in their car, we instead had an insightful conversation ranging from technology connecting yet separating us, to studying and working in Oman. Ahmed was studying engineering, as many do in this oil-producing state. But if he wanted to work part-time while studying, he said, people would look down on him and ask, "Why doesn't your father just give you money?" Our conversation made me appreciate living in Australia, where I can not only defy Asian stereotypes to become a hairdresser as well as a lawyer, but I can also choose to be independent.

Thank YOU!

Ahmed left me with two more wonderful thoughts. The first was his succinct description of the traveller's dilemma: "We need 3 things: time, money, health. But at every stage in life, young, middle-aged, old, we only ever have two, and the third is missing." The second was a discussion of how we we can help people in our careers, but as he said to me, "even now we are helping you by driving". My takeaway? You don't have to be Bill Gates or move to Africa to make a positive difference in the world - even small things can make a positive difference in someone's life, and who knows how that will resonate.

Arriving at the Ras Al Hadd Turtle Resort disproved the cliché that "it's about the journey, not the destination". Almost immediately, I was adopted by a Bolivian family. Although I had been prepared for lonely enjoyment of the turtles, the memory was honestly enhanced by sharing the beauty and wonder with this fascinating and funny family. After a month away from Aus and several more since I'd seen my parents, it was heartwarming to sit for breakfast with the father, and to play games with the brother and sister. In the end, I'm not sure who I was more fascinated by... The turtles, of which we saw the entire life cycle (even death) before the mothers slowly returned to the edge of the sea, to be washed in by the tide as a beautiful day dawned around us; or the family, headed by a woman of the Bolivian highlands and a jetsetting pilot, and their down-to-earth son who made me contemplative and made me laugh.

Nesting turtles on the beach of Ras al Jinz

My adoptive Bolivian family gave me a ride back to Muscat, so the expensive taxi ride thankfully never eventuated. Void of personal transport, I stayed by the Corniche to explore deeper. The most fascinating thing I discovered, though, was a man named Ali.

I took a break from getting lost among the homes, eating a cheese and honey crepe at a small café west of Matrah Souq. A man approached me and asked if the spare seat was taken, but instead of moving it elsewhere when I said no, he sat to join me.  However, as Ali explained his routine to me, I realised I was the intruder; every day, around 4 or 5, he would sit at this exact table for one glass of tea, part of an ingrained daily routine. He was well-travelled and well-educated, eager to share his experiences. Before he left to continue his routine, I complained that I was disappointed in the markets, wanting to find a distinctly Omani souvenir for my mum. So, he offered to take me to find something appropriate when I returned to the Corniche.

Unfortunately, I spent the next day in a 4WD instead, exploring the desert sands and nearby miracle of greenery in another wadi east of Muscat. Well, not that unfortunate - I had a lot of fun 4WD-rollercoastering the desert dunes, jumping off a bridge into the wadi, and climbing deep into the gorge with a local kid. (Heaps of local kids hang around to take foreigners to otherwise hidden sights with some fun informal caving, for a tip of course.) I was particularly astounded by the desert, having never really seen such expanses of undulating sand before... but it was to be just the first of a few on my travels. I was also lucky to split the cost with three fun German backpackers ... also to be just the first of many on my travels.

My last day was a relaxed one, visiting the museum Bait Al Baranda and again getting lost in the back streets of Mutrah. I loved the unique houses with their flat roofs for the abundance of sand, and the intricate designs on the mosques' minarets. Finally, I climbed the worn-away stones that once formed a staircase to a fortress, writing my journal in peace from this lofty ancient place. Somehow I don't think that last one is technically open to tourists, or locals for that matter... but I thought of myself as exploring new frontiers, unbound by society's rules. Hey, a girl can dream.

I left Muscat with two final indelible memories. The first, a sunset from the Portuguese Fort overlooking the water. The second was Ali. I thought I'd missed him, stalking the café twice in the afternoon with no luck, but the owner saw me and sent him my way as I prepared to leave for the airport. "I don't have time to go to the market with you any more," I told him sadly when he found me. "That's okay," he replied. "I brought this ring for your mother."

If you ever visit Muscat, look for Ali at the Coffee Shop next to the Seagull Cafe and Cafe A, and tell him I'm thinking of him. Like the kind-hearted Omanis before him, he refused any repayment, and sent me on my way with well-wishes and a heart full of love for the diverse people I met and the new country that introduced them to me.