Chris and Sebastian at the Hotel Continental in HCMC (Saigon).
Three cheeky monkeys at Angkor Thom, Siem Reap, Cambodia
Exploring the Temples and Wats at Siem Reap
We have returned from our South East Asian adventure and I can say now that when we departed, it was with a fair degree of trepidation on my part.
The prospect of exploring bustling Asian cities for seven weeks in sticky heat with four children under ten in tow was something I found rather daunting. If Chris was similarly apprehensive, he didn’t say so, but I suspect the sheer enormity of the expedition did confront him to some degree at times. Our families were very circumspect in their comments; wishing us well and reiterating how much they would look forward to very regular updates on our progress and wellbeing (and did we have adequate insurance?). It was only as we were embarking on the first leg of our journey, being a car ride from the school to Lohegaon, when Jenny exclaimed, “I can’t believe you are doing this!” that this anxiety was at last articulated and I felt nauseous at hearing it spoken out loud. However, we were to hear that comment repeatedly throughout Asia, as countless backpackers freely offered their opinion on the inappropriateness of our expedition. Although I suspect particularly the young male backpackers were motivated to comment by a degree of annoyance that the inherent dangers of their own adventures were somewhat diluted by the reality of four youngsters quite literally crossing their path of peril.
We experienced some very difficult moments and every familial relationship was sorely tested at one time or another (spending seven weeks entirely in the company of your spouse and children, with few other outlets, was a challenge we had not properly contemplated or prepared ourselves for). Having said that, we had the most amazing time and any shortcomings instantly paled in the face of the rich, diverse experiences and encounters we enjoyed along the way. The horrible struggles and awful experiences of working where we do were soothed to irritating memories and for the first time, all the homesickness and upheaval seemed absolutely worthwhile. This trip is one experience I would never have missed and I feel so fortunate that we have had the opportunity to do this. You would not think that 6 people of such varying ages and interests could all uniformly love most aspects of the same experience, but we did – we had an absolute ball!
We did not get off to a good start. The Monsoon had arrived in Maharashtra in the week we departed and by the time we were on the public bus in Lohegaon, the rain had set in and did not cease while we remained in the country. We jumped in a cab in Pune and the trip to Mumbai airport took over five hours as the little indicar waded through puddles where 12 year olds were treading water. I was sure our flight would be cancelled and was surprised it was only delayed by an hour. It was a midnight flight and we lost most of the night crossing time zones. We arrived in Bangkok exhausted and very, very fragile.
Life improved markedly in the Oriental City. Our hotel was lovely and we were more than happy to fall into luxurious bedding in our three bedroom suite for a morning nap. By lunchtime, we were sufficiently refreshed to officially commence our holiday. We LOVE Bangkok – it is a fabulous city offering the very best of East and West. Perhaps because Thailand has never been colonized and enjoyed a more cooperative relationship with European powers, it is a far more successful amalgam of the two ways of living than other parts of Asia. It boasts the vibrancy and excitement of Asian influences but is also very user friendly in a conveniently western style. The locals dress conservatively but neutrally and there is no clear ‘uniform’ like a sari or a turban, so everyone blends in nicely (although I do wish westerners would take a course on when not to wear singlet tops and thigh shorts!). There is so much to do and see in Bangkok and the opportunities to shop – well – I do not consider myself a shopaholic, but I could barely tear myself away from the Siam Paragon and, as for the markets everywhere….. The traffic is ridiculous, but once we figured out the ferries and the monorail, we could zip about very quickly. There are heaps of touristy things to do and see – the Grand Palace and the Reclining Buddha were highlights – and the children were blown away by the Aquarium. I could go on and on about Bangkok but I am only up to day 3.
We headed north to Kanchanaburi to the River Kwai. We were not feeling confident our transport for this trip would eventuate because we had purchased our bus tickets while we were in the process of being scammed (long story –it was a typical Thai scam and we fell for it, as did a few dozen other sheepish Australians who all ended up in the same silk shop we did). Fortunately our ‘guide’ at least detoured with us to a legitimate travel agent to book transport for the following day and so our driver was waiting for us as arranged (South East Asians are punctual, so we were constantly surprised by the fact that things happened when they were scheduled to.)
Kanchanaburi was not terribly remarkable except for the Bridge over the River Kwai, the Death Railway, and the very beautiful Erawan Falls. We stayed in a lovely resort just near the bridge so we were pleased each trip into town involved a crossing. Charlie was not so thrilled because it seemed every time we crossed, a train followed us over. Obviously this did not amount to tensions of ‘Stand By Me’ proportions but it did mean we had to step to the side over gaping holes between the sleepers, so perhaps Charlie had good cause for concern. As an Australian, this place holds enormous significance and to be literally immersed in one of our most awful chapters was incredibly moving. We traveled the Death railway to the Hellfire Pass and the emotions this trip conjured, particular for Chris, Paddy and I, were far more profound than I had anticipated. There is an excellent museum near the Pass which was established by an Australian POW who worked on the railway. There is an audio tour you can take while walking to the Pass which is full of recounts from prisoners about what they encountered during their time there and, as a wife, mother, daughter and sister, I thanked God my time came later. There are heaps of Japanese tourists who come to see the bridge and travel on the railway (they do not go to Hellfire Pass). Obviously the railway is significant to them for different reasons – its construction (over 200km of track in 20 months) is a remarkable feat of engineering and they take great pride in it as a highlight in a very dark part of their history. Each country writes its own history and this is an amazing example of completely contrasting interpretations of a significant moment in time.
Our next major stop was Kamala Bay Garden Resort in Phuket where we were ecstatic to meet up with the Heenans for a week. While Phuket itself was fairly underwhelming due in no small part to the high incidence of opportunistic western males on sex tours, we all had a fabulous week swimming and generally carousing in the company of good friends. We took the ferry to Koh Phi Phi one morning and spent a lovely day on its beautiful beach. We were becoming accustomed to the huge amounts of Japanese tourists everywhere we went and they are a remarkable breed. They tend to travel in groups of at least forty, always with guides, and they are obvious if for no other reason than they are almost always inappropriately dressed. This high incidence of stilettos and Channel suits among the women is startling, especially as you scamper past them up a cliff to a waterfall – Do their guides tell them nothing of what the day holds? There were plenty of them tottering about in strappy sandals on the ferry back to Phuket. As they tenderly eased their way from the best seats at the front to the rear doors (where we were sitting) just in case they needed to make a hasty exit, Michael would take one look at their green faces and start rocking and moaning – an extra incentive to help them out the door and over to the railing! He justified this by pointing out it was keeping our 7 (collectively) children entertained and added as an aside to us, “No wonder they lost the war in the Pacific!” Speaking of tourist stereotypes, we encountered plenty of Germans on our trip and I have never known people to take traveling so seriously – even the children barely smiled. “Standoffish” does not to justice to the Teutonic aloofness they exuded.
We then headed north to Chiang Mai where I enjoyed a daily 1 hour Thai massage for 100 Baht (about AUD 3.50) – it was bliss. Chris had one on the first day but alas, his knees were not up to the challenge. We went to an elephant sanctuary and enjoyed a trek to a little village. However, an elephant ride is quite a lurching, not to mention smelly, affair and by the time we were greeted by the tribal locals I wasn’t feeling much better than the seasick Japanese glamours. One afternoon we took a detour via the Prem Centre, a residential International School, and found it to be as depressingly fabulous as we had anticipated. When I told the kids, this is what we had expected at our school in India; they were incredulous and thought it was a great joke.
After just over three weeks, we bid farewell to Thailand and started the Vietnamese leg of our trip. Hanoi was our first stop and while it was ridiculously hot, it was such a beautiful city to explore, particularly on foot. We stayed in the Old Quarter and we were fascinated by the maze of themed streets, each boasting a different trade or type of ware. The French influence is apparent in Hanoi, both in its architecture and its food, but it remains very much an exciting Asian city. Hanoi is a river city and as such, bears a resemblance to Melbourne in many ways. We took a three night tour to Halong Bay and stayed on Cat Ba island before returning to Hanoi so the boys could watch Australia play Japan in the quarter final of the Asia cup while Eliza, Seb and I treated ourselves to a delightful Water Puppet experience – Seb hasn’t sat that still for an hour in a very long time.
We had intended to travel to Sapa for a day or two on the overnight train and then by train again down the coast of Vietnam, but we considered all this was really beyond us as we became increasingly fatigued by constantly being on the move. Asia is such a cheap place to travel, we rarely overspent our daily budget and in fact found we had plenty of ‘fat’ left to upgrade much of our accommodation and to fly everywhere instead. We stayed six nights in Hoi An – a gorgeous seaside historical town – at a lovely resort. We spent our days, eating swimming, and being fitted for an absurd amount of tailor-made clothing at equally absurdly cheap prices – we had to buy a new suitcase to accommodate our acquisitions. The children, who were not thrilled with all the clothes shopping, were more than compensated by the wonderful pools and the beach. We finished each afternoon at the Beach Club with a cocktail or a ‘fizzy’ at happy hour. Orangina was a favourite with the minors while their parents were fairly partial to a chilly Mojhito. Being the small world that it is, we ran into Martin Gill, a guy we haven’t seen for fifteen years and he greeted us as casually as if he last saw us a month ago. It was great to encounter a familiar adult and, needless to say, Chris and I barely drew breath that night when we dined with him.
We flew into Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) one morning with a booking for a 2 star guest house. The children and I were very relieved they had given away our booking, although we weren’t surprised because few places in Asia will actually hold two rooms even if you have paid a deposit, so this happened to us repeatedly. This meant we were ‘forced’ to stay at a four star hotel up the road with a plasma television above the bed – how devastating. Saigon is fairly dull in a bland, communist sort of way. We went to the ‘War Remnants Museum’ which should really include a subtitle, ‘All the reasons we hate the US and France’. It was shocking and I found any apology I made thereafter to locals for minor transgressions such as bumping into them in the street was loaded with remorse for all the atrocities inflicted upon civilians during and after the war. Chris commented that it was amazing how gracious and friendly some of the older men were to him, particularly as his face could have been a source of terror to them when they were young men. I wish some of the young idiot backpackers who insisted on wearing combat fatigues while stomping through the streets with ‘I can’t believe how cool I am’ arrogance had given some thought to what image they may be conveying to this battle scarred nation.
The lasting impression of Vietnam is the friendliness of the locals who, like the Thais, could not have been more welcoming or accommodating to us, no matter how many soft drinks we spilled or how loudly Sebastian squealed in confined spaces. The novelty of traveling as a family with young children entitled us to endless chats with curious locals and fellow tourists who were all equally fascinated by the presence of our children in SE Asia and their obvious enjoyment in being carted all over the countryside. We were quizzed on all manner of things from how the children had coped with the food to how I had coped with four labours – in fact I became quite accustomed to revealing the most intimate details of my life to friendly strangers who showed no hesitation in asking about them. However, I did not become accustomed to one local habit that plagued our eldest two in this country. It seemed our boys, or more particularly their lashes, were the source of some confusion among the elderly ladies of Vietnam. I was often asked to confirm if they were in fact boys and when I did so, they would motion to their eyes and say something like “girl eyes”. I had no objection to this query but we all objected when they sought to confirm their doubt by reaching for the boys’ groins. Having satisfied themselves about the gender of our boys, they would move on, leaving us standing aghast and arguably derelict in our parental duty to protect our children from such acts. It only happened a couple of times before we were wary of all little old ladies and we became quite adept at intercepting curious gnarly hands – I only hope there is no long term damage to Charlie or to Paddy who announced in disgust when it happened to him, “That was really weird in an awful kind of way!” It seems that pre-pubescent males were not the only objects of such interest to the local ladies – a long lashed New Zealand teacher told us he had had a similar experience in a remote village and was still grappling with whether he should feel amused or abused. Fortunately Eliza and Seb were not subject to such probing; the ladies concluded in all instances that they were “pretty little girls”.
The first day of August found us traveling by bus to Phnom Penh in Cambodia. My immediate impressions of this country was that it was very political with slogans for various parties erected on every second property; it also possessed amazingly healthy looking pink pigs and they were prolific in number. I haven’t seen a fat pink pig since leaving Australia and so the sight of them everywhere surprised me. In addition, Phnom Penh hosts a large amount of Buddhist Monks and their large numbers struck all of us, prompting Charlie to comment, “Why are there so many Chimps here?” However, Phnom Penh is a very sad place and due to its very recent history, as you walk the streets you feel as though you have entered the set for the Killing Fields. I literally gasped as I walked past the French Embassy – it looks exactly as it did in that awful scene when the Cambodian people sheltering there are forced to leave its sanctuary. As I looked up to the balcony, I half expected to see Graham Kennedy leaning against it with his shirt undone and a glass of red in his hand. There are signs of recovery, especially in the younger locals who smile as graciously as their Asian neighbours, but some of the over-forties wear such a shattered look on their faces, I doubt they are capable of smiling in any circumstances. Paddy and I went to the Tuol Sleng Museum (S.21) and without doubt, I have never been to a more awful place. Its horrors scream from the very walls and in all the courtyards you see tourists slumped on benches trying to make sense of what they are absorbing. No one speaks; No one really wants to believe the truth it tells. I can not imagine how the plundered souls of this country have actually learnt to trust each other again – the human spirit is extraordinarily resilient.
We drove to Siem Reap and were met with a far more robust aspect of Cambodia. This town plays host to all who visit the nearby temples including Angkor Wat and this association has somehow provided it with a buffer to some of the palpable tragedy and poverty that still permeates Phnom Penh. We stayed at a terrific guest house called Two Dragons which is managed by a very organized Canadian who assisted us with every contingency during our time there. The WATS and Temples are spectacular and of all the sights we saw on our adventure, nothing really came close to this astounding corner of the world. It is mind-blowingly beautiful.
We drove from Siem Reap back to Bangkok. This stretch of road is known as the ‘Boulevard of Broken Backsides’ and with very good reason. Rumour has it that an airline is paying the relevant council not to improve this road so that visitors to Siem Reap are forced to fly. We knew all this before we departed, but nothing can really prepare you for the experience of driving though what literally amounts to a ploughed paddock in pouring rain at 5km/hr for 5 hours. Our car was up to its knees in mud and if we weren’t sliding into the walls of bridges, oncoming cars appeared to be sliding into us. I couldn’t believe we got through it and remain eternally grateful to our good natured, very skilled driver.
We spent 3 nights recovering in Bangkok and indulged in every western, child-friendly activity we could think of before we turned our heads, somewhat reluctantly to India. Our plane was delayed from landing in Mumbai and so our hotel had given our rooms away. We were then at the mercy of the tourist agency situated at the Mumbai airport at 11pm. We ended up at the most disgusting hotel and I was quite convinced we would all have our throats cut as we slept such was the ambience of this flea pit. Of course, it was more expensive to stay there than at the most lush 5 star resort we enjoyed in Asia. Ahhh India – it’s good to be home!?
