Day 152 - Milford Sound

Being in Queenstown reminds me of Vang Vieng. Lots of partying, good atmosphere, and everybody knows everyone once they've been here a few days. I find myself being greeted (a nod or a smile) in the street by people I don't quite recognise, and I do the same to others. In the most recent instance, it's only afterwards my consciousness realises they're my Swiss roommates.

There's an inclusive cemetery here - no boundary fence nor wall. Chinese, Jewish, Anglican, Catholic - all together, side by side. Lots of McBrides and O'Neills, Galway and Tyrone. A Collins grave. Some older statues, dramatic against the mountains.

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I've got this empty void within me. I'm not sure its root. Missing R? The whole gang of Strays? Or the fact that I'm only three weeks from the end of this adventure, never to be repeated. Or if it is, I'll be past thirty, and not really one of the regulars. I have this regret, that I should have done this years ago - taken a chance on a working visa, and taken off. but my sensibilities would never allow it, not then. Maybe now?

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Kayaking this morning was just perfect. Up at 6am to make porridge and tea. Rendezvous in the lounge with four others - Lithuanians and Estonians. Skirts (Paul) is our guide for the morning. I'm paired up with him, the engine to his rudder. We suit up in the most ridiculous long-johns, while a long white mist hangs over the lake. It's as calm as a millpond, and the reflections are stunning. The others are first timers, so we have a leisurely pace, myself and Skirts chatting amiably while the others get used to kayaking.

We come out into the openness of the sound, following the far coast, hugging the rocks. We spy a couple of seals ahead. Around the corner, and there's about ten of them frolicking in the water. They're completely unafraid of us, slipping under the boats, waving their tails and peeking at us inquisitively. We paddle under Stirling Falls, a more dramatic encounter than yesterday - the wind pushing us back is mighty! We break on a small beachy out crap, after three hours on the water.

Skirts

Very hard to get a good photo when the seals and kayak are both constantly moving

Stirling Falls

When we get back in the kayaks and attempt to head further out toward the Tasman Sea, a strong sea breeze has sprung up and battling against it is draining. We decide to raft up and hitch a lift instead. While we wait, Skirts entertains us with tales of life in Milford. They have a naked tunnel run every April 1st, with Ken and Barbie dolls for first placed guy and girl. [They also get completely cut off during the winter.]

The Balticians (I made that up) are like larger than life stereotypes. "Good is not bad". "Bad is not good". They related the tale of the fisherman they met who caught only one fish - "one fish is no fish".

Day 71 - NB-Hanoi train

Met Tum in the lobby yesterday morning, and jumped on the back of his scooter. Not nearly as comfortable as the Easy Riders. Because the scooter is much smaller, any little shift in my weight is amplified, and affects Tum's balance. So I must sit rigidly still, quickly growing stiff, and with a numb bum. Riding my own scooter would've been preferable. It's no fun in traffic, but the majority of our day is spent taking shortcuts along causeways in the paddyfields, or through small clusters of houses.

The fields themselves are marvels of human labour - huge irrigation systems control the flow of water, and harvesting the rice is a community effort. Here and there the rice has been spread out on one half of the road to dry.

Rice drying on the road

We arrive at Cuc Phnong park, and Tum drops me at the starting point of one of the 'treks', a 6km loop through the jungle. I amble along the path, not another soul in sight. I scare myself silly once or twice when a leaf lands on my head, or a creeper grabs at my ankle. Spider-like insects with long spindly legs scuttle across the path. At one point, grasshoppers leap off the path ahead of me as I walk, jumping into the foliage on either side of the path to create a sort of firework or fountain effect.

The walk culminates with a towering 1,000 year old tree. I pause to contemplate it, and am joined by Andy, a Watford man, who is on the same loop. We finish it together, exchanging pleasant smalltalk.

Next point of interest is a prehistoric cave, where I meet Andy again. Exploring with our headlamps, we realise the cave is massive! So big that there is a set of steep stairs /within/ the cave, but the sheer size of it is awesome.

Vietnamese guys share some rice-cake with me at lunch (some of the nicest pho I've had in the north), then I have a tour of the Endangered Primate Rescue Centre. I am taken around the enclosures with three older American men, while our pregnant guide gently explains what each species is, and how many are left in Vietnam. One species only has seventy individuals. The centre works with monkeys seized from hunters, or abandoned pets. They aim to release them into the wild, first releasing them into the semi-wild of the park to see how they adapt to freedom.

I buy some postcards, but they are hesitant to take my 100,000VND note because there is a small indent on one edge. I use it as a donation instead.

Tum offers to take me to a local fishing village, but after bumping into and chatting to Marie-Anna (the Dutch girl from the first morning in NB), I ask him to bring me to the Mua Cave instead. Here there is a set of steps to the top of one of the jutting rocks, offering a magnificent view of the surround landscape.

On one side, I can see down into Tam Coc park, where rowing boats saunter through the wetlands. The skyline is defined by a row of jagged, rocky teeth, with further rows behind protruding through the haps. It reminds me of the Terenji in Mongolia.

One the other side, the rice fields sweep toward NB. Small fires are burning where people are disposing of the rice chaff (I think). The rock formations are like brooding alien masses, dropped from the sky. Here they remind me of the mesa in the USA, single towers dominating and dwarfing everything around them. If they were in Ireland, we would say they were left by giants.

Make our way back to NB then, passing (as we have all day) a few more necropolises (necropolii?). The Vietnamese worship their ancestors, so a family is usually buried on their own land, to protect it and help it prosper. It also keeps them close while working in the ricefields, for ease of access for worship and memory.

Another aspect is that the children can't sell the land. The tomb and coffin are usually built (or bought) before the actual death, so that those who are about to die can ensure an appropriate amount of money and grandeur are used.

Met Marie-Anna for a final beer before her train to Hué, and then some Internet admin - 9,000VND for 90min = win! Turns out my visa expires early next week, so I might need an extension to visit Halong Bay.

Day 35 - Chengdu-Kunming train

Took two immodium last night before sleeping, terrified the hotpot would hit me at a bad time. Say goodbye to the others, taxi to the train. Carriage seems quiet. Had a clear out as soon as the train started moving. Incredibly cathartic. Now to Kunming!

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Cǎo ní mǎ [Tsao nee maah] - Chinese for "fuck your mother"

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"Yoghurt explosion" and "bed pollution" will forever make me giggle.

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Have noticed the lack of graveyards in China and Mongolia, also Russia. Saw a few small plots of steles (maybe 15m2) from the train window. Are Buddhists cremated?

Makes me think that the acres of graves at home are wasteful. Monuments to those that are gone, a sign of love and respect. In the Mongolian ger tents, they have a shrine to dead relatives, for private reverence. Perhaps this is better? But then we would be missing O'Connell's tower, Parnell's rock, Grandaddy's grave - nice for a visit and a prayer, so maybe one wouldn't want a constant reminder of the loss in the home. Or is it a constant reminder of the memory? The life.

Poor L. Hope her dad will be okay.

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As I've come further east on my journey, one of the things that's noticeably worsened has been the traffic and ability of drivers. In SPB and Moscow, drivers often sped down the main drags. In Irkutsk, Sergei would protect us while we crossed the road. By UB, traffic lights had become only a guide line. The group was often split when some didn't make it across the road. In Beijing, the bicycles were everywhere, haphazardly using road, cycle lane and path, rarely with lights. In Xi'an, zebra crossings were negotiated one lane at a time.

One thing has been consistent: the taxi drivers are all lunatics. In UB and Chengdu we witnessed it from the passenger seat. But it must be a universal truth.

I've been warned that Vietnam will be even worse.

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Chinese countryside rolling  by again. Small homesteads, allotments, corn. First solo leg of my journey, Chengdu to Kunming. I'd be more prepared for it tomorrow, but it has been foisted on me today. First pang of loneliness while shopping for one yesterday. Might try Skype home once I'm in Kunming hostel. Will take a day or two to recuperate, do laundry, get my visa for Vietnam, send a few emails and hopefully back things up online. Then on to Lao Cai and Sapa as quickly as possible.

Travelling alone is odd after a month of company. There's nobody to share experiences with. Is there a point to solitary joy? Yes, but I wonder how long I can be asocial for. Half the point of this journal is to share my experiences with others and future me.

Shower goodbyes to Dom and Kelly this morning. Almost perfunctory, formal. A hug and a handshake, "enjoy your travels", and then gone. What else is there to do, to say? Is it ever really goodbye when there's email, Facebook?

Missed Andy and Jake. Group goodbye for Seb & Nicci, Ali & Scott on a train. Only half of Team Swiss. Motleys in the morning, Brigitte at 5am.

No. Goodbyes of these magnitudes are never easy. Keep it short and sincere.

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Paddy fields! First sighting of the trip! Makes a change from corn. Lots of vegetables too - green and lush looking. Simple life out here no doubt. Everything is relatively cheap compared to home, but I wonder what the standard of life is like for the natives. So far I've spent most of my time in cities, where everyone has the trappings of wealth, like mobile phones. Only in UB was poverty really thrust in our faces - neglected children roaming the streets.

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The Chinese drive like Dubliners cycle.

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Gambai - Chinese toast, means 'empty glass'

Ne hau peow liang - you are very pretty