About an hour south west of Hoi An takes you to a lush mountain area where you will find the ruins of My Son, a site of temples and sanctuaries built by the Cham kings between the 7th and 13th centuries. The buildings were built for meditation and prayer and it’s easy to see why they chose this tranquil and beautiful area. They had remained in tact when uncovered by the French in the 19th century but the Americans bombed the place to bits in the war so the original 70 temples are now 27, many of those still standing badly damaged, the land showing the scars of many craters, but they are now painstakingly being restored.

There are many statues of Shiva but all have had their heads taken, most likely now in museums across the globe.

The temples must have been awe inspiring in their day and still hold an air of grandeur and majesty.

There are apparently mountains up there but can’t see them for the mist.

A short flight to Da Nang and onto Hoi An, an ancient trading port that has remained preserved due to being made a UNESCO heritage site 20 years ago.

Our home for 4 nights is the Anantara resort and we couldn’t have asked for better. We’re in a huge suite with a terrace overlooking the river. There are more staff than guests and they couldn’t be more helpful and friendly.

An elephant made of towels. How cute is that?

It was tempting just to stay in and make the most of the luxury but a short stroll down the river bank led us to the busy old town. Usual moped mayhem but the centre bans traffic in the evening so walking is less stressful. There is a large market and then the tourist bit kicks in. The whole town is lit by lanterns. Apparently by law all shops must have them outside and the result is magical.

Along the river there are hundreds of small boats lit with lanterns to take tourists out to float little boxes of candles on the water for luck. What you end up with is an Asian Venice lit up like a Christmas tree. The town is packed with visitors of all nationalities, particularly on the Japanese bridge where everyone poses for photos. There are thousands of market stalls selling the usual tourist tat and you are approached every few metres to buy candles or greetings cards or to take a boat. All done in a friendly way though. There is a bewildering choice of food locations, from traditional riverside restaurants to street food stalls selling rice pancakes and pho.

Frog on a stick looks tasty…

In theory the food is really healthy but we’ve eaten so much of it we will be coming home looking like little buddhas.

Day 2 and we did the cultural bit. The assembly house was fascinating and beautiful.

We couldn’t quite get excited about the cultural museum. Broken pots not our thing.

In the afternoon we took the sunset cruise from our hotel. It was very nice but didn’t quite fit the job description as there was no sunset due to it being cloudy and the boat came back well before there would have been one anyway. May explain why no one else had booked the trip. Clearly they had a heads up. Tim liked seeing the fishing nets though.

More tomorrow…..

We said goodbye to our guide Kim at the airport as we took our journey north.

Lots of hugs and fond farewells. She is such a lovely woman. Being a good tour guide is tricky and she has it just right. She chatted non stop and had so many stories. We laughed a lot.

Some of the things she taught us :-

How to say hello, goodbye, thank you and cheers in Vietnamese. Ok, so Tim is still mostly asking for the bill in Spanish but we made progress.

You should drink white wine because it’s good for your skin. With that and yesterday’s magic jelly I’ll be looking 25 by the end of the holiday.

Wives are rice and girlfriends are noodles and sometimes men fancy some noodles instead of rice but they should never mix them. It made sense at the time…

People in the north of Vietnam eat dog and cat with red wine because it’s colder up there and they say it keeps them warm.

The words for pineapple, watermelon and coconut are all spelled the same in Vietnamese but pronounced differently – such a confusing language.

This is a communist country but despite low wages and still having to pay tax, nothing comes for free. All education and health care must be paid for. There is no welfare state.

Don’t leave your chopsticks in a V when you finish your meal.

Kim’s friends say she is black because her skin is “dark”. The women strive to be white, covering head to toe even in the sweltering heat and the rich spend a fortune on cosmetic procedures and creams to whiten their skin. She thought it hilarious that I spend money getting sprayed to look orange. It is hilarious, ridiculous, when you think about it. They want to look like me and I want to look like them. But I’m sticking with the fake tan for now.

If you touch a Vietnamese woman you have to marry her. I think we may have lost something in translation there but Tim has invested in a straitjacket all the same. He has enough grief with the one wife already.

……….

Kim has a 5 year old son who she adores. She’s a lone parent living with her mother, sister and brother in law in a 3 bedroom flat. It sounds like they get on well. Her husband died a year ago. She’s philosophical. “This is life” she says. She believes in Karma. If it exists she’s got it good for the next life ❤️

A two and a half hour journey South took us well away from the bustle of Ho Chi Min to the Mekong Delta. At the island of Ben Tre we saw coconuts, a lot of coconuts. First the processing unit which is basically a group of workers who graft from 3am to 5pm, each with their own repetitive task, smashing, peeling or chopping. They get paid about $10 a day which seems little for such hard work in the heat.

We saw the coconut powder factory then crossed the river to see the coconut charcoal plant. Coconut overload by this point although we were quite happy to sample the fruit.

We carried on down the river and landed on a smaller island where it was a short cycle ride to our next stop, a farm that makes suong sam jelly. Never heard of it? It’s a jelly made out of leaves. It tastes like leaves but you can add sugar so it tastes like sweet leaves. This stuff is a miracle. Apparently it makes women beautiful, it helps children sleep better and it keeps men virile. I could only manage half of mine so I’m only half beautiful today and Tim slept like a log last night, but he is a child at heart. Won’t get into the virile thing – parents and children about 😳

No cars on the island so back on our bikes. I’m a wobbly cyclist but this was pleasant, cycling down paths running along the canals and shaded by palms and fruit trees, the constant sound of cockerels crowing and the odd dog coming to greet you.

We arrived at a house in a clearing by a canal and were greeted by the owners who were providing our lunch. We were getting treated to the “rustic experience”. A traditional family Thai meal. Slightly awkward in that it was just us and they were so attentive but the ambience was great and they couldn’t have been kinder hosts.

They had proudly made everything themselves and produced or caught most of the ingredients. First was an elephant-eared fish.

They removed the flesh and made us several large winter rolls with noodles and fresh basil and mint. Then 2 huge prawns and spring rolls. At this point I’m starting to panic. Kim has told us about the legendary hospitality of the Southern Vietnamese and how much pleasure they get from feeding guests. But she also said that it’s impolite to not finish what you are given as this is seen as rude and ungrateful. You know I don’t do big portions so I was busily offloading food to Tim when heir backs were turned. So the main dish arrives. Chicken curry with rice and morning glory. Then an unusual sweet soup of noodles, vegetables, prawns and pineapple. Then a sticky rice cake and fruit. All absolutely delicious but I was starting to lose the will so I wrapped my cake in a napkin and snuck it into Tim’s bag so as not to offend. Our hosts spoke no English but we communicated well because they were so friendly and kind, a common theme we are finding with the people we have met so far.

We waved our goodbyes and waddled to the canal to board a bamboo rowboat that glided us through the shade of the mangroves to the bigger boat that would take us back to Ben Tre.

Back to the frantic hustle of Ho Chi Min.

Flying north tomorrow….

For some reason the blog won’t load. Maybe the internet isn’t good enough for all our fabulous photos. If you search the blog for Saigon it will show. In the meantime I’ll see if it works with a better connection when we move on tomorrow x

So they saved the prettiest till last.   The internet there wasn’t good enough for downloading photos so I’ve had to wait to write the last exciting instalment at the airport.   Luckily we got here 5 hours early so it gives me something to do rather than fret about the flight.  

A 4 hour journey on the coast road flanked by the sea on one side and the jungle clad mountains in the other.   Paraty is the cutest little chocolate box town you’ve ever seen.   It started as a prosperous colonial port funded by gold and slavery, so not quite so cute when you think about it.   When the gold went the town declined and the centre has stayed pretty much the same as it was back then.   Colonial houses with tall wooden doors and large windows all painted in bright colours.   Cobbled streets decked with bunting and fairy lights with high pavements to allow the tide in .   By cobbles I mean bloody great boulders like stepping stones.  All the tourists stagger round like they’re drunk and I didn’t see one woman in high heels, not one.   Nearer the harbour you notice 1000s of little holes between the cobbles, and each little hole has a little crab in it, with one huge claw.  Relatively speaking that is.

The bad news is that Tim has a cold.   😱😱😱

I had it last week but clearly it has mutated into the male form and he was suffering.   So after a wander round and a drink at the harbour, Tim took to his bed and I sat in the square.   Not many tourists, almost no English, in fact hardly anyone speaks English and my Portuguese is rubbish.   Kids playing basketball, young couples smooching, families wandering about, the occasional vendor, and music everywhere.   And fireworks.   Every 10 mins there’s an almighty explosion and I’m the only one who seems to notice.   Even the dogs aren’t bothered.   It’s festival time for Spirito Sanctu and it’s the norm apparently.   

So, at 6 O’bleeding’clock the next morning there is crash.   FIreworks!   And all the church bells ringing!  Talk about a rude awakening.   Then just as we were trying to work out what the hell was going on, a brass band started.   A brass band and fireworks at 6am.  That’s new.   At that point we started giggling hysterically it seemed so bizarre, but that soon stopped when the whole party of French people inhabiting the rest of the hotel left their rooms simultaneously at 6.30.   What sounded like 50 cases being trundled down the wooden colonial floors while hey all chatted happily.   I don’t like mornings.  

Anyway, despite the lack of sleep we got ourselves to the pier for our boat trip.   There are 100s of boats of all shapes and sizes, many painted in pretty ice cream and primary colours.   We were on the Neptune lll which was fairly large but there were only 10 of us.   We spent 5 hours motoring from bay to bay, snorkelling and swimming.  Absolutely beautiful.   It’s like a mix of Thailand and the Italian lakes.

Marcelo, the onboard host come photographer took some very cheesy snaps of us on the beach, but as our waterproof camera decided it was hydrophobic we were glad nonetheless.   And how clever were we to coordinate our swimwear?!

More later.  May not finish till we get home but shopping calls…..

We had our first day without anything planned so decided to have a day on the beach.   With all the different places we’ve been to and not that much time in each one, it feels like your wasting time doing “nothing”, but in Rio it felt like the right thing to do.   It’s winter here so we haven’t seen a whole lot of sun, in fact I think it’s hotter in the UK right now, but at 28 degrees it’s definitely warm enough for us even though the Brazilians complain that it’s cold.   No wonder, as in summer it’s over 40 and 80% humidity.   No wonder they live on the beach.  

I thought I’d get a chance to read my book but there’s too much people watching to do.  Copacobana is like a mini city all in itself.   Every third person is trying to sell you something.   The usual bikinis, hats, sunglasses and wraps as well as food of all sorts, freshly grilled prawns, men trundling metal carts with boiling pots of corn, biscuits, crisps and ice cream, and trays of the ubiquitous cocktail caipirinha in all varieties.   Then there’s hair braids, tattoos and hammocks and marijuana.   

In a different world we’d be coming home stoned and tatted up, but we settled for a cocktail and a Jesus beach towel for me and a fake Brazil football shirt for Tim.   Apparently there’s a player called Naymar?

The sea is cold and the currents too dangerous for swimming  anyway.  Lots of surfers though and paddlers.  I was the only woman in a one piece.   Young girls wear bigger bikinis but the women my age wear the teeny thongs up their butt cheeks.   And the men love their budgie smugglers.   The arse is the thing here.   No one is topless.  

Lunch at the hotel pool and then a short walk to Ipanema.   Apparently Cocacabana is the tourist beach, Ipanema the posh one.   Both have their charms but Ipanema comes into its own at sunset.   The waves crash so high that the spray forms a mist that gives it an ethereal air.   

Towards sunset people gather at the rocks to watch.   Tradition has it that you have a glass of champagne and applaud as the sun sets.    No champagne to be seen but plenty of beer and caipirinhas as everyone watched the surfers in monochrome against the misty reddening sky.   Stunning.  No wonder that tanned and lovely tall girl kept walking up Ipanema beach every day.   

We were told that Ronaldinho has recently paid £30 million for a 2 bed flat overlooking the beach.  I must have misheard.  That doesn’t sound right.  

We walked home through a park which was full of people dressed in shiny gypsy outfits, not unlike Daisy’s Esmarelda phase.   Music, food and lots of tents with people queuing for tarot card readings.   Also a star spangled cave where they were lighting candles and laying baskets of fruit and flowers.  Not a clue what was going on.   

After last night’s meat fest , Tim was all for having a bowl of pasta but ended up going for the traditional dish of feijoada.  Black beans, rice, baked flour, oranges, cassava and meat.   When I say meat, it’s a whole pot of whatever meat they have.  No idea what was in it but the possibilities ranged from steak to pigs ears.   South Americans do not do small portions.  

Then a small bar hoping to hear some music.   It was a tiny place, the musicians inside and audience on their street.   If you wanted a drink you helped yourself from the fridge and let the owner know.   Holding court outside he looks like an elderly Orson Wells and sounds like Spike the dog.   Several guitarists played while a woman sang a very gentle bossa nova, so low key it was like there was no audience.  Instead of clapping after songs they clicked their fingers.   A man stood holding political signs and then the owner made a very passionate speech.   My Portuguese is rubbish so not a clue what he was saying, but he said Brazil and “my country” over and over and there was something about not having a coup and the crowd were wholeheartedly agreeing with him.  Teresa May should take some tips.   Get a cool bossa nova vibe going on Teresa….

Our last night in Rio, Paraty next for our final stop in this wonderful journey.   No goodbyes, we will definitely be back one day.  

Tim read something on the Plane from BA that said Rio is the the most beautiful city in the world.   Yeh, yeh, they all say that.   Whatever.   We arrived in the evening.  Another colonial city in the dark, with an admittedly impressive beachfront at our hotel and when we woke up to this we were enchanted of course.  It is beautiful without a doubt.   But the most beautiful?

So, new city, new guide, etc.   Marcel, a very cool and erudite guy took us on a casual tourist trail.   The train to Christ the Redeemer, the modern cathedral (when I say modern, it’s the same age as me, but in cathedral years that’s positively at the toddler phase), then to Sugar Loaf mountain.   The first view of the statue, even shrouded in cloud, literally takes your breath away.  It’s so vast, looking up at it makes you giddy.  You can’t get it in pictures.  And the demeanour of his face is somewhere between enchanting and knowing.   It’s no wonder believers often cry when they see it.   Powerful stuff.  

The views are amazing, but with the low cloud, Marcel was keen for us to go to Sugar Loaf (or Sugar Lump, as Tim keeeps calling it) as its lower so the views are clearer.    But there’s a problem.  The cable car going over a sheer drop of 700 metres.  We were going to the cathedral first so I had time to worry about that later.  

Yet another cathedral.  Nothing could beat Cusco clearly but we were keeping Marcel happy, and when we pulled up outside a 60s concrete teepee we weren’t over excited.  But appearances are deceptive.   This city could inspire more religion in me than a 1000 Sister Mary-Charles’s and all her dogma could ever achieve.   The cathedral is a simple 4-sided pyramid structure modern strips of stain glass on each side and a cross of light at the peak.   Reminiscent of the pantheon.   A plain altar, wooden benches, a simple suspended wooden cross,  a deconstruction of catholic grandeur that makes it as transfixing as any grand European cathedral, without the bling that for me, only serves to remind one of the hypocracy of these buildings.   

And then on to Sugar Loaf.  A drive through busy streets, modern apartments and crumbling Spanish colonial grand houses, graffiti on every spare space.

So we get to Sugar Loaf.  I hate cable cars.  But I’ve managed 9 flights in the last 3 weeks.   Seriously, get over it.   But it’s a tiny little wire carrying a big car between 2 mountains…….

Of course, it was fine.   I didn’t look down and channelled the Carpenters, singing “I’m on top of the world” as we glided upwards.   And how glad am I that I conquered that stupid fear.   Just stunning.   We took photos then sat at a bar with Marcel chatting – politics of course – in the sunshine until we reluctantly took the cars back down again.   

Back home, we sat on Copacobana beach in front of our hotel with a caipirinha and did some wave watching.  

Dinner was at a Brazilian place near the Copacabana Palace.   An all you can eat buffet with various cuts of meat being brought to your table and carved for you.   You can eat until you explode.   I went into panic mode as soon as we arrived with all the choice and managed some salad and a couple of of slices of lamb and beef.   Tim was in heaven.  As well as his starter plate of oysters, sashimi and salad, with a side of onion rings and garlic bread, he had – big breath – chicken hearts, lamb ribs, pork ribs, beef ribs, Angus steak, baby beef, filet mignon, sirloin, rib eye, and chorizo sausage.    And then some cheese, because apparently cheese is just the thing after you’ve eaten lots of meat.   I was wondering if a wafer thin mint might be applicable at that point.  

Just before the meat sweats set in….

We waddled back down the beach.   Even at that time it’s busy.   Joggers and cyclists, volley ball teams and lithe young men and boys playing football on the beach with a casual dexterity and ball skills that you could only see in South America, groups of slightly overweight women doing boot camp and boxing, muscle bound hunks performing solitary routines on rings and bars, singers crooning Portuguese songs and badly pronounced Ed Sheeran ballards, pedlars selling everything from handbags to cocaine, with the regular sound drop of the crashing waves, the white froth visible every now and then as they raise to 10 feet or more.   

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We’ve only been here for 24 hours and I’ve not seen that much of the world, and I know that there are huge problems with poverty here, but so far I’m agreeing with that article Tim read in the plane.   Rio de Janeiro is the most beautiful city in the world.   

Another godforsaken early start, this time on Tim’s birthday.   54!   Not the most exciting of birthdays as most as spent at the airport or flying, but we managed a glass of something sparkling as we left Lima.   

Where would you find the Andes?   At the end of your sleevies……

We landed in Buenos Aires in the evening.   Met by our guide Jonathan.  I’m not sure why they feel we need a guide and a driver to get us from the airport to the hotel. It it certainly makes things easy I guess.  Our hotel is in Palermo, pretty cobbled streets and fairy lights, cool bars and restaurants and small independent clothes shops.  

We thought Cusco was cold…..Buenos Aires is like the arctic!   I was expecting winter, but not this.   Thank goodness I invested in the llama hoodie, gloves and Cusco hat!   The people here dress so stylishly that I look like a steak and kidney pudding on a plate of sushi in comparison, but needs must.   

We went out for steak, what else, which was very nice,  but as the restaurant was full we had to sit outside.   They gave us blankets.  I must have had 15 layers on by then!

In the morning Jonathan met us and we did the city tour.  Various parks and a million statues of generals and presidents.  

 Our knowledge of Argentinian history is even worse than Peruvian.   The Peruvian is fascinating, whilst the Argentinian is a long list of leaders who screwed up the economy in their own special way and It seems that most of the money was spent on statues of themselves.   The main square is an indelible reminder of the political problems, particularly the “disappearance” of 10s of thousands of young people in the 80s.  The government still denies the extent of this but every Thursday a group of mothers march silently in the square outside the “pink house”,  their symbol a white headscarf.   500 babies were born in captivity and given up for adoption, so now there is a grandmothers group too.   They have found over a 100 of these now grown children but are still searching for the rest.   

There’s a big shiny flower in one park.  Very popular.   

A cathedral.   Not a patch on Cusco, but grand enough, and they now have their own pope!  

Then the cemetary at Recoleta.  Mind blowing.   Streets and streets of marble and statues adorning little houses holding coffins.   The rich and important people in Buenos Aires clearly like to leave their remnants languishing in opulence.   

Buenos Aires is familiar.   Someone took colonial Spain, 19th Century Paris, 20th century Barcelona and threw in a touch of New York for luck.   It’s a very cool modern city.   

The sun came out on day 2 and we went for a tango lesson.  Tim did pretty well and by the end we had a pretty good routine going.   There’s a video but luckily I can’t get it to upload.

The the market at San Telmo.   Such a change from Peru and Cuba.  Much lest touristy, antiques, crafts, weird and interesting stuff and live music on every corner.   

After another steak dinner we headed for a community centre to try out our newly learnt tango talent.   Disaster.  Tim couldn’t remember anything beyond the first 3 steps so we bumbled around feebly trying not to bump into anyone.   I don’t think we’ll be making the Strictly finals this year.   

So, on to Rio for the last part of our trip!   One of the nicest airport views we’ve had.  

Buenos Aires.

19 days, 8 flights, 11 hotels.   2 flights and 2 hotels left to go.   

Loving our trip and hotel living is mostly pleasant, but some of it is tiring.   Living out of a suitcase is tricky, particularly for someone with my organisation skills.   I’m not even bothering to unpack any more.  Tim of course, has everything sorted in military fashion and a strict pants and socks rotation.   Spot the difference.   And how comes he has a case twice the size of mine?

With a week to go, thoughts are returning to home.   I’m looking forward to having a cup of proper tea, getting clean clothes out of my own messy wardrobe, watching rubbish TV and, of course, seeing you all again.