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.   

We got up at stupid o’clock to get our train from Ollantaytambo (try saying that after a couple of pisco sours), and poor Willington must have got up at a sparrow’s crack to make the journey from Cusco.   A very pleasant and scenic journey meandering through the valley following the river Urubamba until we got to Machu Picchu village, a town that seems to serve no purpose other than as a stop gap for hikers and us tourists.  

We boarded our bus and headed up the mountain via a series of rather stomach churning bends.   My advice, don’t look down!

The view from the bus.

And there we were.  At last.   Crowds of tourists, big queues, and so much beaurocracy just to get in, but when you go through the barriers and climb a few feet then turn the corner, there it is in all it’s glory!

Willington gave us the tour and a run down of the history etc.   No one is exactly sure what it’s purpose is but the popular theory is that it was a summer palace, a holiday pad so to speak, with added spiritual value due to the alignment of various points with the sun at the solstices.  There is a temple, various upmarket houses for the nobles, lesser quality dwellings for the servants, workshops and what is thought to be the school house.   Certain children were scouted for their high intelligence, taken from their families and educated and lived here.   If there was some kind of disaster such as an earthquake or El Niño, a group of the children would be taken high up to the glacier.  Some would die on the journey,  but one of the survivors, i.e. the strongest, would be offered as a sacrifice to the gods.   This seems cruel to us but apparently it was an honour to be even selected to be taken to the school.  Having a child who was sacrificed was an even greater honour because he or she was now living with the gods.   Obviously, children are no longer sacrificed, no matter how bad the weather, but animals still are killed as offerings, particularly during festivities.   The country is 90% catholic but they still use shamans regularly to do cleansing rituals for projects such as building a new house, and to help cure ills.   If someone is suffering from trauma the shaman will bring a guinea pig and rub it over the person to cleanse them.  The animal is then killed and the blood runs black as it has taken the bad spirits away into its blood.   They may also run an egg over the patient’s body and when it is cracked open after the yolk is black and smells putrid.   It sounds odd to us but Willington is pretty convinced of their healing power and appparently you wouldn’t dream of getting building work done without a visit from a shaman first.  It will even be written into the contract before anyone will continue.   

After we said our last goodbye to Willington we stayed for the afternoon.   The queues for the buses at lunchtime can be over an hour as everyone needs to get back for their trains so the site is relatively peaceful after that.  

We wandered around and then started the climb to the Sun gate.

  We only got about half way up because Tim was sweating and puffing like a sweaty puffy thing and we didn’t have time to do it unless we ran up.   Even half way up the views are pretty awesome – not a word I use often or lightly.

We climbed back down, had a bit of llama fun and finished our day with a pisco sour at the mirador.

The hotel Sumaq, where we were staying, is at the foot of the mountains overlooking the river.   Beautiful and loud.   And a bit smelly.   

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A casual morning the next day and then our train back and onwards to Cusco again for our last night in Peru.  Randomly one of the train staff appeared dressed as a devil half way through the journey and did some dancing.   Then there was an alpaca-themed fashion show.  You don’t get that on Chiltern railways.   

The drive showed more stunning views.  

Our hotel for the night was an old Inca foundation with a colonial hat on.   Very atmospheric and slightly disconcerting ambience.    Tim was feeling the altitude again and we had an early start so just wandered around, bought some more llamas and said farewell to Cusco.   

Good bye Peru, you have been wonderful.   

Willington and our driver picked us up early and Tim was looking forward to going downhill.  But first we had to go even higher out of Cusco, passing the suburban makeshift houses perched perilously on the mountainside, then out into to the countryside with the imperious glacier topped mountains looking down on us as we headed towards them.   Rough country roads, villagers working the fields by hand, and the occasional brass band appearing out of nowhere with a decorated donkey.  Obviously.  It’s Monday morning so why wouldn’t you dress up your donkey and bring it out with a fanfare?

We eventually reached Moray, where the Incas built an ingenious system of terraces in order to modify their seed crops in different altitudes.  So they moved the potatoes, which grow best at altitude, down each season, and the corn, which is better lower down, was moved up.  An early form of genetic manipulation.   And of course,  being the Incas, they did it in style.  

Then to the Salineras at Maras.  A system of shallow pools fed by a salty mountain spring.   The Incas realised they could produce salt by evaporation and the pools are still producing that very trendy pink salt today.  

From here we could see the Sacred Valley, our next stop.
Down we went, but then up again, now to Pisac.   More terracing and Inca remains and the most wonderful mountain views.   

Inka packed lunch!

A guinea pig house within a dwelling.  They weren’t pets and still aren’t.  They run around the home in the way chickens might in a farmhouse.   

Tim and Willington.

Looking at the cliffs opposite the settlement you can see thousands of small holes.  This is where they put the mummified bodies of their dead.   They would have been covered over with stone but when the Spanish came they looted the graves for the gold they were buried with.  To add to this disgrace, locals in more recent years have been selling the mummies to tourists.  Who on earth wants to buy a mummy and what would you do with it?  I doubt your average Ikea display cabinet has a niche for preserved human remains.  As we were talking about this Tim said , ah yes, they mummified them in the coital position.  I kicked him.   Willington looked perplexed. He said it again, clearly thinking we hadn’t understood.  “They buried them in the coital position didn’t they?”  No, I said, it was the foetal position.   Quite different.   Willington had given up trying to be polite and was giggling by then.   Ah, the joys of having a dyslexic husband….  What in earth would those mummies look  like?   And they’d never have got them into those tiny holes in the cliffs.   Best not go there!

A sheer cliff with about 8000 holes dug out.  

All these Inca sites keep begging the same questions.   How the hell did they get those huge stones to the top of the mountain?   How did they have the technology to devise such sophisticated water systems?   How did they get the bodies up a vertical cliff to lay them in those holes?  On and on.   

Anyway, enough of questions.   We got to our latest hotel, The Tambo del Inca in Urubamba, and it was so beautiful and peaceful we collapsed into a little bubble of luxury for the evening and chose not to go far the next day.   We wandered around the little town which has a nice square and local market and is mostly populated by strange tuk tuk drivers buzzing round the streets.   After dinner that night we walked through the square and were greeted by a gang of teenagers practicing their dance routine for the upcoming festivities in June.   I wish we could be here then.   Willington says it’s a crazy time, but it sounds like a lot of fun as long as you can dodge the fireworks!

There’s a child in there somewhere!

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Early bed for the main event tomorrow.   Machu Picchu!