I just read about Tussah Silk - silk wound from cocoons after the moth emerges! Apparently there are people producing what they are calling “Peace Silk“, and allowing the moths to live out their natural life cycle.
It’s not vegan of course, but I have been very strongly attracted to Pamela’s gorgeous Swallowtail, knit in Seasilk. The slinkyness, the shinyness, the colour….
Maybe there might be some silk in my future.
I’m sick. I’ve been pretending that I’m ok for a few days, but today I have the sore throat, sneezing, coughing, and swollen glands thing happening. So in order to proceed with the list, I am doing some “research” from bed.
The RSPCA has a few bunnies, but they all look quite small - and the RSPCA doesn’t bother with describing rabbit personalities (maybe they think they are all the same?), so it makes it hard to adopt from there when you are seeking a particular personality. But they do have ducks! And chooks - even budgies. So if you’ve been thinking about getting chooks, this could be a good chance.
The Keysborough shelter in Melbourne have a few likely candidates, and I have emailed the carer to ask about personalities. Leigh lives for the bunnies she cares for, and I am sure she will have an opinion on the right match for Custard (if she thinks it’s a good idea to get him a buddy).
Apparently 2007 has been unofficially declared “Knit from your stash year”, but I’m afraid that just isn’t going to happen. I will use some of my stash yarn (my Lornas Laces is waiting patiently for just the right inspiration), but yarn shops of Sydney will rejoice in the knowledge that I intend to buy more yarn. Especially if the TC buyer comes back from his trip with the tasty supplies that Kris told me about on saturday night.
I have started to create a button for the anti KFYS (Knit From Your Stash) movement, but my drug addled brain and photoshop are not compatible right now.
As for specific projects, I am going to use some stash yarn (I have 10 balls each of burnt orange, lime green, and purple) that I am going to dive into for a little jumper/cardi/jacket for niecephew to wear next winter. I promise I won’t use all the colours together.
And for this project, I will break out my Christmas present from Mark, that I picked up from Karen and Chris on sunday. Karen and Chris took their baby daughter Lee to the US this year for the first time to meet the extended family. While they were there, they picked up a few things from Knitpicks…
I got the basic kit with a few doubles in the 3mm-4.5mm range (the needles I tend to use the most), a few extra cables, the pattern holder thingy, a few extra sleeves, and the needle sizer with the nifty viewing window. I believe Karen has an extra set that she’s going to ebay, if anyone is interested, let me know and I will post when she puts them up.
Can you feel the love?
I start on monday fortnight. I have the use of a company car, and a letter of offer will be sent sometime this week (hopefully). The pay is a big step up from my last job, but I’ll have to work bloody hard to earn it - and learn what a spirometer is (amongst other things).
I haven’t done ANYTHING else today (except make my own coffee). I am watching Oprah, and sitting in bed with my foot up. I had plans to be all busy and start to get my life in order, but hell, getting a job is enough of an achievement for one day, don’t you think?
In other news, Mark has officially resigned, so we keep the status quo, with one job between us.
I have two weeks to dry clean all my old business suits that still fit me, and possibly buy at least one summer weight jacket, a few tops, and a few pairs of pants (or a skirt to take advantage of the first tan I’ve had in years). I also want to pack up all the clothes that definitely don’t fit, give away things that I can bear to part with (like about 10 bras that I’ve never worn), and sort out the wardrobe room.
Also on my list of things to do are
1. Organise the craft room/study. We need bookshelves for all the books, and I need to sort the stash, and craft supplies. Make the rec room look like a happy place to be.
2. Make a knitting project list. Buy yarn for specific projects, and consult the stash BEFORE I buy anything new. Also, I want to make time for knitting, since I won’t be knitting on the train anymore.
3. Weed the roses in the front, prune and fertilise. Perhaps even plant a new one.
4. Try to get in charge of the weeds in the backyard. Plant some basil and at least have a little herb garden happening before I go back to full time work. To be able to come home and get a salad together from the backyard is a huge luxury, and one I’m not willing to do without any more.
5. Make a decision about Custard. He needs a friend, and I am terrified of him attacking Monkey if we keep up the bonding process. Maybe we’ll find a big, mellow, girl bunny to love on Custard. He’s lost two bonded partners (as well as Grasshopper) in his short life, and he really seems depressed living on his own.
6. Organise our laundry system, and linen closet.
7. Get rid of the junk that Sarah helped us sort a few months ago, and do some more sorting of the garage.
8. Have a total attitude adjustment, and get over the sense of humour bypass I’ve been experiencing since we came back to fair Sydney. My life is pretty good, and though it’s normal to feel sad at the loss of a beloved furry friend, and a bit at sea without a job, and a little out of sorts at being plucked from a tropical island and landed back in suburbia, I am determined to be a happy and cheerful person that doesn’t wallow. Wallowing is soooooo last year.
Basically, I want to revamp my life. Put more in, get more out. Be more organised, do more exercise, plan meals and eat better, eat less, drink less booze, and be healthier. 2007 is going to be a better year, because I am going to stop expecting things to fall into place. I am going to push them.
These guys were great. Garish outfits, do-wop tunes, and a lascivious attitude. What’s not to love? They can be seen crawling all over me on Kris’ blog.
There was knitting.
There was more live entertainment.
There was one of the cutest babies in the world (Lee, whose parents Karen and Chris delivered my Christmas present from Mark - more on that later).
There was singing of the national anthem (picture taken from below, I was too crippled to stand up).
There was even knitting during the national anthem.
And there was Mark. He’s my favourite.
I have two job offers on the table (potentially). And I do need to accept one of them fairly soon, so Mark and I can save packets of money and buy a shoe box in Bourke. Have you seen this? Housing in Sydney is less affordable than New York and London!
Anyway… Before we left, I had a very promising interview with Company X, on the strength of which I turned down the job that the anti-christ had offered me. They asked me to come in to meet the other director, which turned into a second interview (this is after I thought I had been offered the job). At the second interview, they said they would let me know in two days time - the day before we left for Vietnam. The day arrives, and by 2pm I was getting anxious. By 5pm, I was fuming. By 6pm, I was angry. I called them three times, but my calls were not answered, or returned, so I guessed that my talents were not wanted.
I had three weeks of blissful travel, during which time I convinced myself that Company X were a pack of bastards, who were thoughtless, and rude, and shortsighted, and that I really would not want to work for anyone that would behave in that manner. I contacted an old friend that I’d done some work for in the past, and he happily agreed to take me on. Even offered to negotiate my pay and conditions. Signed me up for his Superannuation fund.
And then, the day we got back, I got a text message “Are you still interested? Please call asap. Company X”.
I swore a lot. You can ask my mum. She’s heard me swearing for years, and I am sure even she would tell you that the expletives reached a new level of duration, volume, and venom. I seem to recall comparing someone to a “son of a motherless goat”. Or words to that effect.
Tomorrow I have to speak to Company X, and Company OF (Old Friend), and try to ascertain what it is that they each want from me, and what they are prepared to offer in return. I anticipate that X will require a lot of hard work and a steep learning curve, but that the financial rewards will be tidy. I’ll also have the added benefit of getting out of an industry that is plagued by low margins and stiff competition, and into an industry that has a much healthier margin, and I’ll be working for a company that has an exclusive distribution of a high value, highly sought after product. Eventually, I’ll also be out on the road, seeing clients, and perhaps even doing a little bit of work related travel. On the other hand, working for Company OF will be easy (the sort of job I could do with both hands tied behind my back while being beaten with a stick), I like the people, the money will be OK, and I’ll still get discounted Apple kit.
Both jobs are in places that are inconvenient for public transport (no commuter knitting), but one comes with the use of a company car.
I sent an email saying that I would call on monday (after I had a chance to calm down), but perhaps I should have given myself more time.
We buried Grasshopper today. Jane bought a beautiful lisianthus plant, which we surrounded with sweet basil, at the same time we replanted Rhubarb’s grave with a rainbow chilli plant and bright purple and pink petunias.
For once, I couldn’t really speak. He was very unique*.
*Something is either unique, or it isn’t. My friend Simone goes batshit when she hears the words “very unique”. Or “totally unique”, or “singularly unique”. My favourite varies between “utterly unique” and “most unique”. Even better than “better than the best”.
Peter Cundall became a Member of the Order of Australia for services to conservation, Stephen Bradbury (THAT speed skater) became an OAM, and Tim Flannery is Australian of the year. And he put one up John Howard in his acceptance speech. Winner.
And the police officer implicated in the death of Mulrunji Doomadge on Palm Island in 2004 will be charged. The police are outraged, but the timing of this decision, though not timely, has a certain irony, coming on the anniversary of an event that had tragic consequences for our indigenous population.
P.S. Bob Brown was visiting Palm Island when the Street Report was released.
Thanks to M-H for the link to the Australian Politics Test. I knew I was a leftie, but apparently I am lefter than I thought…
P.S. Mark did the quiz. He’s just “left”. Oh dear.
Saturday 27.01.07 is the date for Opera in the Park
The Opera will be Turandodt, the weather will be fine (well, it bloody well better be!), I shall be cooking up a few tasty morsels, and bringing picnic rugs, wine, and of course, knitting.
Joining me will be a selection of Sydney knitting celebrities, including Sally (unofficial convener of the Rubi + Lana’s crowd), and David (podcaster, astronomer, diving instructor, published author, mountaineer, composer, magician, and ex taxi driver). Please join us! We’ll be getting in early to nab the best spot, and get some knitting in before the sun goes down and the fat ladies sing. No, I promise I won’t sing. Mark might, but only if you ask nicely.
Everyone is welcome (even non knitters), it’s free, and all you need to bring is yourself. If you want to bring stuff, here is a list of suggestions:
A rug
Sunnies, hat, sunscreen (if arriving early)
Some tasty comestibles
Some wine
Some knitting
A mobile phone for finding us.
We intend to find a spot near the front of the stage, but perhaps off to the Art Gallery side (where I found a great spot last year). Some indication of numbers would be great (so we can nab a spot of an appropriate size), comment here and I will email you phone numbers for Sally, David, and me.
David is aiming for “lunchtime”, Sally and I should be there by about 2.30pm, and the opera starts at 8 (I think).
Spread the word, cross post, link like it’s going out of style!
PS. David is not all those things. I threw in one extra to confuse you, a small Vietnamese souvenir to the first correct guess (no David, you can’t enter).
On the 5th of Jan, Damian (who was house and baby sitting for us), noticed that Grasshopper was acting strangely, and took him to the vet. An hour later, the vet called him to say that the damage was too bad, and that he had to be euthenased.
After Grasshoppers last trip to the vet, Custard had bullied him, so we separated them while Grasshoppers leg recovered. We tried bonding Custard with Blueberry and Monkey, but a fight broke out between Monkey and Custard, and I ended up with a large wound. There wasn’t enough time to bond them properly before we left, so I decided to put Custard back in with Grasshopper. There were a few scuffles, but I wasn’t worried.
I should have been. While Damian was at work, Custard attacked Grasshopper, and basically tore all the skin from his belly. There wasn’t enough skin left to sew up.
Grasshopper came to us 3 1/2 years ago as a tiny leveret, less than a week old, and far too young to be away from his mother. Someone took him to the local vet, the vet tried to look after him, but he wouldn’t eat, and they phoned me to see if I would take him in. It was either that, or the big green needle.
Dad went to pick him up from Rooty Hill, and brought this tiny frightened bundle home in a fruit box. I was told that he was a hare, but I believed that we didn’t have hares in Australia - but one look at him and I knew he wasn’t a rabbit.
You can see pictures from his first day here.
We fed him farex mixed with lactose free milk until I could get some rabbit milk replacement formula. On further research I found out that his weight indicated he was very young, and since he had been at the vet for four days, and not eaten for that entire time, he was very lucky to be alive. The survival rate of leverets who are raised by humans is very, very low.
For three months he was with me constantly, sleeping in my sleeve and popping his head out when he was hungry. More pictures here, and here.
Eventually he got bigger, and more independent. He became more skittish, and preferred to stay away from humans. He was growing into the most amazing creature I had ever seen, and though it was painful that he was drawing away from me, I understood that it was natural, and seeing him healthy was the best reward. Pictures here.
Eventually we were able to house him with Rhubarb and Custard - he had no manners, but they tolerated him.
While he remained a wild creature all his life, I loved him very much. I realise that I could never have anticipated that Custard was capable of such savagery, but I still feel guilty for placing him in danger. I also realise that he probably would have been dead years ago without my intervention, and I hope that he had a measure of comfort and joy in his time with us. He was a rare and precious jewel, and meeting him has touched the lives of many people.
Many thanks to Damian, and to mum and dad, all of whom had to take care of the vets and the body, and the decision not to tell us until we got back. I know it must have been a difficult decision to make, but I am grateful to them for keeping it until we got back - knowing sooner would have put a big dampener on our holiday, and there was nothing we could have done for him once we knew.
We will bury him tomorrow.
Good morning Ho Chi Minh City, we’re off to spend our last day doing a (totally inadequate) one day tour of the Mekong Delta. Up early for breakfast, then a few hours on a bus to get to a boat, which takes us a short way up a side waterway to catch a glimpse of urban life on the Mekong.
At lunch time, I stalked baby chickens….
After lunch, we visited a candy factory (coconut & peanut, yummy).
A “con meo” in the village. I’m taking more pictures of animals than anything else right now.
This woman asked me for money as our boat passed hers. She was laughing hysterically when I gave her some (about .40c).
A very handsome lizard.
And this, is live electricity wires, knocked down by our bus on our way out of the port. Nothing to worry about, we just kept driving….
Then tonight, we decided to live it up a little for our last night. Cocktails at the Rex Hotel (one of the grand old dames of the Saigon hotel scene). Probably the most expensive drinks we’ve had here, but still probably cheaper than most Sydney bars. The rooftop garden is something to see, but we arrived too late for decent photographs.
After leaving the Rex, we decided to walk to the riverfront to take in the night life - apparently the young and hip put on their best threads and cruise the Dong Khoi area on their mopeds.
But some idiot decided to leap onto a traffic island that was a little to high for the height of the leap. And I have sprained my right ankle.
A taxi back to the hotel, some ice, some vodka, and I’m fine, just embarrassed. Getting packed and getting home is going to be fun.
After an early lunch, we had a huge hassle paying the bill - apparently we couldn’t put more than $200 on one credit card - luckily we had three! We then paid our drinks bill with what was left of our Dong, and raced to catch the boat, which took us to the bus that would take us to the train.
We decided on the “5 Star” train, as we had already experienced the normal train and the soft sleeper. It was dead posh, with sofas instead of recliners, and a lot more space, and with staff, but it was still 8 hours on a train. Just before dark, a window opposite us shattered, the older German couple sitting next to it were quite startled. Apparently it is common for children to throw rocks at the train - they break about two windows per day. I’m glad the windows were double glazed, as it could have been quite nasty.
Arrived at our hotel just before midnight, to find it surrounded by metal grilles like it was awaiting a siege. A kind stranger knocked on the grille for us and a very sleepy short person reluctantly let us in, after we assured him we had a booking. The hotel “reception” is part of the souvenir shop next door, and it seemed to have at least 4 people sleeping in a very small space - as well as a few motorbikes.
Up 4 flights of stairs to the room (which did NOT have the green marble bathtub the guidebook promised), we surrendered our passports (the police require that all foreigners give their passports to the hotel staff), and we collapsed into bed. Sleep did not come easily, we are on a very busy corner, and Ho Chi Minh City seems to be a city that doesn’t need much sleep.
Mark took these pics this morning - there is a great view of our busy corner from the fourth floor. Now at an exorbitantly expensive cafe using the “free” WiFi, but it’s now time to have some more adventures. I’ll fill in the Whale Island gap as soon as I pic some representative pictures, and process some stuff. It’s all good!
We are on Whale Island, where everything is perfect except the internet access.
More details later, but I am posting here because the internet is sooooo slow that I cannot even read my email. It took me 40 minutes to log in to .mac to see that I have email, but I cannot actually read email, or send it. In desperation, I am posting here just to let mum and dad know that we are safe, well, and having such an indecently good time that we expect to be apprehended at any moment.
Us leaving the island.
The reason that I haven’t posted this sooner, is that we really had a proper honeymoon. Just two people, in an idyllic location, building intimacy and sharing an intensely personal and wonderful time. We didn’t actually do much, but it was seven days that I will never forget.
Thanks Mum and Dad. Your gift means more than I can say.
About to get on the boat that would take us to paradise.
There were ducks on the way.
The view from the restaurant on the island.
Even the beer was beautiful.
My own personal palm tree.
The view from my knitting. Thanks David for the sock pattern 
Mark off to discover the underwater delights. Unfortunately his new underwater camera (my christmas present to him) died after the first day, so no great underwater shots. Which is a pity, because we saw AMAZING stuff underwater.
We pulled this guy out of the water for pictures. A bit mean, but he was utterly gorgeous!
And this guy was posed a little bit - but seeing the colours, can you blame us ?
The jetty, from just outside our hut.
The restaurant and bar, with the owners waving us goodbye as the boat pulled away from the jetty.
This guy was making wire baskets (for catching sea creatures?) just outside our hotel.
I can’t remember how we spent the morning, but we started to look at some of the Hoi An “attractions” (old houses, family temples, museums, etc.), and came across a young backpacker walking out of this place, who recommended it highly. Always keen for a good veg restaurant, we went in.
And found tofu so fresh, it was still steaming.
I wanted to go to the Hoi An Orphanage, but the address was in “Let’s Go Vietnam” (which I highly reccommend BTW), and not in the Lonely Planet which was in the day bag. I had found the orphanage on the way back to the Grasslands hotel late at night by walking into the rusty barbed wire surrounding it and scraping some flesh from my scalp. Unfortunately neither of us could remember where we were at the time. A young western woman entered the restaurant and ordered in Vietnamese, Mark asked her if she knew where the orphanage was. Fortuitously, she did. Her name is Emma, she is a social work and psychology student from Melbourne, and she is in Vietnam for the 4th time to work at the orphanage for a month on her annual holidays. She gave us directions worthy of me (crappy), and we hoped to catch up with her later.
Unfortunately, from this point on, I have no photos until later in the day. Rhubarb (the macbook) decided that even though his hard drive was full, and he wasn’t going to save the pictures to it, he would delete them from the memory card anyway. I hissed, and cried, and stamped my foot, but they did not come back.
I went into one of the “assembly halls”, places where chinese families could meet and celebrate. They were doing a solid trade in incense cones, which were hung from the ceiling and had labels attached - it appeared to be some kind on ancestor worship, but there was no-one around to explain it to me, so I just drank in the colour and movement, took pictures like I was possessed by a thwarted japanese tourist, and grinned from ear to ear.
This is one of 2 photos I took at the orphanage. I just couldn’t be a “tourist” here, there is too much life and suffering, it is too close to the edge. This little girl is 5 years old. Emma says that 2 years ago she would not speak, or smile, or engage with anyone. She is the first child that engaged with me - she motioned for me to come to her, pick her up, and take her to the food. She had already eaten, she was just trying it on. She spent most of our visit either in my arms on on my lap, smiling and laughing and clapping her hands, and being tickled by one of the other kids. She lives in the room with the severely disabled. Of the 70 odd kids at the orphanage, about 25 have disabilities, many of them quite profound.
Visitors to the orphanage are asked to give a donation - Emma had warned us that this would be expected (and of course, we went with the intention of helping out), but that if we did want to make a financial contribution, it would be much better spent by giving it to a UK based charity that directly helps the Orphanage, rather than allowing the money to go to the Director of the Orphanage (from where there is no transparency as to how the money is spent).
The Kianh Foundation was started by two women who visited the orphanage in March 2001, and found the children living in revolting conditions. They met a boy whose spirit touched them, and they resolved to do whatever they could to change things for the children there. We made a small donation in the official donation box (100,00D, less than $10), which Emma said they would be happy with, and then met Emma at a park down the road (the director gets suspicious if she leaves with visitors).
Emma led us to Jenny’s Bamboo, who is an Aussie expat and is authourised to collect donations on behalf of the foundation.
We bought Emma a beer, and sat and chatted till night fell. Again I looked for Pho (a place recommended by our tailor), but we couldn’t find it, and my guts are still not quite up to scratch, so we went for Emma’s reccomendation of Cafe 19 - “try the tofu with stuff”.
On the way we found the place where we had our cooking lesson - highly recommended.
Tofu with spicy greens and peanuts. One of the top 5 meals so far. Mark ordered this, I ordered “Tofu, Vegetables and Rice”, but it came without any flavour whatsoever, so I gave up and ordered the same thing.
A Hoi An Lantern shop.
After breakfast, we formulated a cunning plan. We would visit the pagoda and the champa temple (this one still in use), and then try to find the Whale Island office after lunch, to let them know where we were staying so we could be transported to the island. On the way we saw this fabulous laughing Buddha - unfortunately they didn’t have a smaller scale model inside.
The caged bird sang prettily, though an identical bird, in an identical tiny cage just flitted from side to side like his mind was fractured by prolonged confinement.
This is the 10 armed manifestation of somebody in the form of somebody else. Guidebook is not handy, but I will look up the reference. We were met at the gates of the pagoda by some very pretty young women who informed us that they were orphans, and that the monks allow them to live at the pagoda and go to school - but that they need money to go to school, and would we please buy postcards or silk paintings from them. The postcards cost us 100,000D - a shade under $10 - we declined to buy two sets.
The reclining buddha - finished only a few years ago. The steps up to the buddha on the top of the hill were populated by beggars - old women, young children, and one girl of about 15 who carried her crippled (and not much smaller) brother with her. By the time we had climbed to the top and bought water, we had spent about $20 - despite there being no “entrance fee” to the pagoda. On the way down, the Lonely Planet recommends exploring around the left hand side of the main temple - we found a man who was happy to show us around through the closed gates, and recommended the best angles to photograph the sights from. He also pointed out the tomb of a female monk, who was either born in, or died in 1953.
Next to the champa temple. This is the first intact Linga (symbolising the male) that we had seen. Splendid.
Some ladies eating lunch, while a young demolition worker has a rest between bouts of destruction.
All without a net.
The view from the top down to the entrance “hall”.
Shiva above a doorway.
Three of the four or so small temples.
More splendid revolutionary art.
After a very pleasant cocktail at the Nha Trang Sailing Club, on a terrace on the beach, we tried to get vegetarian food in two restaurants for dinner, but weren’t thrilled at the prospect of “stir fried legume”. In desperation we ended up in Nha Trangs only “genuine indian”. I imagine that their genuine Indian is the chef, as the food was pretty good - and the gin and tonic was rather splendid. Early to bed for an 8am pick up to go to Whale Island.
Up early for a 7.45am pick up for the My Son Tour. “My Son” means beautiful mountain, and it was home to the ancient Champa people who may have also built Borobodur in Java, and Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Wikipedia is a little fuzzy on this point, but our guide claimed they were the same people.
Duy Phú is about a 1.5hr bus ride from Hoi An, after you buy a ticket (60,000D), you walk to a tin shed, where you wait for one of these to take you the last few k’s.
This is our guide, showing us a statue of Shiva, and encouraging us to stand behind it with only our heads showing for a photograph. We declined, but many didn’t.
A detail of some of the stonework. The workmanship was incredible - the fact that it is still standing today is testament to the incredible skills they had. Many of the patterns on the stonework reminded me very much of Victorian decorative work.
A temple under restoration. In the foreground you can see a deep crater full of water. This is a bomb crater, made during the American war. Until then, many of the towers still reached to the heavens, but ruthless bombing reduced much of what was left to rubble. My Son is a magical place, but again with the rain, and the endless floods of whinging tourists, and a tour guide that threatened to leave without you if you didn’t get back tot he bus on time. This is a place that needs time and contemplation, and I think Mark and I would both love to go back - with our own driver.
Back to Hoi An in the afternoon, and we found the Optometrists that I had seen from the bus earlier in the day. We were doubly lucky to arrive when Ninh, an English teacher from the local high school was also there. She dropped everything and became our official translator for the next 15 minutes, even translating for an eye test! Mark had forgotten to pack contact lenses, and since he is so very blind, wouldn’t have been able to go snorkeling without them.
Back to wandering around Hoi An, we found this statue in what looked like a parking lot. We have decided that he is Karl Marx, because it’s unlikely that the people of Hoi An would erect a monument to Normie Rowe.
Back at the markets, I found this woman selling a large number of onion variants. The white ones in the small dish in the middle were smaller than my pinkie, and looked like onion grass.
Back at the hotel, overlooking the river and having a Biere Larue. Tastes like VB, but is the local beer, and has a very attractive tiger on the label.
Then off to cooking class. We learned how to make “Vegetarian Pho”, Fresh Rice paper rolls, and Tofu with Chilli and Lemongrass. The Pho wasn’t Pho. It was a very nice vegetable soup with rice noodles, but it wasn’t Pho. I think I’ll have to do a cooking class to learn how to make the dead creature variety, and then adapt the recipe myself. Along with bacon and salami, Pho is something I miss very much, and the opportunity to taste it in Vietnam has been haunting me. So far, every Pho I have tried has been like 2 minute rice noodles, with no character. Apparently Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) has great Pho. I live in hope.
On our way home from dinner, we walked through the market, and encountered some Hoi An Nightlife
We had time for a quick breakfast, then hired bikes to ride to the free WIFI cafe to check for an email from the hotel booking people, but there was no joy. We made it back to the hotel in time to pack up our room, and were paying the bill when our driver arrived to take us to Da Nang train station. I took some randome photos out the window for the mini bus.
Ahead is the “Marble Mountains”, made of, yup, you guessed, marble. Apparently it’s an interesting place to visit, but we didn’t have time to stop.
Most train stations we have seen have marvelous examples of revolutionary art out the front. It’s brutal, and course, but rather stirring. Da Nang has a train instead.
Our tickets. We are “foreigners”, in case you hadn’t noticed.
The train “platform”. Quite likely, the lack of an actual platform is an excellent reason for not allowing people out of the locked waiting room until the train has arrived on the platform.
The journey was uneventful - barring an unfortunate culinary incident. I had seen someone buying boiled eggs, which were served with herbs and an interesting looking salt, and resolved to try them the next time the egg man cometh. When the egg man came, I ordered some eggs, and he looked very surprised. I should have known then that I was treading dangerous waters. He cracked open the eggs with a very large cleaver, peeled them, and presented them on a little tray. They looked… funny. I proceeded to poke about with it, and found a tiny avian fetus, boiled alive. Somehow, I think that is crossing the line between vegetarian and omnivore. We declined to eat it, culinary adventure or no.
There was no-one to meet us at the other end, so we caught a cab to the hotel, and were in our room within 15 minutes of the train arriving. Exhausted, we went straight to bed with a small Cointreau, and then slept very well.
We’re catching a cab to Da Nang, and a train form Da Nang to Nha Trang today. I’ll have 11 hours on the train to catch up on our adventures, but for now I just have time to check email and make sure we have a hotel reservation for when we arrive in Nha Trang late tonight.
Anon!
I’ve spent the afternoon sleeping - my guts have sincerely disliked something I put into them, and I am staying close to a toilet and trying to keep my fluids up. Felling a little better, touch wood, and looking forward to the trip to My Son tomorrow.
Picture is one of Mark’s from his new camera. He is a clever boy, and has been running out to fetch lemonade for me between adventures.
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