It was my plan to spend the Tet New Year celebrations with a bunch of friends I’d spent some time with in Hue, but the last time I saw them was at the hotel we were dropped off at in Hanoi, and of course I’d completely failed to find that again.



But through a bit of good fortune and the power of the internet I tracked down Emily, Jackie and Warren and we headed out into the crowds to join the celebrations. The new year starts officially at midnight and so we copied the locals and gathered around the lake to watch the firework display that marks the start of the holiday:

The locals were in pretty high spirits (excitement I think rather than alcohol) and for once we were largely ignored – the Vietnamese were too busy enjoyinhg themselves and anticipating the holiday to be bothered with a few westerners.



Before the start of the official fireworks there were plenty flashes and bangs in the streets from some less official ones. The most popular ‘personal’ firework seemed to be a long tube, maybe two feet long, that spat little balls of fire every few seconds once lit. The main fun seemed to be found in aiming the tube at things: people, passing traffic, open windows. Tourists were popular target although it was all pretty harmless you couldn’t help tensing whenever you heard the distinctive plosive ‘poh’ sound somewhere nearby, wondering if that was the mini-fireball with your name on.



The fireworks themselves were, well, fireworks really.
The last time I got really excited about fireworks was when someone told me that the fireworks we were watching (in Battersea Park I think) were remote-controlled. For a few moments I had visions of someone with a complex electronic device, controlling each firework – left a bit, right a bit, explode NOW! – until I sheepishly realised that they meant the launch of the fireworks was done by remote control…


But the Hanoi fireworks were perfectly nice and most people responded with the appropriate Vietnamese equivalents of “ooohs” and “aahhhs”:

while the more upwardly mobile of the young Vietnamese were keen to catch the action on their mobile phones:

When I got back to my hotel, with the express intention of going straight to bed, I got dragged into a party in the guest house next door, where they very kindly plied me with free alcohol and bits of leftover food.



Here’s the happy (well, apart from the guy in the foreground) gang I encountered there:

Original post by Glen and software by Elliott Back

When I got back to Hanoi, I realised I had no idea how to find the hotel that I’d first arrived at a few days before. I’d reserved a room for my return, but my first visit had been so fleeting I forgot to take a card from the front desk.



I wandered around the main tourist area of central Hanoi rather optimistically hoping I’d recognise the hotel, which of course I didn’t. To be honest I often don’t recognise the front door of my own flat at home.



Worried that I might have trouble finding a room so close to the Tet New Year festival (starting that night) I checked into the first place that had a spare room. It was pretty grotty and a bit of a firetrap – located as it was at the top of about seven flights of stairs with each flight more narrow and homemade-looking than the last – but was dead cheap at five dollars a night and had a great view over the rooftops of Hanoi:

I spent some some gazing out of the window, soaking up the view, before being distracted by an old woman on a lower roof who was crouching down and apparently washing some sort of a pot.



As I looked closer it occurred to me that she probably lived up there on that roof – there seemed to be some kind of canopy under which she could sleep and a few belongings piled in one corner.



As I surveyed this slightly sad little scene, and the woman continued to crouch and wash the same small pot, it seemed to me that there was something slightly peculiar about her pot-washing technique. And then it dawned on me that she wasn’t washing the pot – she was using the water in the pot to wash herself.



So I’d just spent the best part of ten minutes watching an old Vietnamese woman wash her fanny.



I still thank any number of gods on a daily basis that not once did she look up and see me. Particularly at the point where I got my camera out to take the picture above…

Original post by Glen and software by Elliott Back

In Nannup zijn we gaan kamperen op een zeer mooi gelegen ranger’s camping. deze had als meest unieke eigenschap de aanwezigheid van twee sequoia’s. Dait is een amerikaanse boomsoort welke erg groot en oud kan worden. Ik had ze hier niet verwacht en ze zijn dan ook door mensen hierheen gebracht.

Na Nannup zijn we op bomenjacht gegaan. Dit begon met de diamond tree. Dit is een zeer hoge ‘tingle’ tree. Een soort eucalyptus. Het bijzondere aan deze specifieke boom was zijn/haar hoogte. Vooral omdat de australiers deze hoogte ook gebruiken. Bij een zeer beperkt maar taktisch gelegen aantal bomen is de kruin van de boom vervangen door een utizicht post. Deze is bedoelt als signalering van bosbranden en slechts bereikbaar als je van zins bent om de ‘treden’ van de boom te beklimmen naar een slordige 50 meter.

De drang om het uitzicht te zien was groot, het zicht werd al minder, de zon zou bijna zetten en we waren de enige twee mensen daar. Met andere woorden, we durften het niet aan. Zo zijn we doorgereden naar de volgende camping.

De volgende dag zijn we weer op pad gegaan en hebben we de gloucester tree gevonden, ook een voormalige brandwacht. Alhoewel met zo’n 60 meter een nog wat grotere boom had ik de illusie dat deze beter te beklimmen was door de aanwezigheid van wat takken zo rond de 15 a 20 meter. Sandra deed een eerste poging maar haakt af op het moment dat ze rond de 15 meter zit en even naar beneden kijkt. Nu moet je beseffen, de ‘treden’ zijn een groot aantal metalen pennen welke met enige afstand van elkaar in de boom zijn gedreven om zodoende een spiraal-vormige ‘trap’ naar boven te maken. Eentje waar je dus in theorie zo even tussendoor kunt glippen…

En toch wilde ik het uitzicht zien! De takken moesten het makkelijker maken en ik had net voor San iemand dapper naar boven zien klimmen. Dus, omhoog dan maar. Gewoon nar de sporten voor me kijken en rustig omhoog. Bij het bereiken van de eerste takken zit mijn hart in mijn keel maar houd ik me voor dat het beter wordt. En het wordt beter. Gesterkt door de illusie van veiligheid welke de takken me geven klouter ik door naar de top. Niet geheel zonder angst, maar nog net geen knikkende knieen, kom ik bovenaan, waar de eerder zo dappere jongen angstig midden op de vloer zittend tracht zijn moed bij elkaar te rapen.

Het uitzicht is prachtig, zelfs deze jongen moet dat toegeven. Ik kan, met volle teugen genietend, om mij heen. Ik had mijn kleine camera meegenomen en maak wat foto’s, ook voor de gozer op de grond. Nadat hij weer naar beneden is geklommen komt ook Sandra helemaal naar boven en samen genieten we van de adrenaline die we in ons bloed hebben na het overwinnen van onze angsten.

Om dit verhaal niet teveel uit te laten lopen zeg ik even heel kort, naar beneden was veel makkelijker en zodoende heeft Sandra me ook de 75 meter hoge bicentennial tree ingelult. Hier heb ik het echte uitzicht niet gezien, de laatste twee platvormen werden met teveel. Het gebrek aan takken maakte de 60 meter welke we buiten de uitkijk moesten klimmen een stuk enger als de eerdere boom en zodoende deed ik er erg lang over om beneden te komen. Het was het waard!

Weer een dag verder trekken we terug naar de kust en komen we, onder anderen, langs de giant tingle tree. Een massieve boom waarvan de binnenkant is wegegebrand maar de bast in leven is gebleven. Deze is zo groot dat je in de ruimte welke het vuur er heeft gemaakt, een auto kunt parkeren.

het laatste op ons bomen menu is de treetop walk. Een wandeling over een antal platvormen tot op een hoogte van 40 meter. Na onze eerdere ervaringen toch wel iets minder impossant als verwacht…

langzaam maar zeker naderen we op deze manier Albanie waar we ’s avonds in Frenchmen bay ons diner opeten met een prachtig uitzicht over Albany, maar daarover later meer!

Original post by Martin Reurings and software by Elliott Back

We were woken up early by the crew so that the two-day, one-night people in the group could have a shot at a bit of sea kayaking. Any thoughts of a safety briefing quickly disappeared: the group was split into pairs, shoved into a canoe, given the option of a clearly homemade lifejacket and told to be back in 30 minutes.



Not entirely surprisingly, one group failed to come back and the crew had to bribe a local boat owner to go out, find them, and then tow them back to our boat, looking rather sheepish.



Once the stragglers were reunited with the rest of the two-day, one nighters, me and the rest of the three-day, two-nighters were ushered onto another boat to start the second day of our Halong Bay ‘adventure’, the others heading straight back to Halong Bay City after a quick breakfast.



The boat took us to Cat Ba Island where we walked for a couple of hours to a ‘minority’ village. Normally in the most ‘preserved’ and ‘remote’ of villages accessible by mainstream tourists you’re never far from a little stall selling Pringles and Marlboro Lights so my expectations were not all that high, but we were all pleasantly surprised when we arrived to find an unspoilt village with people still bemused by, rather than dependent on, tourists:

One of the wealthier families were in the middle of butchering a pig for the Tet New Year festival (look away now if you’re squeamish):

Here’s me and the rest of the boarding party posing for a photo in the village:






Local taxis (i.e. scooters) took us back along the route we’d walked, with three people to each bike. By point I’d been on the back of a few motorcycle taxis, but never been the piggy in the middle. All I can say is there’s not much to hold onto, you get a good sniff of whatever product the driver’s using in his hair, and any sharp braking or acceleration means the person in front or behind (respectively) receives some form of mild headbutt.



Back on the boat we were given our shot at the whole kayaking thing. I was paired up with a big Swedish lad called Manne and we managed to cover a fair amount of distance in our alloted hour and return to the boat with out the aid of a search party.



After the kayaking, we were taken by coracle to, yes, finally, Monkey Island! Monkey Island, it turned out, was a small island where, if you left a banana or other suitable offering on edge of the beach and the jungle, a monkey might come down and get it.



I have to confess, this was a bit of an anti-climax. I hadn’t expected a real-life Planet of the Apes, but I did feel there was an implicit guarantee of a monkey sighting in the name Monkey Island.



Looking back, I’m not sure why I was so excited. I’d already seen hundreds of monkeys in India. It should have been as exciting a prospect as Pigeon Island but somehow the marketing department in my brain had made me a big promise.



In the end Manne and I found a couple of rather nonplussed-looking monkeys in a tree at the top of a path leading up a hill into the jungle. Strangely satisfied we climbed back down and waited for the coracle to take us back to the boat.



The boat took us to the main town on Cat Ba Island where we were checked into an unexpectedly nice hotel.

Original post by Glen and software by Elliott Back

The Office of Fair Trading in the UK is to crack down on airlines and holiday companies who mislead customers over prices. At the moment it is not unusual to see an airline advertise a flight at a certain price, only for this price to be more than doubled once airport taxes, fuel supplements and other costs are added. For example, easyJet quoted £16.99 on their website for a one-way flight from London Stansted to Barcelona on the 28th February. The final price came to £38.94 if paid for by credit card.

Members of the Association of British Travel Agents (ABTA) are already bound by a code of conduct which requires them to show clear and transparent pricing. The OFT will now expect airlines, many of whom are not ABTA members, to abide by these same rules to ensure a level playing field for all travel companies.

Europe Travel Planner will be monitoring the situation closely.

Original post by Andy Pettefer and software by Elliott Back

Halong Bay is one of the must-see places in Vietnam. But the problem it shares with most must-see places, is that it’s absolutely chock-a-block with other people who’ve been told they must see it. Which can spoil the experience somewhat.



When I arrived at Halong Bay after four hours squashed in a seat above the rear wheel arch of a tiny minibus (less than an hour after getting off my 14-hour almost sleepless journey from Hue if you remember) the first sight was of dozens and dozens of tourist boats packed together, waiting to take the latest payload of tourists for a “trip of a lifetime” around the bay:

The three-day, two-night Halong Bay experience is pretty standard across the various operators. You get to visit a famous cave, do some sea kayaking, see “Monkey Island” (and who wouldn’t go on the strength of that alone?), see a local “minority” village, and stay for a night on CatBa Island, the biggest island in the bay. The two-day, one-night experience misses out the village visit, Monkey Island (big mistake) and the stay on CatBa island.



My assigned group was a mixture of ages and nationalities, much like the world imagined by Michael Jackson in his hit “Heal The World”. We were served a fairly mediocre lunch on board our boat and learnt that our “all inclusive” price did not actually include any drinking water. Tired and already suspecting that the trip wasn’t going quite going to live up to the hype I tried to engage our guide in a conversation about how it was not unreasonable to assume that an all-inclusive trip would provide one of the basic elements required to sustain human life. All to no avail.



Anyway, first stop was the famous caves. Our guide made a great show of the fact that the caves are listed not once, but twice, as a World Heritage site. Now there’s no question that it’s an impressive set of caves, but over the last few months I’ve seen more places that claim to be World Heritage sites than I could shake a copy of the Lonely Planet at. I’m not saying that the site selection panel aren’t that discerning, but put it this way: I had a new kitchen and bathroom put in last year and I’ve just heard it’s one of the front-runners for selection in 2007.



The caves were absolutely packed full of tourists and it ages to get through the tastefully-lit interior. Lots of people with video cameras videoing the caves. I’ve never understood why people bother videoing completely stationery things. Get a stills camera. They’re really good for things that stay still.



Here’s a still picture of me with the wholly stationery caves in the background:

And here are all the boats waiting to take their consignment of tourists to the next stop on the Halong Bay merry-go-round:

Back on the boat we chugged our way back out into the bay (the junk-style sails are sadly just for show) and dropped anchor.



As an admittedly rather petty protest against the attempt to extort further monies from us for bottled drinking water, I led the charge to buy water from the floating corner shop that drifted up to our boat rather than line the pockets of the evil boat owner:

When the crew spotted the little black market that had appeared on one side of the boat they started shouting something at the woman in the boat. One of the tourists in our group spoke Vietnamese and translated it roughly as: “Piss off or we’ll shove a sharp stick in a very private area.”



After dinner we succumbed to the boat owners impressive understanding of the needs of a group of captive Westerners and proceeded to empty the coolbox of over-priced beers. The buzz off the alcohol had to compete with the rather queasy high produced by the clouds of fumes given off by the boat’s generator but we retired to our cabins in better spirits and with high hopes for the next day.

Original post by Glen and software by Elliott Back

Original post by admin and software by Elliott Back

The long overnight bus journey from Hue to Hanoi did not start well. Within minutes a loud Canadian guy sitting a couple of rows in front of me decided to ‘entertain’ anyone who would maintain eye contact with his hilarious travelling stories, full of piercing insights such as have you noticed how the toilets here are different from home, and no-one speaks proper English do they…?



After about an hour, he finally, mercifully, shut up, by my reckoning about ten minutes shy of a public lynching.



When I’d boarded the bus, the seat next to me was vacant – often the difference between getting some sleep and none at all – but at the last minute a pretty Vietnamese girl sat next to me. I gave her my best friendly, winning smile, but got not response.



Over the next 12 hours or so our relationship went through three distinct phases. There was the giddy first few hours where she used me shamelessly as a pillow without ever actually acknowledging me or making eye contact.



There was then the difficult middle period where she was being sick every five minutes and I was passing her my water bottle between waves of nausea.



Then there was the last hour or so where she just cried continuously. I don’t know what I did wrong or what I said. Maybe I was too needy. Or maybe I didn’t listen enough. Or perhaps it was just never meant to be. But in the end she got off the bus a couple of hours outside of Hanoi, without so much as a goodbye, leaving me with only a vacant seat to remember her by. I consoled myself by stretching out and actually managing to get about an hour’s sleep.



The bus dropped us all off at a hotel in Hanoi, where they hoped we’d stay because that’s how the whole open bus ticket thing works. I established very quickly that if I wanted to do a three-day Halong Bay tour, which is what I’d planned to do, I’d need to leave in the next five minutes or fall foul of the almost total shutdown that occurs over the “Tet” New Year holiday.



So I signed up, and jumped on the back of a scooter to take me to the minibus that was leaving for Halong Bay. Which was all fine, but all I really wanted to do was sleep.

Original post by Glen and software by Elliott Back

Granada is one of the most popular tourist destinations in Nicaragua. It is a town known for its rich history, dating back to the days of the spanish conquistadors and the days of William Walker, and its tradition and culture.

The city surrounds you with unique colonial architecture, horse-drawn carriages and friendly people sitting in rocking chairs, enjoying a cool breeze.

Granada feels like a trip back in time. We welcome you and encourage you to explore the rich natural beauty of Lake Nicaragua, Volcano Mombacho, and surrounding natural attractions. We invite you take a tour of the old cathedrals, immerse yourself in the culture, the language, and overall to enjoy your trip as you experience this unique place in time.

Have a great vacation and we hope your trip to Nicaragua is one of your best trips ever!

Granada can be defined several ways. One is the historical, geographical definition which you can find here. Granada can also be defined by it’s colonial architecture, abundance of churches, the influence of religion, it’s arts and crafts, its writers, painters and many other things. The thing that stands out however is it’s people.

Granadinos are unique, and very proud of their heritage, anyone in Nicaragua will tell you that. These are the same people, who sit outside in their rocking chairs in the evening and discuss politics, the ones who might run a small business out of their homes, and the ones who are eager to talk to foreigners and practice their english, or learn a few things. Granada is also home to many foreigners who have decided to call this great city their home.

Businesses are popping up almost weekly, there is a new community here that includes people from all over the world, and who are gradually becoming a part of Granada and Nicaragua. Feel free to explore some of these businesses, and check back here soon to learn more about what it’s like to start a business, and live in Granada.

Original post by Larry and software by Elliott Back

Sagra is the Italian word for Food Festival. What can you expect to find when you go? Normally it is a group of locals in the Pro Loco (which means local promotional agency) who get together and prepare a menu with a theme. The money earned in these events is dedicated to buying things for the town folk or setting up parks and play area for the children.
So what does this mean for the average tourist? You will forever see florescent colored posters in the Tuscan countryside talking about Sagra, Sagra, Sagra.You’re probably curious - but who knows what you will find when you actually walk into the town. For starters, if it is well known sagra on the regional level, you are very likely to compete with the locals for a place at a table. Tourist don’t usually venture in this area - and they definitely miss out on a good meal at excellent prices all for a good cause. Not to mention the peak at a part of the “real” Toscana.

Also commonly defined as a local festival, very often involving food, and frequently a historical pageant and sporting events: when the sporting event is a historical recreation as well, such as a joust or a horse race in costume or armour.
In most cases there is a lunch and a dinner menu - but it helps if you can read the poster for the times (you don’t need to know Italian for that)

When you arrive you will find a menu tacked to the wall, you place an order at the cash register, then pay and they give you a ticket. You are then ushered into a large general eating area where everyone shares the tables - and the food starts coming out!

It is charactized by the friendly environment with home cooked food. You will often children and young adults serving and cleaning tables while their Moms, Dads and Grandparents in the kitchen washing, peeling, frying and dishing it up.

You will normally find menus which highlight either a special ingredient or a special recipe from that area - like truffles, fritelle, olive oil, tortelli and much much more. In a land where food and religion are on the same level - you will find that the number of choices will overwhelm you.

More useful information can be found at Italia Mia guide to Italy and its products

Original post by Mao tze tuscany and software by Elliott Back