Vietnam & AUSTRALIA
With: JIM, ROB, and RICHARD
September 22:
Anne and Paula drove Jim and me to the Medford/Jackson County International Airport to catch our 7:15AM flight to Los Angeles. Horizon Air was going to take Jim and Rob on their next great adventure.
The Horizon Air trip to L.A. went smoothly and on time. The schedule was going to be to meet up with Jim’s Army mate, and life-long friend, Richard Short, at the Asiana Air check-in at LAX International Terminal. The newly formed “Three Amigos” would then settle in for the cross pacific trip to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.
Getting from the LAX Domestic terminal to the International terminal meant a 5-minute sidewalk stroll and we easily found the Asiana check-in counter. A phone call later, Jim and Richard are on the same page as to where we are waiting. They had a wonderful initial reunion over lunch, as we awaited our call to our first stop, Korea.
Asiana Air gets six thumbs up for their comfort and service. As a matter of fact, I felt I had over eaten on this long flight to Seoul’s Incheon airport. We were all faced with a rest conflict, however. The flight from LAX left in the afternoon and we were scheduled to land in Ho Chi Minh City at around midnight, local time. This meant that if we slept during the flight from LAX to Seoul, or from Seoul to Vietnam, then we would be wide awake after arriving.
We landed in Seoul at 7PM. This was 2AM Medford time. The wait for our next flight was only one hour. On a half loaded airplane, we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City in just four hours. Landing time was 11:40PM on the 23rd.
Vietnam customs processing and baggage claim both went very quickly. A celebratory mob had formed outside of the terminal doors. I expect they were there to collect loved ones who had just arrived. I couldn’t help myself. I waved at them. No one waved back.
We had just begun to negotiate a taxi fare to our hotel when Jim spotted a man holding a card with my name on it. The Bich Duyen Hotel, whose manager is Chang, ordered and prepaid for our pickup and delivery. Having a driver who knew just where to go was a blessing.
Somewhere in my communications to Chang I must not have gotten across that we were three large men with luggage. What we discovered, after we hiked a couple of blocks to the parked taxi car, was that the car was a compact 4-door sedan with trunk space for only one bag. This meant we all had to sit with at least one bag on our lap for the trip to town.
I don’t think any of us have experienced a major highway more beat up and in need of major repair than the one from the airport. We were lucky. The time of day meant there was minimal traffic to compete with. Passage went slowly.
After experiencing what seemed like every back street between the airport and our hotel area, we arrived. The driver pulled to the right hand side, parked, and we allpeeled our ways out of the small car. Access to the Bich Duyen Hotel is on the other side of this major street, and we are not parked at a crosswalk. I don’t remember if the driver led the way, or whether we braved the crossing ourselves, but we made it safely across the four lanes.
The taxi driver has to have experienced this before, because he seemed to know just what to do when we encountered a fully drawn metal curtain across the top of the polished stone steps which led into the Bich Duyen. With full reach of his arm, the driver pushed a button several times. This seemed to solicit no response from within. We waited. He pushed again and I also gave the door a small noisy shake. It then very, very slowly started to rise. When it was at full height, we met Chang. He had been sound asleep.
Whoops! This room has only two beds; a single and a double. This won’t do. Chang realized that Hostels.com, through which I had made hotel reservations, lead one to believe there could be three beds in a room. Not to worry, Jim and Richard would stay in this room, and I would occupy a room at the neighboring hotel. Chang saw to this small inconvenience. Breakfast service ended at 10AM, so we agreed to 9AM wakeup calls. This would give us a decent period of sleep.
My IPhone had long since died, and I had no idea what time it was, but it was probably past 1AM. I decided that now would be a good time to take an AmbienCR to ensure a solid sleep. This room was laid out just like the one next door. It had an air conditioner and a quiet oscillating fan mounted high on the wall, but the room had yet to cool comfortably, so I lay on top of the cover. I quickly fell sound asleep.
September 24:
I awoke at 6AM and felt fully rested; one of my many traveling delusions. After dressing, I went to the Bich and had coffee and checked for email on the lobby computer. By the time I had drafted a quick note to Anne, Richard and Jim had come downstairs. We settled in the nearby kitchen/dining room and enjoyed a big, fluffy, tubular roll and a sunny side up egg.
The Bich Duyen Hotel is located in the heart of District 1 of Ho Chi Minh City. District 1 is the cultural center of the city. The Bich is one of many “hikers’ hotels” and has received a #1 rating by travel web sites. Of the many hotel choices of this variety, the Bich stood out as being street quiet, due to its half-block sheltered location, and as being but a few minutes’ walk to many good tourist attractions. We all agreed it was time to have a look around.
Within walking distance, our sightseeing choices included: the Reunification Palace, the War Museum, HCM Open University, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Ben Thanh Market. The market had received many good reviews on web sites featuring HCM District 1, and it was the most walking friendly location, so that is where we headed.
Now that we were on Le Lai Street, the going was easy. We could see the District’s main street-hub intersection a few blocks ahead and the market was mapped just to the north. On the entire journey from the hotel we were approached by street vendors every 30 – 40 feet. This morning’s main flog was Ray Ban sunglasses with non-bartered prices as low as $2US. Also, very prominent, were shoe shine merchants, who, for a dollar or two, would sparkle up your footwear. They must have known we were foreigners by the shirts we were wearing, because the fact we were donning protective lenses and wearing either sandals or sneakers didn’t stop their insistence that we use their services. So this is the infamous Ben Thanh Market. As we approached a main side entrance to the single story, multi-blocked shopper’s sprawl, we could glimpse the beckoning wardrobe stalls. I think we spent at most, 4 minutes and 27 seconds in the market; and much of that time was consumed frantically looking for a near exit. One would have to travel far and wide to again experience the looks on our faces as the swarm of stall merchants immediately appeared from within their booths, laden with brilliantly colored garments. These women were mad as hatters with their offers. Our arms repeatedly lifted away as they were being re-grabbed by the vendors’ in their attempts to drag us toward yet another woman’s clothing opportunity.
We hadn’t been trained for this kind of work, and the re-found sunshine bore down fiercely, but was welcomed, as we stepped back onto the side walk. “Boy. Did you guys get the same treatment I got?” Well, maybe that’s enough shopping for one day. Let’s find our way back.
One of the waiters invited me to the bar, where a large, brass, circular gong hung suspended near the bar’s end. She wanted me to use the hammer to ring the gong. This I did. Everyone laughed when she displayed the rear of the gong, which had a sign proclaiming: ‘He, who rings, buys for the staff.’ This was their way of filling up their tip jar. I donated 100,000Dong, about $6US.
The ice was broken. Richard drew out a $5 bill and challenged each waiter to try to catch it between his fingers when Richard let it drop. They could keep it, if they caught it. Richard wily added a small bit of distraction just as he released the bill. Each tried, but none succeeded: it was not a result of nimble skill, however, but the bill ended up in the tip jar, anyway.
The three glasses of draft Hanoi Beer cost us 90,000Dong, or a total of ~$5. It was a wonderful break and a delightful place to come back to.
September 25:
From 11:00AM on, this day was very busy. On our behalf, Toan had arranged an air-conditioned van, with driver, to take us to Vung Tau, which is 70km south of Ho Chi Minh City. Vung Tau is on a peninsula jutting from the curved lower tip of Vietnam. Vung Tau was the site of the Army base where Jim and Richard both served during `69 and `70. The junket south was to be a re-collection of memories of the time they spent in Vung Tau while serving as maintenance Crew Chiefs and deck gunners during the American Way, as the Vietnamese have named it.
The trip was to consume about four hours. Traffic was relentless the entire journey. It was more than an hour before we emerged from the very dense Saigon metropolitan environment. Once beyond that invisible boundary, we found ourselves slowly passing a two-sided border of street-side sprawl and blight. Shops, open grass-roofed vendor sheds; the occasional paddock, with its token water buffalo or partitioned rice field; and the very rare two or three storey housing, under construction, constituted the view for the remainder of the drive, until we once reached the N.E. limits of Vung Tau’s own urban sprawl.
It was fun listening to Jim and Richard compare their thoughts about what may have been, or happened, here or there, as we drove into the heart of the new Vung Tau. There appeared to be little doubt that only fragments of 40 years past remained of their old homestead. Both recalled “war” stories, of the humorous kind, as the driver wove the van around the peninsula.
We called a stop for lunch, and asked Toan to select a nice place to eat. Toan asked the driver to pull to the curb at an open front café. Our initial thoughts lay with concerns of how management kept the place cool without a front wall, on this September’s hot and muggy day. Naturally, that was just a flash of a dream I had.
Jim and Richard recalled trips they made around town in the jeep they had stolen from the Air Force. Hey, it all belonged to the same side in the war. One particular route was to the top of Radar Hill. Vung Tau is situated on a flat, open semi-circle of land fronting the South China Sea. Buttressing the edges of this expanse is a small range of low level hills to the right, and Radar Hill to the left. The guys told us of their treks in the jeep, up the windy dirt path to the top.
Today, the top of the hill has remnants of a crusty post WWII vintage, three storey building once used by the French occupation. A large railed pad allows one to get a broken, jungle bushed, birds-eye look at sections of the busy valley below. Remains of gun bunkers were still cemented to the crest of the hill.
On the way down Radar Hill, Jim and Richard recalled how there was to be an inventory of Army equipment in their platoon. The CO ordered them to dispose of the ill-gotten Air Force jeep. Somewhere in the near suburbs of Vung Tau there is a good used US military jeep. The jeep is a bit corroded, perhaps, from being covered for 40 years by the dirt that it was buried in. This single desperate act of hiding excess, it turns out, may have been the signal the generals needed when the US later retreated from these battle grounds. Burying is what the military did with all of the hardware it left behind in Vietnam. Neither man was able to conjure up where their jeeps large grave may have been dug. So much has changed since then.
This keeper was from Australia. He had recently married a local woman and inherited the job of minding the store. Richard asked him for a bottle of rum. The man began closely examining bottles of various toxins as he searched for the rum. It turned out to be in front of him all the time. We enjoyed sampling his Down-Under dialect. A show of hands later came up with, he was either: very, very slow to wake up; or, he was near brain dead from past years of drug consumption. We all hoped it was the former.
It’s getting late in the afternoon and we need to check in to a hotel. With Toan’s guidance, the driver drove up and down the beachfront esplanade a couple of times before our hotel was spotted. Say, this is a pretty nice place.
Toan explained that the government owned many of Vung Tau’s hotels. This resort and beach city is a favored recreation spot for many higher-ups in Ho Chi Minh City. The guys were eager for a repose having a little more refinement than they had shared at the Bich Duyen. We asked to view the rooms. All agreed that this was a good selection. Each of us settled into our rooms for an hour’s freshening before we would gather in the reception area to chart our dinner.
We asked Toan to select a nice dinner spot. Naturally, our opinion of Toan’s culinary tastes had been peaked following today’s wonderful lunch. Toan asked me if I would like fish for dinner. I said I wouldn’t.
The café where the driver parked us looked remarkably similar to the lunch spot; same open air environment. That aside, the business was busy with customers. We were shown to a table and given water and menus. Toan confirmed; we wouldn’t mind if he selected a variety of dishes from the Vietnamese-only fare.
First out, as is always the case, was a large bowl of sticky rice. We each loaded a few spoon-dips into our bowls. It is interesting that one can shake the rice laden spoon, and still end up with none in the bowl. Scraping the spoon with chopsticks did the trick. Next was a platter of cooked veggies. I artfully employed my sticks and stacked a heap onto the rice. The waitress placed a metal cooking appliance on the middle of the table. She then set alight the hidden store of napalm and placed a large pot of fish soup on top. The flaming cooker certainly added an air of warmth and fireside coziness to the already stifling atmosphere. A few frantic arm waves later we had her attention and she turned down the torch.
This, in particular, was not the sort of fish I would ever want. Floating in the golden brown broth were chunks of meat and some additional unidentifiable green things. The meat wasn’t fillet, or anything artfully prepared. This was a ten-incher that had just been hacked into large spoon sized pieces and set to boil in the mix. “Jim, would you care for some head and eyeballs?”
Needless to say, Toan lost many marks with his selection tonight. However, he and the driver had twinkles in their eyes as they found themselves without Yankee competition for this stew’s yummy contents.
September 26:
The hotel breakfast wasn’t available until 7AM. For an hour, I checked my email on one of the computers in the reception area. I had just spent several minutes composing a note to Anne, and the mouse stopped responding. Oh! Oh! The computer had decided to lock-up. I was trying to decode what error I had made when Jim & Richard arrived for breakfast. The heck with it, I’ll re-write it tomorrow.
Breakfast this morning was chicken noodle soup, with coffee. After last night, this meal sat well with all of us. The drive this morning was around the perimeter of the old Army base and air field. The former base is now the city’s airport. The guys remembered the ship harbor off to the left, and some of the roadside buildings were certainly old enough to have been standing 40-years ago, but nothing special came to their memories.
We returned to the hotel by 10AM. We settled our shares with the driver for his time and van expenses. The total came to 1,650,000Dong, or $100US. We also gave him a tip. Toan, however, did not want to be paid. This short excursion had been his pleasure. We were good friends of Roy and Arlene, his god parents. We insisted, though, and tipped him $200US.
I said my goodbyes to Jim and Richard. They were going to stay in Vung Tau two more days, and I was going back to Ho Chi Minh City for a flight which left in the morning to Hanoi. I had committed to Duong, the Vietnamese English teacher Tim was good friends with, that I would come to Hanoi to share a short visit with her and her parents. Toan and I would now ride back to Ho Chi Minh City with the driver, while Jim and Richard had bookings to return via boat on the Saigon River on Sunday the 28th. Toan had made sure everything was organized.
Further down the highway the traffic slowed to a crawl. In the distance, I could see some flashing lights. Next to the guardrail stood a couple of police officers looking over the crumpled remains of a pedal bike. I had felt there were good odds that we may drive onto just this scene. Thank goodness, I didn’t see anyone lying on the pavement.
A few miles south of the city, the driver pulled to the side. This is where Toan lived. Toan said his goodbyes and asked that when I see Roy and Arlene, I pass on his love for their friendship. I looked out at the few buildings along this section of road. I couldn’t help believing that Toan will do much better than this. He had become a very dear, short term friend.
The driver was no longer under Toan’s supervision and he immediately changed into “one of them”. He became a honking madman as he threaded the van around trucks and bikes. I had become accustomed to the thought that some amount of vehicle damage was going to be inevitable. However, I still found myself focusing on distant scenery, in an attempt to avoid having to think about how close we just came to a disaster.
The driver let me out in the vicinity of the alleyway to the Bich Duyen Hotel. I hadn’t spotted the Allez Boo Café/Bar, which had become a convenient landmark. I loaded my pack onto my back and started walking, first one direction, and then the other. Street vendors spotted me coming and approached me with their display boards or baskets. I have learned to avoid eye contact with them, or respond to their solicitation requests. This trick seemed to turn them off of their pursuit and allowed me to say focused on my search. Yes, there was the sign. I still had the pack, but the relief was definitely off my shoulders.
Chang greeted me at the hotel steps. He had assigned me to room 301. This meant a long hike up the narrow stone stairwell. I was grateful to arrive at my room and get behind closed doors. I turned on the air-conditioner and washed my face. I realized that once I was in the room, I had begun a small nesting ritual. What comfort it is to have a home base.
I hiked downstairs and ask Chang to arrange a taxi to take me to the airport in the morning. No worries. Then, I got a Bia Hanoi out of the fridge and spent the next hour sitting on the front steps quietly watching the late afternoon activity of the nearby shops.
September 27:
Early to bed, with my novel, I fell asleep quickly, and didn’t awaken until 6AM. I readied myself and my bags and left the room. Chang had a cup of coffee ready and I sat for the short wait for the 7AM kitchen call.
Check-in was quick and easy. The VN214 gate was not crowded, and I got a front row waiting seat. This was an opportunity to catch up on my notes.
The shuttle ride from Hanoi Airport to the WIN Hotel covered familiar landscape, and I arrived at the hotel at 1PM. Quan remembered my face, and he greeted me warmly. Quan pulled duty today until 7PM, altering with Nghia, who worked all last night. Quan is a gentle man of his mid to late thirties. He has been with the WIN Hotel since he was eleven years old. That’s devotion! I looked forward to renewing acquaintances with Nghia. He, Tim, and I had great visits when we stayed at the WIN in `06.
Room 201 has no windows. I remember it from last time. It is, however, a very quiet room. As I was settling in, the front desk called and gave me a message from Duong. She would be by to pick me up for dinner at 5PM. During the time I had to wait, I revisited some of the nearby streets and took a nap.
Duong arrived at 6:30PM. She had been held up a bit. As the organizer of this evening’s dinner, she had to first get her parents into town, and then she had to coordinate their stay with her brother and sister-in-law. We taxied to a nearby restaurant, where I was immediately made welcome by her parents; mom, Lan, and dad, Tu. Both Lan and Tu seemed overjoyed that I came to visit them. Both parents have very generous and open hearts, and Tu felt the emotional need to hold my hand as we climbed the stairs to the main dining hall on the second floor. Every few steps he would clasp my arm with his free hand, look up at me, and say a few words while he vigorously nodded and beamed ear to ear. Not understanding what he had said, I gripped his hand and nodded and smiled, too.
I do not remember the names, and I apologize. The youngest brother is in his early twenties. Duong said he was considered the rogue of the family, because his interests lay in the arts. He has a very affable personality. The other brother is in his mid-twenties, and has a lovely wife and 7-year old son. The two of them met at university where they were both majoring in Chinese. Today, the two of them are active with employment related to trade with China. Their son is a treasure. His command of English is remarkable. He asked me many questions, including how Tim was doing.
Duong had arranged a feast, consisting of ten different dishes. As we first sat down, she asked me what I would like to eat. Something simple, I said. I sat between Tu and the nephew at the table. It was occasionally awkward when Tu would turn to me and present me with a discussion topic I couldn’t comprehend. I would listen carefully, and then look across the table to Duong to bail me out with an interpretation. Several times, Duong, herself, was engaged in a visit with one of her brothers. She would ask her father to repeat for her, and then pass on to me his thoughts. I know they felt the same way I did, when I asked one of them a question. I guess that’s how it goes when a translator is required.
It was a bit of a surprise to me when the waitress stood about eight bottles of beer on the end of the table. I thought back to the dinner I had in their home, when I last visited. We all sat on the floor around the edge of a woven grass mat. On the center of the mat, Duong had presented the main dished entrées. During that meal, Tu was unwilling to let your beer glass appear the slightest bit drained. Tonight’s meal wasn’t going to be any different.
As we ate, and visited, the waitress kept arriving with new dishes. I was certain to at least sample everything offered. In fact, I went back for several different dishes. I discovered, during one visit with the eldest brother that Lan was reaching across in front of Tu and putting more food into my bowl. I told her that I had had enough to eat, and thanked her. A minute later she was at it again. I’m afraid I committed a culinary no-no that evening. It is impolite to leave leftover food in your bowl. They laughed, and said I was forgiven this one time, because I had asked Lan to not give me any more.
At home, I had prepared a small photo album with pictures I had taken of the dinner evening at their home. I included in the album several photos of my family. I had taken one photo of Tu when he was sitting in a very well presented pose. I cropped that photo and, with Matt’s help, made it into an 8”x10”, and put it in a frame. They all were very excited to pass the album around. I identified each member of my family as their faces were pointed out. As a greeting gift, I guess I hit a home-run with the photographs. At the Vietnamese value core is the belief that the family is the most important part of one’s life. I struck a special spot with Tu when I showed him the large portrait I had prepared specially for him. Tu wept while he hugged my arm.
Duong told me that her mother wanted to sing a song to me. Lan and Tu traded places at the table. Lan began to sing. It didn’t have mattered what the words were, her voice was beautiful. Occasionally, she would glance at her husband, who was mouthing the verse, and he would nod his agreement to her excellence. Duong told me her mother had once been featured on a TV program. Lan sang three more songs to me. Her children, and the wait staff, enjoyed her as much as I did. She told me, through Duong, that she would record some songs for me.
It was time to end this fantastic cultural exchange event. The clock had zipped by over two hours while we visited this evening. I said my goodnights, and Duong and I arranged to meet on the phone in the morning to get together for lunch. The taxi let me off on a street I was told was near Hang Hanh St., where the WIN is located. When I got out of the car, I stepped onto a very crowded sidewalk. It was dark, and as I turned to gain my bearings, I was repeatedly jostled by the night’s party traffic.
I spotted a parked taxi with its hood up. The driver was leaning against a lamp. I gave the driver a WIN card and gave him a universal gesture asking, “How do I get there?” This was a no-brainer for him. He indicated I should walk to the next intersection, and then turn right. The hotel was on that street. I thanked him and walked away. When I got to the intersection, the street sign indeed said, Hang Hanh.
September 28:
This is a great way to start the day, chicken noodle soup and coffee. It all tasted so wholesome. Nghia will arrange for a 3PM taxi to the airport, and I have settled my bill for the night. Idle time left me vulnerable to the street vendors, and I broke down and bought three T-shirts. One can be sitting in the sheltered comfort of the hotel lobby and a vendor will stand outside and gesture to you to come buy their stuff. If they catch you looking at them, they’ve got you.
Honda Wave, with a 125cc motor, seems to be one of the most popular motorbikes. All bikes were set up with front leg shields and full foot rests, just like you would find on a scooter. The bikes are used for heavy commercial work, as well as for the entire family. It is not uncommon to see as many as four family members on the small Honda or Suzuki.
Duong and her youngest brother arrived on her motorbike. We walked to a restaurant at the end of Hang Hanh Street. One of their uncles had just passed away, and the father was obliged to attend services today. He went to them with Duong’s eldest brother.
Vietnam Air flight 783, from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City, took off on time. As we lined up on the runway, the TV monitors came alive. The plane had a nose camera which presented out takeoff and climb into the clouds. After about five minutes the camera was shut off until we began our approach to the Saigon Airport. The landing video was particularly exciting. I found myself silently prompting the pilot to get lined up, and to start his flare, now. He landed well.
At the terminal exit, I bartered with a taxi driver for a ride to the Bich Duyen Hotel. The driver won. This driver was very skilled at avoiding, what would have meant, multiple deaths and injury in America. His horn was relentless, and his invasive insertion tactics would have won him an Olympic gold in Maneuvering. It was scary to be an unwilling participant in this sport.
I safely crossed the four lanes of rush hour traffic to get to the hotel alleyway. I carried a white plastic bag containing some coffee Duong had given me. I waved the bag as a truce flag while boldly placing one foot in front of the other. I suffered several irate honks; fortunately, I had both of my hands full, so there were no one-finger salutes in return.
Chang welcomed me back and put me on the 1st floor. I had been dreading the hike to the room on the 3rd floor. Jim and Richard had arrived earlier from Vung Tau and had found space at the hotel next door. I quickly washed my face and trekked next door. Jim had gone out shopping for the grandkids. Richard hosted me to a much welcomed rum and coke.
Richard learned a bit about his biker’s personal history and was asked if he wanted to visit the home and family. Richard was bowled over by the man’s 12-year old daughter. His assessment was that this child was going places. Her grasp of the English language floored Richard. In this family, education and achieving greater than the parents was the family mission. Richard had taken a snapshot of the girl. She was indeed gorgeous.
This was to be our last night in Saigon. We agreed to join up at the Bich for breakfast at 7AM
September 29:
I wasn’t able to sleep past 5:30AM, so I got up, showered, and went to the lobby to read. The lobby was dark and to my surprise, I had just disturbed Chang from his sleep on the wooden settee. After apologizing, I returned to my room and read on the bed. Wow! Chang sleeps on that wood bench each night. I don’t understand why he is so cheery during the day?
This may have been a sign of the day it was to be. By the time we were collected, patrons had filled the small dining room. Chang set places for us at the lobby table. Not realizing, two Kiwis sat at the place settings and thankfully received two of our services from Chang. We made no comment and had a nice visit with the New Zealanders.
The trip to the Tanson Nhut International Airport, servicing Ho Chi Minh City, took about half an hour. As anticipated, the taxi driver took every side street available in an attempt to gain an edge on the main road’s rush hour surge. Yes, he honked his @%$# horn all the way.
The check-in at Vietnam Airways took several minutes. It appeared the clerk had never processed Americans traveling to Australia before. She had difficulty verifying, via her computer, that we indeed had received temporary visas for our entry into that country. All worked out well and at gate 19 we read while we waited for VN762 to load.
This was to be the “Trip from Hell”. We were routed to Cairns, Queensland via Hong Kong, and then Sydney. The routing wasn’t a problem, it became the layover times. We landed at Hong Kong in the early afternoon and faced eight hours before our connection to Sydney. Hong Kong International consumes the extent of an offshore island. The only way for us to do any sightseeing was to a train to the main land, and that travel time would have taken two to three hours. We passed the time investigating terminal activity.
September 30:
At Terminal 1 we bought City Rail Travel Passes to take us to Circular Quay. This was the train’s stop for visitors who wanted to see a bit of Sydney Harbor. The train was a cheap and an easy way to navigate much of Sydney. Five stops later, we were standing at the harbor railing looking out at the Sydney Harbor Bridge and, off to the right is the Sydney Opera House. These were images you saw in magazines.
Over twenty blocks, and four book stores later, we gave up on the Rosenberg search. Border’s had the author, but not this newest novel. We headed for the Quay via Pike street. We were not totally disappointed in today’s quests, we did find another fine pub.
This was our shortest flight yet. Tim met us at the airport and was eager to get us to his home. He has a wonderful `02 Mercedes van, with lots of room. The late night drive to Trinity Beach was still a bit unsettling. Left hand side of the road, combined with Tim’s over-the-shoulder visiting, made paying attention to the conversation very difficult.
A bit of a sleep-in was a perfect way to begin this first full day of visit to tropical Australia. At midmorning, Tim drove us into Cairns (pronounced: Cans) for a view of its beachfront and some basic familiarity. A striking, domed casino brings one’s eye to the center of the city’s hub. Tim had never been to the casino, so we decided it would be a good place to have lunch. This was to be a refreshing Western meal treat; we each had a glass of beer with our Aussie steak pie & chips.
Cairns lies about 1,057 miles north Brisbane and about 1,504 miles from Sydney. It is a popular travel destination for tourists because of its tropical climate and proximity to many attractions. The Great Barrier Reef can be reached in less than an hour by boat. The Daintree National Park and Cape Tribulation, about 80 miles north of Cairns, are popular areas for experiencing a tropical rainforest. It is also a starting point for people wanting to explore Cooktown, Cape York Peninsula, and the Atherton Tableland.
Richard, Jim, and I were all up at 6:30AM. Richard headed straight out the door for a walk and I made a pot of coffee. AHH.. George Foreman and I prepared a breakfast of Italian sausages, eggs, and toast. We were all hungry, and we wolfed it down. A bit of CNN news, some more world problem solving, and we were ready for the day’s trek.
Port Douglas was our goal for today. Tim wanted us to scout Saturday’s reef fishing trip for Jim and Richard. We were treated to a fantastic tour of the harbor city. What a fantastic retirement city, just 43 miles north of Cairns.
The refuge is entirely fenced, of course, and much of the interlocking pathways between exhibits is built on 6’ wide planking with guardrails. This technique provided visitors with the best viewing vantage point for the animals they were going to see. Birds galore, wallabies, kangaroos, and crocodiles were the primary features of this show. Each animal species habituated a specially controlled environment. Birds flew about gums and other plants while enjoying ample food, a cooling, tented shade cloth cover, and occasional ponds or streams. The landed animals were kept in a large open topped area which featured plenty of lush plants, streams, ponds, and hills to dominate. The crocodiles got to lounge in murky, algae greened ponds, surrounded by water grasses, trees, and the occasional muddy bank on which they could sun and contemplate the flavors of the various nationalities as we paraded past. A few of the crocs were over 20-feet long.
For an avid camera buff, this couple of hours with the wild-ones was a dream come true. We indeed got a glimpse of what’s in our tropical neighborhood. And it is beautiful.
October 3:
Tim’s Teflon frying pans are toast. The bottoms shined as much rough metal as they did Teflon. K-Mart was nearby. Jim and I had decided that we would treat Tim to a brand new, don’t put the thing in the dishwasher, frying pan. What a beaut this one will be. Richard had noted that the kitchen was short of paper towels and that Tim’s expansive spice collection contained no Tarragon. This didn’t settle well and had to be rectified. What meat dish is complete without a good dash of an “all-spice” seasoning?
Tim had arranged to meet his mate, Tim2, at his suburb’s hotel for lunch. We returned home from the nearby shops and quickly got FOX’s update on news of the World’s current strife. After musing these dilemmas around a bit, and solving some more global problems, we packed the van for the short trip to the neighboring burbs.
The river runs past the hotel. It is only a few blocks away. We watched several people fishing from the pier as we ate our lunch. After the meal, Tim2 took us to the pier so we could get some feel for what kind of activity was happening. This wasn’t a particularly good afternoon for fishing. No one claimed to have snagged anything yet. We watched one man swinging a circular, edge weighted net around his head. He would then let it flare out over the water. A nylon cord allowed him to retrieve the net. The purpose of this exercise is to let the net close in on itself as it is gently pulled up, thus entrapping whatever bait fish might have been under the net. We saw an instant reason this man was unsuccessful. His rope was too short. At the bridge’s height, the net was weighted shut before it hit the water. None of us had the nerve to point this small mechanics flaw out to him.
This was the sort of pub we had been looking for. The large central bar, stools, and surrounding tall backed, vinyl covered wood booths hadn’t yet suffered from man’s desire to modernize. P.J.’s, as the name implies, is an Irish pub. A tall pint of Guinness draft is what this chap ordered. We sat in the booth at the far corner and enjoyed the ambience the old world artifacts created. This may be the most comfortable pub in the state.
Tim2 is in his mid thirties, unmarried, but happily cohabitating. He is in excellent shape and holds his beer well. Tim2 moved from the north island of New Zealand to the Northern Territories eleven years ago. He had grown weary of the colder climates. His move was straight to Darwin and he says he never wants to move back. Tim met Tim2 when Tim was a school principle in the Territories. He hired Tim2 for a teaching position on Groote Eylandt. This island is just to the east of Darwin, in the Gulf of Carpentaria. They became close co-workers and fishing, golfing, and drinking buddies. Tim2 now lives in the Cairns suburbs, too. He holds a part time Phys-Ed teaching position, and he also does some coaching. What a great friendship these two men have.
October 4:
Tim was waving from the veranda of the Kuranda Hotel when we found ourselves at the end of the short trail hike from the station. We took time for a little refreshment while we sat at a table on the hotel’s elevated, and sun sheltered veranda. From the railing, you could overlook the lush, lower rainforest treetops.
Tim showed up among the walking tired and suggested pizza for dinner tonight. What kind, and how much? Tomorrow, early AM, was to be another go at the Port Douglas fishing charter.
October 5:
The Norseman was the first boat as we walked onto the dock. The large, white double-decker was not yet prepared for the guys to board. A barefooted, unshaven, stout man, decked out with blue soiled shorts and a matching grubby singlet, was under the cover of the upper deck. He was preparing hand lines for today’s charter.
Joe and Tim spent the next half hour out-flavoring each other with tales of the best catch in the sea; both with encyclopedic recall of size, color, and fight of each specie – the names, of which, seemed to me to be drawn from deep in their imaginations, but agreed upon by both.
Tim’s neighbor, and good friend, Mia, has promised to cook up the catch for tonight’s tucker. I joked to Tim that we need to do the meal prep in her kitchen. I didn’t want to be in the home with the residual fishy smell. There was success for some. Jim caught the largest fish for the day. Richard, and half the other charter member, got skunked by Neptune. The fish Jim caught is a Coral Trout. This fish is a bright orange color, about 20 inches long, and would weigh out at a couple of pounds. The report was they fished the reef at about 70-feet depth, and the weather and ocean conditions were fine. Both men reckoned that the experience had been decent, but $400US for one stinking fish? Come on.
The shrimp bowl was then turned over to Mia. We watched her artfully prepare the large martini glassed servings; each spotted with a bit of greenery and a dash of her special cocktail sauce. Mia’s cooking philosophy is: It’s 15% cooking, and 85% presentation. This philosophy flowed over to her preparation of the main fish dish. She had advanced prepared some oven cooked potatoes, corn, and mushrooms. Now, all that was left was the fish. Earlier, Jim and Richard had shared their skills at filleting fish. The Coral Trout was no match. Two good sized hunks of meat had been turned over to Mia, who rendered the flat slabs into small chunks, shook them in a plastic bag with flour and spices, and put them into the pan for a quick fry.
October 6:
A few miles north of Port Douglas we turned onto Cooya Beach Road. These road dead ended at a beach frontage lane. We were to wait beside the basketball court. We found the court, after some searching, camouflaged by beach trees at the intersection. We were here to meet with an Aboriginal man who is going to host us on a mud crabbing adventure.
We mud crabbed our way back to where we had parked the van. Tim had rolled up his pant legs and was coming toward us in the rising waters of the new tide. It was a treat to go into the Mangrove swamp with feet that had become shinny clean from their wash in the sandy water. It was more fun, however, to see how fast I could get my feet once again looking at least normal.
Out came the first course of our lunch. We were treated to slices of fresh damper, coated with butter and treacle syrup. The brother brought out tea and coffee. The next plate held our collection of mud crab pieces. Armed with nut crackers, we all dug in. The mud crab has a pincer that looks like it is made of porcelain. It is also a very large pincer, compared to American versions. This crab’s bite will definitely break finger bones, if not take the finger away with it as it dashes into a nearby sand cloud. Properly prepared, however, the crab’s pincer became our best friend. The periwinkles were attacked a little differently. Linc presented mom’s pincushion loaded with safety pins. He showed us how one used the pin to snare the meaty bit of the `winkle which hid behind a protective shell trapdoor.
We arrived back home a little after two. Getting the residual mangrove swamp off of us, and attending to the mosquito bites, was our collective priority. I get the shower next. The day had been a wonderful experience, and we learned so much. The cost to each of us was $70AU. This had been adventure money well spent.
October 7:
We all enjoyed sleeping a bit longer this morning. After breakfast we headed into Cairns to visit its biggest shopping mall. Today’s mission was to buy some souvenirs for the family. We made a quick stop at a coffee shop and then we were ready to go. Tim had some errands to run and he would meet us at the coffee shop at 1PM. Shortly before the meeting time I went to Cole’s to stock up for the last two days of lunches and dinners. Finishing this task, I waited at the coffee area for the guys to show up.
The price for a 6-pack of beer is very high in Australia. What in Oregon would have cost $4, cost us close to $8AU. Exchange rates didn’t quite make up for the difference. Tim told Jim that Tim2 favored a brew called Crown. So, Jim set a 6-pack of Crown on the counter. The rest of us stacked on our collections. When Jim found out that the 6-pack of Crown was going to cost $18AU, he decided that Tim2 would have to settle for some regular Aussie beer. None of us, however, questioned Tim2’s quality taste.
The boys came home with no catch. They had a few bites and Jim actually had a 25” Barramundi up to the edge of the boat. The skipper had asked Richard if he wanted to net the fish. Richard told the skipper that he should do it. The net result was the Barramundi loosened the hook and was last seen swimming quickly away with a big grin. The both said they had a good time. Most of their fishing was done in the river estuary. The crab trap received a briny cleaning, which it didn’t really need.
October 9:
Today was going to be pretty light. We started out dropped off on the Esplanade, from where we could work our ways in a few blocks to meet Tim at P.J. O’Brien’s at 1:30PM. We were looking for a store that stocked a T-shirt we had seen which had a crocodile wrapped across the front and back. These streets were primed for tourist shoppers. We didn’t find the shirt we were looking for, but we garnered some nice gifts instead.
At the restaurant we quickly settled on the “Try-it-all” platter. There were six of us and this seemed the best way to get a taste of someone else might have ordered. The platter selection included about ten different dishes. We all received good sampling. Of course, I had no idea what I was eating. One can’t go to this kind of eatery without using a decoder ring. It was a sad goodbye, because we were on our way home for the last sleep of the trip.
4:30AM came very quickly. We had stayed up later that we should have, trying to get in the last bit of visiting and world problem solving. Everyone was clear of the showers and dressed by 5:15AM. During that bit of time, we also captured the CNN News and learned that the Stock market had just gone through its worst week since the crash of 1929. The DOW was down below 10,000. Little did we know.
Tim dropped us off at the domestic terminal at 6 o’clock for the 7 o’clock flight to Sydney. We’re off to a great start. Who would have thought that the flight from Cairns, AU to Sydney, AU would be leaving from the International terminal? Fortunately, it was a short walk.
From Sydney to Hong Kong, From Hong Kong to Ho Chi Minh City, from Ho Chi Minh City to Inchon, from Inchon to Los Angeles. The return legs didn’t have long wait legs, compared to the arriving trip. None the less, this was going to be tiring.
At Inchon (Seoul) we had the longest layover. It was eight hours. We had already flown through a full day and one night without any refreshing. As we wandered around, we noticed the Asiana Air lounges upstairs. We thought, we’re special people, too. We should be able to get into whatever there is up there. In the lounge area there were a couple of open for the public snack/beverage areas, an area especially for the real hoity passengers, and a lounge for the second-in-line hoity passengers. We tried to get into the lounge for the latter, but we completely failed the hoity test. We did, however, discover that right across the corridor was an airline hosted shower facility. For $6US, or 6,000Won, you bought a shower kit, which contained a towel, toothbrush and paste, shampoo, conditioner, and something called a body lotion. What a treat this was. This single event, for less than the price of an airport beer, was an absolute pick-me-up.
This last leg of the journey was a graveyard flight. This meant that with the right inducements, we could sleep. I had been cleaver and checked in my backpack. The pack had my clothes and my ditty bag. In the ditty bag was the supply of AmbienCR which I had obtained for just this kind of flight. Darn it! I don’t think any of us got much sleep on this leg.
I had placed the US Customs declaration form in my back pocket. When I pulled it out at the Customs desk, it was torn almost completely in half. Perhaps the Agent thought I was trying to rubbish his processes, perhaps he just wanted to send me to strange new places. Anyway, he had me go down Hallway B and contact one of the officers. At the end of Hallway B, I was instructed to wait at the end of that line. Three baggage carts later, I was told to go over and talk to that officer. The officer took the form. He didn’t care anything about looking in either my camera bag or the brightly colored bag of souvenirs I had toted from Cairns. Nope, what he did was tell me to stay put for a minute.
The officer finally returned and handed me a taped together declaration form. He then told me to go back down Hallway B and past the initial desk. When I got to the officer at the desk, I gestured to hand him the form. He took it, and without a word, looked up to the next passenger.
That was it. The man didn’t have any scotch tape at his counter and his supervisors would have grilled him as to how his carelessness could have led to such document destruction. He did, after all, have the authority to order me to go the end of Hallway B.
In the mean time, Jim had an opportunity to say his goodbyes to Richard. Richard’s wife, Rhonda, was waiting for him to come out of the airport’s cattle stalls. I’m sad my form got torn. I did not have a chance to thank Richard for the fantastic trip and for his welcomed companionship. I may never see Richard again, but I will remember him fondly. Cheers, new friend.
Jim and I had a bit of a wait at LAX for our flight to Medford. Unlike travel to San Francisco from Medford, the links north from LAX only happen at eight in the morning, and again at eight in the evening. There were no alternatives short of a standby flight to Portland, followed by a standby flight to Medford. This created too many negative opportunities. We waited.
The Horizon flight was far from full. The stewardess was very cheery and was an easy touch for a second glass of wine or beer; which, surprisingly, was on-the-house. Jim, we’re not finished having fun. Anne and Paula greeted us with warm hugs when we passed through Medford’s large glass entry-carousel. The bags came quickly and we were soon loaded and headed for our real homes for the first time in three weeks. This had been Great Adventure fun for Jim and Rob. Cheers Buddy.
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