Chau Doc is a busy border town with dusty streets and tin roof buildings and TV antennas. Our hotel sat on the edge of the river. Behind us, the motorcycles buzzed around offering rides, on the other side, river traffic floated back and forth, rowing or spewing fumes behind noisy diesel engines.
It’s impossible to tell where the town stops and the river begins. The houses are high and leggy off the water, but there are floating docks and floating buildings and then, houseboats… J and I watched the sparks fly from a floating welding shop while next door, a place that was stacked high with giant ceramic drums did nothing at all.… continued…
I love this picture that J. took as we were walking to our table at a restaurant in Saigon. It perfectly captures the feeling of being there, the noisy blurry mess, the vibrancy, the off kilter feeling, everything. (It’s probably a good time for a reminder that J. takes a lot of the pictures you see here on NEV, he has an excellent eye and a steady hand.)
It was a hot night and we were going to eat BBQ in a courtyard restaurant that’s popular with locals and expats.… continued…
“There is nothing — absolute NOTHING — half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.” Ratty in Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows.
I hate to fly, I can’t bear long bus trips, and boats, good god, don’t get me started on boats. I love to be in exotic places, but the process of getting there, by most methods, leaves me queasy and tired. I will be the first to admit that this is a pathetic and contrary state of affairs in a person who loves to travel as much as I do, but there you have it.… continued…
Slideshow here. Suggested tune? Crosstown Traffic, Jimi Hendrix.
Every morning around 6am, the Voice of Vietnam blasts over Hanoi. Our tour leader told us that they broadcast local news, the lottery numbers, and a generous helping of propaganda. (I find it incongruous that a socialist nation has a lottery. Do they redistribute your winnings if you pick the right numbers?) The Voice of Vietnam is the first noise of the day, every day, and the sound spins up into a fevered pitch as the hours pass.… continued…
