I believe that maybe there is a misconceived perception that travelling the world is always easy and rosey; a simple string of wonderful experiences between which one glides gracefully. This, I have learned, is far from the truth; the good is incredible, but definately comes with the bad and sometimes it can be truly gruelling. Recently we have been discovering the less glamourous side of travelling, one involving sixteen hour journeys, smelly clothes and gastric sickness (unfortunately inevitable, Phil and I have both succumbed). Sickness/homesickness and cold weather have dampered our spirits somwhat and in turn made me an unfaithful blogger, so forgive me as I attempt to summerise our travels of late.
From the hustle and bustle of vibrant Hanoi we headed to Halong Bay - a true marvel of creation, but disappointingly cold and misty. Back to Hanoi for our second visit, during which time Phil and I came to the realization that neither of us are particularly enthralled by, what feels like, the laborious task of trapsing round all the guide book recommended museums. Though not void of an interest in the history of a place, we have decided that our limited time is better spent basking in its living, breathing culture - the beauty of its landscape, the movements of its people, its way of life.
Next to Ninh Binh for something a little more low-key and a lot less fumagated. We rented a motorcycle for two days (no doubt to the horror of my mother) and headed to the nearby haven of mountain peaks and tropical jungle that is Cuc Phoung National Park, which was, asides from the growl of our little engine, totally peaceful and totally what we were in need of. Two days of hiking encompassed one freezing night in a stilt house, wearing most of our clothes and huddling together under two duvets trying to conserve body heat. Such experiences (Phil calls "character building") I find are binding us together in a way that a comfortable home life never could.
Ninh Binh to Hue - the four hours here were spent, first, locating the local hospital and, secondly, an English speaking doctor to whom Phil could hand over his crutches. The doctor was so thrilled that, despite our exhaustion from the twelve hour bus journey, his grateful handshake was enough to uplift and prepare us for the next one. And so we headed to Hoi An, Phil finally crutch-free and feeling very liberated. We give thanks to God for his healing, and to all those who have been praying for his recovery over the past three months. This day is long awaited!
Full of beautiful old buildings, tiny art galleries, delicious food and incredible textiles, Hoi An has placed itself as my favourite place so far. Famous for its estimated five hundred tailors, here, more than anywhere else, I have been tempted to splurge our money and stuff my rucksack within an inch of its life full of silk scarves and tie-dye tablecloths. I was, however, able to resist, but mostly because it was here that my sickness hit, which sadly put a rather large downer on such a wonderful little place.
On to Nha Trang, we indulged ourselves in a spa day to aid recovery from our illnesses. Wallowing like hippos in the mud was wonderfully relaxing, and I'm sure our bodies appreciated the break, but, as Nha Trang is famed as the party capital of Vietnam, it held little appeal for us, and so we headed for the Highlands.
Vietnam's landscapes are spectacularly diverse, and, as we ride these rickety roads to Dalat, it is a pleasure to see. Amongst the tropical rain forests, rivers and paddy-fields are some distinctively Scottish looking trees, which, at this stage of our journey, come as a welcome reminder of home. We are learning all the time, about ourselves and about the world. At least once a day, even when things are at there bleakest, we find something that takes our breath away, and in that moment you know it is all worth it.
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