Laos

Hello and greetings from Thailand (which might be more aptly called 711Land)!

Apologies for my seeming inability to ever keep anything on this blog current -- I really do mean to. In this edition, I will attempt to summarize our month in Laos – or at least hit some of the highlights. I am currently in bed nursing a 102 degree fever so what better time to update my blog.

We crossed into Thailand after a spectacular month in Laos about a week ago. We spent all of time in the northern part of the country, beginning in the capital city of Vientiane, right on the Thai border. We took an epic 24 hour bus ride from Hanoi, Vietnam to Vientiane – Jade and I literally got the last two seats on the bus and everyone who arrived after us was relegated to the cushioned floor. We arrived at the Laos border to get our visas around 6am in the pouring and very cold rain. We had to pay an additional “overtime” fee because it was a weekend, and another one they called a “stamping fee.” Even more amusing was the fact that the Laos immigration building had no electricity so we filled out all the forms my candlelight.

We had been told by a number of people to skip Vientiane -- that it was boring and not worth our time. However, as we were in no rush, I convinced Jade and Kade that it was worth it. It ended up being a really nice, quiet, small city, perched right on the banks of the Mekong River. There certainly wasn’t a ton going on, but I kind of liked that. There were great markets – one my favorite things about Asia, and a number of nice, big parks. The main park by the river even had exercise machines cemented in place that seemed to be immensely popular in the early evening. One of the first things we noted was how few motorbikes there were and how many cars there were. We saw families driving in cars, rather than on motorbikes, as in Vietnam, and to a lesser degree Cambodia. In addition, while everyone in Vietnam honks their horns every five seconds, in Laos no one honks their horns. Ever. What a breath of fresh air.

We also spent some time in Vang Vieng, the party capital of Laos. It is a pretty ridiculous place – full of bars playing endless episodes of Friends or Family Guy – and places where you can order mushroom shakes, opium tea or joints etc etc. The main attraction in the area though, is tubing down the river that runs right through the town. For a few dollars you can rent a tub, take a tuk tuk 4 km north of town where there is a long strip of bars along the river. Most bars not only offer drinks and other illicit substances, but also feature ziplines, or slides that throw you into the water. I myself am too much of a wuss, but my travel mates certainly enjoyed them.

After Vang Vieng Jade and I went to Phonsovan, a dusty city in the worlds most heavily bombed province in the world. The main attraction there is the Plain of Jars – a number of sites in the area feature huge boulders that have been carved into jars, some even with lids. There is essentially no evidence as to why they were carved or what they were used for. Of course, a number of theories exist – they were placed over graves and filled with offerings, they were used to brew rice whisky, who knows. They were pretty cool to see. Unfortunately many were destroyed during the Vietnam War, the area is covered with bomb craters. We learned a lot about the UXOs (or unexploded ordinances) in the area, and the way they effect people, especially farmers (which make up the vast majority of Laotians). There are a number of organizations that work tirelessly to de-mine the area, but it’s painfully slow work. Many people still die each year – mainly kids who pick up UXOs as they are often bright colors or look like toys. The presence of them, though, also prevents people from being able to farm and till their land, so they are forced to use only small parcels of land that have been de-mined. It’s heartbreaking.

While in Phonsovan we also went to a hotspring a couple hours east of the city. For about a dollar we rode in the back of a little Toyota Pick-Up truck with approximately 16 other people wedged in, or hanging off the back. The truck stopped frequently to pick up more people: old ladies got on with chickens in little bamboo baskets, kids with long bamboo poles, middle aged men with plastic bags full of raw meat etc etc. We got dropped off in the village of Muang Kham where no one spoke English. However, we were eventually able to mime where we wanted to go and off we went. We didn’t end up where we expected to. The guesthouse owners spoke no English and the hotsprings were not too exciting. However, we had a wonderful time walking through the village. I love walking around at like 5:00 or so when everyone is out doing their thing. The kids are home from school and running around or riding bikes that are ridiculously too big for them. Parents are cooking dinner, or taking a shower at the public water pump, making fires etc. The next morning we had thought the guesthouse owners could call us a tuk tuk, but that turned out not to be the case. Sensing no other option we started trudging towards town with all our bags. Twenty minutes later we saw a tuk tuk parked under a hut. After some bargaining and miming we chartered ourselves the tuk tuk back into Muang Kham – it was a big village event with people swarming around us.

We ended up returning to Vientiane to pick up my friend Aleeza who I studied abroad with in Nepal in 2009. Having just spent 4 weeks back in Nepal volunteering, we had decided to meet up and a spend a month traveling! After a quick stop off in Vang Vieng we headed to the World Heritage city of Luang Prabang. The city itself was nice – because it’s a World Heritage Site no cars or trucks are allowed within the main part of the city, which is quite refreshing. The city itself caters to a wealthier crowd – there were lots of older folks there walking around in clean white pants and shirts, quite the contrast to us in our dirty, ragged clothes. We enjoyed wandering around the city, sipping fruit shakes, visiting a mind blowingly gorgeous waterfall, taking an evening boat ride with a man who said his name was “Sean Penn,” exchanging our books, getting devoured by mosquitoes etc etc.

We ultimately decided to spend our last few days in Luang Nam Tha rather then all of our remaining time in Luang Prabang. LNT was a 6 hour bus ride north, but right on the way to the Thai border. The road ended up being on half paved and also the windiest road I have ever been on. It was impossible to do anything but concentrate on not slamming into the window or the person next to you. We also got stopped a number of times by road construction. Chinese road construction in fact. Much like what China is doing in Africa and South America, they are also bringing their machinery and workers to Laos, building roads in exchange for natural resources. Quite sad. Anyway, LNT turned out to be really beautiful, a sleepy town perfect for planning treks, kayaking trips etc. We ended up renting motorbikes and having a blast cruising around, riding through little villages, to stupas, to waterfalls etc. Motorbikes are so great because they give you the opportunity to for once have some control and freedom as to where you go, how long you stay etc etc. And, you can see way more in a day on a motorbike than on a regular bike. Our second day there we booked a day long kayaking trip that turned out to be quite the adventure. The kayaks were actually more like inflatable rafts and despite our best efforts they were nearly impossible to keep straight. I maintain that Jade and I did better than most, but still, there was a lot of spinning. The scenery was absolutely gorgeous though – a deep river valley with bamboo forests on either side, the occasional hut and cluster of banana trees. There were quite a few nice rapids to cruise through as well.

Finally, on the 27th of February we made our way to the Thai border to cross into Thailand! The journey was by no means simple, and unfortunately Aleeza was quite sick with a fever (what I think I have now) but because our visas expired we couldn’t wait another day for her to feel better. ☹ So, we took one of the roughest buses we’ve been on in all of Asia to the bus station near the border, took a tuk tuk to the Mekong River, took a boat across the river, checked into Thailand, took a tuk tuk to the bus station and bus to Chiang Rai. What a day! And so, here we are in the final country of Asian journey – how fast the time flies. I was admittedly bummed to leave Laos – a country that is so mellow, full of the nicest people that do not abuse the horns on their cars/motorbikes and so many amazing things to see.

I will try to be a better blogger now that we’re on the homestretch. No promises though. Initially I am loving Thailand. It so incredibly different than all the other Asian countries I’ve been too – like some sort of hybrid of S.E. Asia and the west with more parts Asia. There are more 711s here than there are in the US, I’m sure of it. There is amazing coffee! Not the thick, acidic sludge we have been offered elsewhere, AND, you can buy the best pad thai you’ve ever had for seventy five cents right on the street. Livin’ the dream we are.

Hugs, kisses and lots of love!

Teaching in Sapa

SAPA, VIETNAM — And so, if I have any “followers” left, here is an update. The last month of our stay in Vietnam has been spent in the old French hill station of Sapa. Built literally on a side of a mountain, Sapa is, in theory, surrounded by some of the world’s most famously beautiful terraces. I say in theory, because we were afforded just a few glimpses of them and by no means did we see the full extent of them. It turns out that between December and March thick fog descends and settles on Sapa. Visibility is reduced to the ten meters in front of you and the cold, damp air penetrates your clothing and bones. Of course, we knew none of this when we agreed to spend a month teaching English to a group of H’mong girls. So, what followed was a love-hate relationship: we grew to love teaching the girls that we spent every day with and hate the weather and the constant cold, that, with no heated buildings was impossible to escape ever.

We spent each day teaching from 8:30 – 11:00 and then 2:00 – 4:00. We ate white rice, tofu and tomato and egg or saag for breakfast, lunch and dinner at the school and in our free time we planned our lessons, played foozeball with the girls or huddled in front of our pricey (albeit necessary) heat lamps in our rooms.

A bit about the school (www.sapaochau.org). All of the girls (and a few boys started showing up towards the end of our stay) are H’mong and are from the villages that surround Sapa. No H’mong people really live in Sapa — a town that was built by the French, for the French. Instead, the main inhabitants of Sapa Town are the Viet-Kieu, Vietnam’s largest ethnic group. The relationship between the H’mong and Viet-Kieu is rather tenuous as all the town’s guesthouses, restaurants, tourist shops etc. are owned by the Viet-Kieu, not a single one by a H’mong. Instead, H’mong women and children roam the streets selling handicrafts out of their baskets to tourists. Many of the girls we taught used to (or still do from time to time) sell bags or other things they’ve made to tourists. H’mong children have few options for school. They can attend the schools in their villages, though none of them have English teachers, and English is really the only marketable skill they need. The only schools they can attend after primary schooling are Vietnamese schools, which are not particularly accessible, as most H’mong do not speak Vietnamese. Of course, there are other variables at play here too. Secondary school costs money, much more than most H’mong families hae access too. Many families do not allow their children to attend school and instead require that they stay and work at home, most often in the rice paddies. This is especially true for the first-born child, as they are bestowed with the most familial responsibility.

The school we worked at, Sapa O’Chau was just started about nine months ago by a H’mong woman named Shu. The program is so recent that in many ways it is hard to tell what her priorities are – she is interested in starting a H’mong run trekking business (currently zero exist, many treks are led by H’mong people but run through Vietnamese guesthouses etc) but also in establishing a school that relies on international volunteers to teach English. Currently two students attend secondary school in addition to school at Sapa O’Chau. Both students have international sponsors, Westerners that met the girls while they were trying to sell to them on the streets.

We taught twelve girls, aged 12 – 27. It was quite challenging, primarily because of the wide range of abilities, not only between girls, but between reading, writing and speaking as well. Some could speak very well (largely the result of talking to tourists on the streets) but not write at all. Some could read but barely speak. We tried our best to address all of their needs, which we were able to do because there were three of us. We played a lot of games, sang songs, did some worksheets and so on.

One weekend two of our students, Mai and Su, took us on a trek to their village where we spent one night. The few glimpses of the landscape that we were afforded were stunning — deep river valleys, bamboo forests and empty rice and indigo terraces. However, what did we see the most of you ask? Mud. The trails were incredibly muddy and we, unfortunately, for some unknown reason, were not encouraged to buy $2 mud boots. So, we slid around in our hiking boots. Much to the delight of Kade and I, we got to witness Jade and our new friend Ana fall countless times.

It was a sad departure from the girls. They cried, and gave us bracelets and as usual, I felt helpless. Helpless to really do anything meaningful – just another person who has come and gone. It’s an odd feeling really, especially because you tend to embark on these volunteer experiences with the intentions of really making a significant impact. But, you quickly realize that in order to do that you have to commit years, rather than weeks or months just in order to understand what’s going on and what needs to be done.

And now, we are back in Hanoi. It is in the 50s but feels quite warm. Living the dream. There is more to the story, though. The part that leaves a bad taste in our mouth. We had initially heard about this volunteering opportunity through a program that described itself online as being through UNESCO. It was to this program that we each deposited $200, only to learn later that it was a lie and that the man behind it all is fraudulent and scamming us all. We have been in touch with many former volunteers who have had similar experiences and are now all working as a group to get him fired or apprehended by the police. We’ll see. He has also stolen a lot of money from the woman running Sapa O’Chau. Live and learn I guess.

We are planning on celebrating Tet in Hanoi before venturing into Laos sometime early next week. We hear it’s going to be in the high 80s there. Yessssssssss!

Busin'

When traveling, we always make it from Point A to B. This I know. It’s more the ‘how’ that can be difficult to recall. As in, I know we got on a bus last night – and I think (but can’t be sure) that it is taking us to Hanoi. Then, it is through a Benedryl-induced fog that we try to decipher why we are stopped on the side of a dark road, our driver involved in some sort of heated dispute, or a transfer of goods, usually involving a plastic grocery bag full of fresh meat.

The bus rides are long. The bus rides are exhausting. The bus rides usually make me feel ill – largely because I spend the majority of my time gorging on some combination of baguettes, soft cheese, oranges, hard candies, coffees, sodas, and on occasion, Pho procured at a debatably disease-free “rest stop”. In addition to my ridiculous caloric intake, the buses rarely stop. And, by rarely, I mean, if we’re lucky, every four or five hours. Thus, it becomes a rare form of torture: the constant insatiable need to eat and the overwhelming need to pee (or worse). But, I must clarify. When I say the bus doesn’t stop, that is not what I mean at all. In fact, it stops quite frequently — long enough for the bus driver to engage in said arguments, or in said bartering, or, long enough for men to smoke or, in the case of our last bus ride, long enough for the driver to stop and size up a tobacco bong he appeared to be interested in buying. The difficulty is that while there are often prolonged announcements in the native language, nothing is ever relayed to us. Thus, we must attempt to make an uniformed guess regarding the potential duration of our stop. Do I have to time to pee, or will they leave without me?

All told though, I love bus rides in Asia. The love stems mainly from my recent introduction to sleeping buses. Debatably dangerous, the normal seats in these buses have been removed, and luxurious (albeit short) beds have been installed in their place. This allows the passenger to lie in luxury whilst taking in the scenery. Of course, luxury is a stretch. Especially considering, on our most recent ride from Sapa to Hanoi the TV on our bus (they ALL have TVs) featured what could most aptly be described as solo porn. Even with an iPod at full volume it can be impossible to cancel out the bass.

As tedious as the rides can be they afford a glimpse at the landscape that I find particularly appealing. Bus rides don’t take you to the tourist destinations. Instead, they zoom through the every day life of every day people and it is through a bus window that I have seen some of the most outrageous things I think I’ll ever see —babies perched in bike baskets being peddled through markets, a man dragging a snake attached to a stick, pomelos the size of your head, farmers wading through rice paddies, albino buffalo – you name it, we’ve seen it.

And so, while the flight from Hanoi to Vientiane, Laos would take one hour we of course have opted for the 24-36 hour bus ride. Because, why not?

Merry Christmas

HANOI, VIETNAM — Yesterday marked my first Christmas away from home. The day before yesterday marked the first Christmas Eve spent on an 18 hour sleeping bus capped off by a Benedryl-induced haze.

What is Christmas like in Vietnam, you ask?

For the most part, it is decidedly un-Christmasy. In fact, our experiences with anything Christmas-like were pretty minimal. Sure, the odd restaurant strings lights atop it’s balcony, and attaches a santa or two to the sign in front but nothing too extravagant. We heard our first Christmas carol blaring from some old speakers as we sat down to enjoy our fancy Christmas dinner of Pho (Vietnamese noodle soup) and C’om Chay (rice and veggies). Perhaps the most exciting encounter we had took place while we waited for our bus. We all looked up just in time to see a man dressed as Santa, toting a large bag of what we assumed to be gifts walking down the street before quickly hopping on a motorbike and speeding past us. A real, live Santa! How fun!

But, let me tell you about our unconventional Christmas day. At 2:00pm on Christmas Eve we boarded a bus in Hoi An, bound for the small city of Ninh Binh (that was a mere 18 hours away). We secured the most prized piece of real estate on any sleeping bus — the back — where three or four seats/beds are clustered together perfectly. This unique arrangement makes a perfect staging ground for group snacks, watching movies on the laptops, or chatting. In an effort to avoid spending money we came armed with snacks — Pringles, baguettes, jam, chocolate, dried fruit, water, ah the makings of a Christmas Eve dinner. We were told that we were to arrive in Ninh Binh around 7 or 8am, so you can imagine our surprise when we were abruptly awoken from our fitful sleep and ushered off the bus, onto the dark sidewalk at not 8, but 5:00am. And so our Christmas morning began with a long, slow trudge through the dusty streets of Ninh Binh, and ended with our arrival at a very questionable guest house. Our room looked more like a train car than a hotel room, complete with plastic walls and ceiling inhabited with rats (that at times seemed to be competing in some sort of Olympic games). We ended up sleeping until around 1:00 with each of us waking up for brief family Skype dates before collapsing back into bed.

As much as it would have been wonderful to be with my family, I think sometimes the most unconventional Christmases can be the most exciting. Happy Holidays from ‘Nam! More soon!

Travel Update

Hello Friends,

Just a quick update for now. Hope you enjoyed my last post -- you might be interested to know that the burns on my leg are healing quite nicely and it looks like they might not even scar.

After a week on the island of Phu Quoc we took a ferry mainland Vietnam and spent about five days in the Mekong Delta, first in the city of Can Tho and then the smaller village of Ben Tre. While in the Delta we took a few different boat tours which proved to be a combination of entirely ridiculous and a little bit entertaining. Yesterday we arrived in what is formally known as Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC) though most people here still refer to it as Saigon. I feel like I have now been to quite a few of Asia's big cities (okay, maybe not thattt many, but, Kathmandu, Phnom Penh, Delhi, Calcutta should count for something) and never before have I seen anything like Saigon. The traffic here is absolutely unbelievable. It remains unclear to me how so many motorbikes can ride on the same road without hitting each other. We have spent the last two days visiting the big city market, the Reunification Palace and the War Remnants Museum. There is certainly lots to see here.

The loose plan is to spend the next month working our way north in Vietnam. On January 3rd we are planning on beginning a month long volunteer program teaching English in the little mountain village of Sapa. It will be exciting to escape the heat and humidity for a bit.

Anyway, stay tuned for a more exciting update soon. Love.

How Could I Not Be?

PHU QUOC, VIETNAM — When it comes to motorbikes, everyone in Asia seems to be a natural. Small children who appear to have just recently started eating solid foods maneuver gracefully through the chaotic traffic. The elderly can ride -- the disabled too. Families of five or six seem to have no trouble. Mothers ride, balancing a couple of toddlers, with infants tucked away in a makeshift hammock strung between the handlebars. Young boys chat on cell phones – girls munch on fruits. No big.

And then, there are the objects that accompany motorbikers. It's not uncommon to see live hogs or chickens strapped on the back of motorbikes calmly controlled by adolescents. Crates of eggs, lumber, office chairs, jugs of gasoline, cases of beer, bicycles, fish, baguettes, javelin-like metal rods – you name it, we’ve seen it strapped, tied, lassoed or velcroed to a motorbike.

Armed with this understanding that riding a motorbike is a piece of cake for everyone, (the young, old and disabled included) and the encouragement of a couple supporters I too believed I was capable. How could I not be?

Minutes into my relationship with my motorbike, I feared we would not be able to ride as one. The first problem was that it wouldn’t start. While my travel companions eagerly engaged their engines every time I started mine it sputtered and died. The owner of the motorbikes patiently explained to me via a combination of hand signals, miming, childlike engine noises and Vietnamese that as soon as I started it I needed to gently rev the engine. I did as told, and the beast lurched forward aggressively. The man then advised (from what I could understand) that I should just coast down the slight incline to get out of the driveway and away from all things that could be potentially destroyed or killed.

Armed with my newfound confidence from the whole coasting experience, I gently rev-ed the engine with the intention of getting on the small dirt road leading out of the guesthouse and to the main road. The bike pitched forward towards the opposite ditch. Fearing disaster I turned the handlebars so that at the very least I would continue at an unsafe speed up the dirt road. At the time it seemed a favorable alternative to crashing in the ditch with the group of already skeptical Vietnamese men watching me. And so, I turned the handlebars hard, the back tire caught in the loose sand kicking the bike out from beneath me and in a pile we crashed to the ground -- my leg pressing against the hot muffler.

Calmly the motorbike owner approached me again, chuckling as he began to re-teach me – pointing excitedly at various buttons, pulling back on levers and making engine noises. Clearly still inept I switched bikes – happily handing over the keys to the red devil in exchange for a shiny and new looking bike, complete with a supple brown leather seat. While I automatically felt more comfortable with my new ride, we took off for the main road a bit more hesitantly. My new bike idled nicely and I was less afraid that it would turn against me at any moment.

We rode forward onto the main paved road that leads from the touristy beach area into the city of Duong Dong. The road started off wide, with light traffic but before long we entered the city proper. Motorbikes, trucks, motorized noodle carts, bicycles and cars fought for space in the city’s roundabouts and narrow, dirt streets – horns honking, red dust flying. Following lunch at a small, empty restaurant we began our quest to find the less popular beaches located on the island’s northeast coast. Road signs in English do not exist so we struck off blindly, pointing ourselves vaguely in the direction we believed to be north. After a few unsuccessful attempts we spotted a traveler who appeared to be riding confidently toward some unknown destination. Sensing no better alternative we took off after him, maintaining enough distance so as to look informed ourselves but not entirely creepy.

The once-wide paved street quickly narrowed into a road that more closely resembled a dirt path. The bright orange dirt kicked up in a fine dust with each passing vehicle, covering each of us in a thin layer of rusty grit. Our motorbikes bucked and jerked – coughing their way through the deep potholes, skidding through sand and gravel – and, for the most part, I felt in control. I began to feel more confident. With the foreigner still locked in our viewfinder we passed through small villages. Children scampered along the side of the road, men crowded around small noodle or tea shacks, women sat behind store counters awaiting the next customer. As quickly as we entered villages we seemed to pass through them and find ourselves surrounded on both sides by deep, thick forest.

Hand confidently on the gas I accelerated up small hills, speeding down the other side. It wasn’t until my first experience with a “bridge” that my terror returned. First of all, bridges have always terrified me. Ask my friend Sam how difficult it was to convince me to go to Prince Edward Island once I learned that the route there included a 16 mile bridge (that I swear did sway back and forth). Secondly, bridges on this island should terrify everyone. I don’t believe that any concrete was utilized in their construction. Instead, they appear to be built of rotting lumber, held above the stagnant water by rotting posts. In addition, every other board or so is broken and/or not attached to the rest of the “bridge.” The sound of riding a motorbike across one of these contraptions is terrifying --not that I could hear it over my racing mind that was busy conjuring up images of my imminent death.

I eased my bike onto the edge of the first such bridge we came across, waiting patiently for my friends to safely reach the other side – not believing for a second that the “bridge” could support more than one motorbike at a time. As I sat on my bike collecting myself and trying to create positive scenarios in my mind to overpower the ones of myself breaking through the “bridge” and plummeting to my death in the sludge water below, I saw, to my horror, two motorbikes passing one another on the “bridge.” PASSING! Sure I was going to witness some kind of horrible accident I turned away. Overcome with my fear I waited until I was certain no one was around before meekly crossing the death structure that appeared to bow beneath me. Not that the other side was much better. Jagged rocks littered the small road that wove narrowly between huts teaming with small, unpredictable children, chickens and kids zigzagging around on bikes that were much too large.

Two life-threatening “bridges” later we caught our first glimpse of the ocean, peeking through the forest. Soon after we found the beach. Soon after we realized we had no water, no snacks, no towels and had forgotten our snorkel. We decided to take a quick dip before having to struggle back into our dry clothes – transforming them into knots of sand and salt water.

Retrieving my key from my bag, I started my motorbike to continue up the coast. Feeling rejuvenated and confident I accelerated into the road, making a hard left turn as my bike and I propelled forward. In my panic I confused the brake and gas and at that moment, hit the sand. Again, my motorbike and I crashed to the ground in a heap. The key dug hard into my upper right thigh, bending it in the ignition. The bike landed on my left leg, momentarily trapping it. Embarrassed, I pulled myself up and reassured the few concerned locals who stopped to check on us, that I was in fact fine – just a giant spaz. What little pride remained quickly disintegrated as I inspected the scratches on the new brown paint and the bent key.

I proceeded to ride 25 miles an hour back to our guest house and survive each and every “bridge” crossing. An accidental journey into the city market did not fail to entertain, however, as we were forced to navigate through even narrower streets with even more obstacles, people and motorbikes. I lived in a constant state of fear of accidentally accelerating and losing control.

And yet, somehow I survived and somehow everyone else here seems to drive with such poise – calm and confident amidst a sea of utter traffic-chaos.

Vietnam and island livin'

After three relaxing days on the beaches in Sihanoukville, we have crossed into Vietnam. Jade and Kade's visa's expired on the third of December, and while the overstay fee is just five dollars we were advised not to piss anyone off, and to get out of Cambodia before then. We are currently on the island of Phu Quoc that is actually just off the Cambodian coast and from what I have read it is still "claimed by Cambodia." However, Vietnam has built a huge military base on the island and in turn has claimed it.

The island is quite large and about 70% of it is protected forest. The coast is ringed with beautiful sandy beaches that are slowly becoming more popular with tourists -- development is quite obviously on the way. We are staying on Long Beach -- a 5 km stretch of sand -- sparse with bungalows and restaurants. We are planning to lounge around here for the next week or so before heading to mainland Vietnam and the Mekong Delta.

We have been talking about how difficult and exhausting it is to travel sometimes -- and how frustrating it is to get around -- but then, we find islands like this and suddenly everything seems so simple.

That's all for now. LoveLoveLove.