Act 3 | Vietnam

Somewhat surprisingly, the most interesting aspects of life in this socialist state (at least for the casual observer) are the commercial markets and the private means of transportation. Starting a business here seems to be a simple case of accumulating a pile of goods, all from the same genre, and then sitting in front of (or even on top of) whatever it is you're selling for roughly 16 hours each day (while people who are selling the exact same products sit beside you on the exact same street).

The taxi drivers (on scooters) demand admiration, not only do they have immaculate vision (possessing the ability to see gaps in the traffic ahead well before they exist) I never saw one of them lose their temper or take chauvinistic action against any of the many female riders on the road (not even when there were three lady riders on the one bike - that's more ladies than wheels!).

I don’t think there is a word (or phrase) in Vietnamese for ‘close call’ or ‘near miss,’ there is simply ‘business as usual on the busy streets’ & 'accidents' (of which I saw a few in the short time I was in the country, including a massive overturned truck on a narrow mountain road).

It turns out that bikes are much more useful than we have realised in the West (we are so young and ignorant) & that our infantile child safety measures are rather draconian.

I have seen some truly amazing things attached to (or simply balanced on) the back of scooters (but that’s another sentence).

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I am so glad to be in the family of God; My two contacts in Vietnam were Christians who I had never met before (friends of friends (of friends)) who unreservedly accepted me into their homes & lives, and downright treated me like a long lost brother. (They both made it difficult for me to find ways of repaying them for their generosity – I had to be very sneaky).


Another reason I like Kes so much is that he was the one who introduced me to the traditional Vietnamese breakfast: spicy noodle soup + sweet iced coffee = bonza.

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I took a day tour to the Perfume Pagoda, a Buddhist temple located in a natural cave at the top of a mountain. I went for the beautiful boat ride along the river rather than for the opportunity to purchase paper money (with a printed value higher than what was paid) and plastic golden goods to leave in the cave in the hope that my ancestors would be somehow more happy with their lot in death.

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When you purchase an overnight train ticket to the mountains, you pay one price for a package that includes: 1) travel; 2) accommodation; 3) cigarette smoke that comes to you second hand via your companion sojourners (who were good enough to offer me a cigarette full of first hand smoke).

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I went to the mountains to get away from all the hustle/bustle and salesmanship of the city (no I do not want a taxi! I just want to walk!) to relax in a place where I could stare at the same view for hours and think about what I’d be doing if I were still an optometrist in Dunedin (no doubt some activity involving far less daylight & space).

The hills are alive with unsecured wireless networks.

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If you ever travel to Sapa you must make contact with Sa May and do your best to outbless this incredibly person, who just might be the most kind & busy individual in the whole wide world, what she does in any one day is incredible. (You’ll have to be real sneaky if you’re going to win the blessing competition.)

She and her husband invited me to their place for a meal (which included the best fish dish I had in Vietnam). The following day she took me on the family scooter to her mother's home in one of the nearby neighbouring villages.

She also pointed me in the direction of a local wedding that was into its second day of celebrations following a very long night.

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I took a hike out to another minority village on another day.

The locals were only too happy to follow us back to their village, and to lend a helping hand where needed.

It incredible to think how little these people ask of the earth, their energy/resource demands are so very low. They mostly live off the rice they grow themselves in the land that surrounds their homes. (That said, they do have electricity and television, and to finance these luxuries they are super motivated to sell you their craft work (which is the real reason they follow you home).)

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I have observed an interesting dynamic in the interactions I have had with local merchants: As I spend time getting to know them, asking them about their families and lives and answering questions about my own, I have discovered that I am hoping that they will give me a fairer price because we have become friendly with one another (to some small extent); However it seems that the merchant is simultaneously hoping that I will pay an even greater price than their outrageous starting price for the exact same reason. It’s so hard to believe that it truly is better to give than to receive. (Below is a picture of ‘Si’ (closest to the camera) looking at photos of my little niece; I paid her more than the going price for a bag that she lied about making herself after a third day of chatting about her four children back in the village that she lives in (and how she really wanted me to buy something from her).)

The sales techniques of the Vietnamese could be described as a little pushy or, as in the case below, a little bit pushy and pully.

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Lunch in the mountain markets was an enjoyable affair.

The chef would race around the market after taking my order buying what she needed to make the meal, which she then cooked in her kitchen right in front of me. (After preparing my meal on my final day, she began to wash her hair in the gutter beside the table, I had to wait until she was done before I could pay her and leave - it was great entertainment (even when I didn’t order so well).

The local beer in Sapa is Lao Cai – less that a dollar in price, more than 600ml in size, & a bit like a radler in taste – no wonder the locals stay local.

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By inadvertently applying the "leave the best ‘til last" approach to making travel arrangements, I saved Halong Bay for my last full day in Vietnam. (Mercifully I was switched from the group I travelled with in the bus (none of whom spoke English) to another group when boarding the boats which contained some ripper Aussies (more about that in the next section) and a rather odd man who wanted to ask me strange questions about train ticket prices during the climatic point of the cruise.)

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The world contains some truly generous people, like Scott and Sara (both born to Vietnamese parents in Australia and both possessing wicked Aussie accents) who were willing to recognise my semi-homeless status (as a temporary vagabond) and therefore insisted on buying me my first ‘steamboat’ meal. (I am sure this feed will still be in my Top 10 meals of 2009 come the end of the year; it will certainly be one of the most important as it was this delicious meal that sustained me through the 40+ hour transit to the middle east that I was about to embark upon.)

I have found yet another parallel between Abraham and myself. I read in Genesis 23 that he too had trouble insisting on paying for something (a piece of land in which to bury his wife) which others wanted to gift to him), presumably because he wasn’t dealing with Australians for a piece of Australia. Abraham opted to pay for what he could afford rather than take what was on offer. (If only Abraham had settled the Great Southern Land, how much better would our relationship be with the first Australians now?)

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ECOTIP: The flight from Hanoi to Bangkok presented me with the first real opportunity to use my favourite travelling purchase – the headphone hub.

Count them up - six happy ears, one battery - if you do the maths, I’m sure you’ll get the same result as I did, the planet is being saved one song at a time.

The hub is also a VIP pass that can be used to get inside anyone’s MP3 player, when they’re tying to shut me out by having their earphones in, I simply wave my backstage pass under their nose and mere moments later the stand-off is broken and I’m patched into their happy sounds.

Act 2 | Australia

I am strongly identifying with the journey that Abram made as is described in Genesis 12: ‘The LORD had said to Abram, "Leave your country, your people and your father's household and go to the land I will show you … and you will be a blessing.’

I am confident that God has encouraged this trip because I have seen his hand at work in the preparations (many things have fallen into place very neatly, sometimes after my own good ideas had just fallen through). As with Abram's initial journey, I too have passed through the promised land (Australia) and am seeking God’s guidance in where I should pitch my tent and toil some ground (metaphorically) before eventually returning to Paradise.

By way of explaination & as mentioned in the preamble, I am scoping out Central America in the second half of this year in the hope that the part time volunteer work I do there might lead to a longer term as a development worker in one or more of the locations I visit. I hope to pour myself into the foreign development work for at least a year before resettling in Australia.

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This be the little beauty I wrote of in the recent email that I sent out, her name is Sasha Abby Hodson, & we have an uncle/niece relationship going on.

We had some great cuddles while she was sleeping and an eye poking competition when she was awake (which she won with her little clenched fist).

Before we meet again I will have found my own way around the world and she will have found out how to crawl across the living room.

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Last minute things can make you so nervy ...

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I have said numerous goodbyes in the last month – none harder than to ’murf - who has been my faithful bedfellow for nigh 30 years.

Act 1 | Leaving Dunedin (New Zealand)

After almost nine years of faithfully flatting in same apartment – home to so many good memories - you can totally forget that you don’t actually own the place. So it came as a bit of a shock when my landlady asked me to move out a couple of months before I was due to leave the country. (I have had nine official flatmates (one-per-year, which has caused me to pause and wonder, ‘does the other bedroom stink or is it me?’) and a whole host of unofficial flatties (some of whom probably still have keys to the flat which are now no more useful than momentos to remember me by.)

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I am deeply grateful to the two households that provided me with lodgings and laughter, after I had been dumped by my landlord and before it was time to fly away.

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Some of my quicker friends left the city before I did, meaning that I was obliged attend their farewell gathering while they tactfully avoided (all of) mine.

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I think I had some form of farewell gathering – be it lunch with a friend, a meal with a family (that I had invited myself to), eating out with colleagues, a tramping expedition, a formal farewell presentation, or drinks with the team – on every day of the last four weeks I spent in NZ.

The farewell marathon climaxed on the night before my departure with a 'last hurrah’ that (somewhat predictably) finished with a meal at my most favoured Dunedin eating establishment, The Khmer Friendly Noodle House, alongside the few friends who still had the strength for one last goodbye.

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Of course I am concerned with how flying all the way around the world is going to affect my eco-status, especially among my eco-friends (you know who you are - and aren’t!). So I was much relieved to accidently discover a new way of flying green, which I will gladly share with you now: Simply pack your favourite mug in your hand luggage and ask if you can use it in place of a disposable cup (and you get more coffee)!

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I am hoping to meet some new & really interesting people while travelling this year, so you can imagine my disappointment when the very first travelling companion I gained (while queuing for the flight from Auckland that would end my status as a resident of NZ) was Jim Duthie (the unintelligent looking one in the photo below) – my long time partner in prayer and co-founder of ‘cigars-for-Jesus’ (aka ‘Christians-on-fire’) – who just happened to also be transiting through Auckland to Paradise (aka ‘Australia’) on that particular morning.

It was a case of perfect unplanned (well, not planned by us anyway) timing. Not only did he buy me my last Old Dark beer (at airport prices!) - He kissed me .!.!. (I'm sure if you were to ask him about it he’d either deny it outright, claim it was the ‘holy kiss of greeting’ (delivered as I joined the queue at the boarding gate to depart the country?), or say it was on behalf of his wife (who is happily married with three kids and who wasn’t even there at the time!); In any case, I left New Zealand with a kiss from a friend.)

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I shed no tears on my way out of NZ, which surprised me a little, I think it was because my time in Dunedin really seemed to be complete, and making this journey at this time seems highly appropriate (not to mention exciting). Therefore doing Dunedin things for the last time felt quite natural (after all, if you’re ever going to do something completely different from the norm there is going to have to be a last run through the status quo).

(And I only saw one other person begin to cry as I said my many goodbyes.)

I left well.