Control Rods

Jennifer and I stepped on board ile de Grace in late December, 2009, and, apart from Jennifer's brief trip home in March 2010 (from the Galapagos), we've been shipmates, bunkmates, and lifemates ever since, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, through storm and calm, tied at the figurative hip if not tied to a literal lifeline during heavy seas. For the past week, Jennifer has been in the States, attending to family business, and it's timely to reflect a bit on the impact living in such close quarters has on a relationship and a voyage.

There's a quiet intensity that characterizes most close relationships between two strong, independent people, and I'd certainly count Jen and me in that category. One of the unexpected -- and often uncomfortable -- learnings of the last few months for me, as our boat cruising dwindled to nothing (as we sat out cyclone season), has been the impact of our adventure on our relationship, my role in that impact, and how difficult it is to maintain one and only one interpersonal relationship on a cruising boat, no matter how trusting, well-established, intimate, or caring the partners might be. Even in the best of relationships, with only each other to turn to, there's no one to turn to for outside perspective, a sense of balance, or just a second opinion. It just gets tougher if one or the other (i.e., me), tends to the more introspective, less charitable sides of the see-saws from time to time.

In this, the analogy of control rods in the now-fated Japanese nuclear reactors comes to mind. In reactors, silver-cadmium rods are used to "soak up" excess neutrons, preventing the nuclear reaction from spiraling out of control. Engineers raise and drop these rods into the core of the reactor and thus calibrate the resulting temperature of the reaction. No rods -- or no electricity to adjust the rods -- and you have a meltdown. While we were sailing between and among island archipelagos, we'd meet many cruisers and locals, each of whom represented, in effect, a control rod for each of us and our increasingly tight relationship. We'd laugh with some, commiserate with others, share stories with yet others, and learn new words and concepts from yet others. Unknowingly on their part, and unconsciously on our part, we learned to calibrate the highs and lows of our relationship -- many of which are accentuated in the close quarters of a sailboat on an extended voyage -- by relying on our friendships and interactions with others.

I say unconsciously, because for me at least, until we arrived in Australia, and until we'd spent a few months land cruising with far fewer interactions with other cruisers or like-minded travelers (we mostly stayed in hostels, with a 20-something clientele), I remained unaware of the value and need for control rods in our relationship. Worse, the isolation accentuated my natural tendency to introversion and lack of patience. To make matters more challenging, and again, these are learnings after-the-fact, here recorded to maintain a sense of honest reflection on the nature of a circumnavigation, the environmental challenges of a boat at sea are markedly different than those of a land-based life that balances office work, home life, and community involvement.

At sea, one's comfort zone is stretched considerably, and for me, it's now clear that I can revert to some less-than-caring, less-than-attentive, less-than-kind, and less-than respectful behaviors when I'm on the edge of that zone, in tense situations, when the margin of error is reduced. In spacious quarters, on land, with a variety of outlets, these annoying idiosyncrasies can be dissipated in the "normal" course of a day or a week, as friends and colleagues absorb the frustrations and feelings. In tight quarters, with no outside outlets, they can accumulate, like neutrons in a runaway reactor.

So we are learning and planning in the next legs of our life and voyage together to anticipate the need for control rods, just as I intend to try and bring more self-awareness to the need to remain caring, attentive, kind and respectful even if the immediate situation finds me on the edge of a comfort zone. Through this all, I continue to marvel at Jennifer's innate perceptiveness and ability to see clearly what's happening, and I'm deeply grateful that I've got a partner with her patience and courage to put up with (briefly) and challenge (nicely) unhealthy behaviors. It's not without pain or cost to be sure, especially for the one on the receiving end, and it pains me to see clearly -- albeit in retrospect -- how I've mismanaged myself from time to time, and the heartache I've caused. It's clear that sailing around the world involves tending to one's boat -- and one's mind -- simultaneously.

So it's not easy, all this sailing around -- the last few months have really been a period of deep introspection for both of us as we tackle the less-tangible weather conditions of an extended voyage. Today, Jennifer is in the States, and I can't help but recall the wonderful Tom Waits song, Emotional Weather Forecast, that concludes with the lines "well, the extended outlook for an indefinite period of time until you come back to me, baby, is high tonight, low tomorrow and precipitation is expected."

We are blessed with a large family and many friends ... control rods if you will. For me, here in Australia, I've picked up the guitar again, training my shortened left ring finger to hit the right strings again, after my accident in the Tuomotus, and have reached out to some of the cruisers anchored around us.  I miss Jennifer, but just as I need my time, she needs her time and her trip to the States is overdue.Unlike the Tom Waits character, no undue highs or lows for me, no precipitation, just nightly thanks that I'm lucky enough that we've realized the need for control rods, and, more importantly, to have Jennifer as my partner on this always-surprising adventure of two sails and two souls.

Town Hopping

Since mid-January, we haven’t been in the same town for more than a few days at a time, traveling across Thailand, Vietnam, and New Zealand.  In some ways, we’ve been land cruising, the terrestrial equivalent of our boat-based meanderings across the Pacific, but the sensations and evoked emotions are noticeably different. Over this recent period, I’ve felt a restlessness that I don’t feel on a boat, perhaps because on land, the nightly environs change, whereas on a boat, we always return to our little cabin, with its familiar pictures, colorful curtains, and our bed.

We need a place to come home to as humans, it seems; it’s a rare person or tribe that lives a true nomadic existence, moving every few days from place to place, daily re-creating a cocoon for the necessary comforts of living.  Apart from the emotional toll it seems to take – assimilating new smells, sounds, feels, dangers – a nomadic existence also takes a physical toll – moving oneself and one’s possessions, feeding oneself, sheltering oneself. 

From time to time, I’ve reflected that for the cost of our boat and its equipment, we could have afforded a rather luxurious land-based trip around the world, staying in a mix of 2- and 3-star hotels, eating out regularly, and paying for guides and tours.  On our recent travels, we’ve stayed in hostels, or, in New Zealand, in a campervan – a low-impact, low-cost, and low-hassle way to travel here or there on whim. Hotels tend to require reservations and deposits, and elaborate tours require pre-booking.  We’re happier playing it as it comes, even if it means a more nomadic, more demanding existence as we pack ourselves up each morning.

Another unforeseen by-product of our land-based travels has been the unavoidable and seemingly relentless intrusion of the consequential and inconsequential news of the world – from Japanese earthquakes and tsunamis to the antics of the obviously un-medicated bi-polar Charlie Sheen.  On a boat, sailing across remote waters and visiting remote islands, the news of the world is filtered to its essence – tsunamis, yes; tantrums, no.  The weather and sea conditions take precedence, and one of the more appealing aspects (to me, at least) of long-distance cruising/passage making is the enforced isolation and resulting space and quiet for reflection.  We live in a cluttered world, filled with signal and noise, and these recent travels have reminded me that it’s hard to distinguish between them whilst in the midst of media-borne cacophony.

So in reflecting on alternate ways to see the world, I come back to the nightly feeling of “coming home” that I experience when I turn the masthead “at anchor” light on, take a final walk around the deck to check the boat, set the anchor alarm on the GPS unit, and descend the three steps to our little cabin.  I recall the weightlessness of thought while watching swells overtake our stern, pass under the boat, and leave a trail of phosphorescence.  And I’m glad we made the not-inconsiderable investment in our boat to see the world – because we not only have a base from which to experience the world with little of the land-based nomads’ distractions and demands, but we also have given ourselves the solitude within which to reflect on the world around us, each other, our relationships, and ourselves.

Here, in Sydney, as we spend a last few nights “town-hopping,” I’m looking forward to a return to my cabin on ile de Grace, to its pictures, its curtains, and our bed.  Town hopping has been a nice way to see Thailand, Vietnam, and New Zealand, but I’m ready to return to port-hopping.  We’re still struggling with the pirate issue, and it’s possible that we decide to suspend our voyage until that part of the world settles down, or that we brave the winds and seas and currents of the Southern Indian Ocean and the Cape of Good Hope, but under any scenario, I’m ready to be back home – on ile de Grace.

Shearing Away the Day

When he’s not helping rural New Zealand ranchers and farmers deal with the ravages of hailstorms, floods, and domestic storms, Colin spends his weekends judging sheep shearing and dog herding competitions at the many A&P – agricultural and produce – shows that rotate from town to town in the austral summer. These two skills are vital to the sheep ranching business in New Zealand, and represent the two un-mechanized links in the chain that connects a sheep in New Zealand with a Merino sweater in New York City. Like calf-roping in the American West, these local ranching skills become the basis of vigorous local – and national, as well as global – competition.

Jennifer and I, on our way north out of Christchurch toward the North Island, traveled through an incredibly diverse landscape – one minute Pacific Coast Highway, another minute Dakota badlands, another few minutes Kansas prairie, and then a turn of western North Carolina hills and valleys. We ended up in Kaikoura, a peninsula on the eastern shore of the north tip of the South Island, jutting out into the Pacific Ocean.

We spent a Saturday afternoon at the Kaikoura A&P, and luckily found ourselves sitting next to Colin as he judged the local sheep shearing contest. In a clipped Kiwi accent, Colin volunteered reams of information on the subject of sheep shearing – a vital part of New Zealand’s economy, culture, and history. On a broad plain just outside of town, adjacent to the turquoise waters of the bay formed by the Kaikoura Peninsula, we received a free lesson into the finer points of sheep shearing.

For an entry fee of $10 NZD, sheep shearers from around the South Island enter into the Kaikoura competition – one of the smaller and less remunerative tests around. They compete for a 1st prize of $60 NZD. There are categories for junior shearers, senior shearers, and, from time-to-time, women, but truth be told, the trade is dominated by men. It’s physically demanding to “manhandle” sheep onto their backs, and single-handedly run a pair of shears across their entire bodies without cutting or injuring them.

The competition took place on a small stage, with three small stalls, each fronted with a wooden gate. As the starter’s bell rings, each shearer enters his stall and pulls a single sheep out, taking care to keep the other sheep in the stall. For the senior shearers, each contestant is required to shear five sheep, and shearers are scored on a combination of time, as well as the efficiency and safety of the shearing. Twice in our short time, waiting sheep scaled the wooden stall’s fence, with local fans being forced to tackle these 100 kg+ animals, avoiding their sharp hooves.

Randy, the fastest “mechanical” shearer we witnessed, managed to remove the wool from five sheep in a mere 8 minutes and 53 seconds – averaging less-than-two minutes per sheep. Pulling the sheep out, the shearer first runs the clippers along the belly and legs of the sheep, removing the dirty, discolored wool first, where it is collected into a separate bin for more rigorous cleaning and processing. Once the dirty wool is shorn, the shearer turns to the sides and top of the sheep, as well as the neck and head. At full speed, the shearer relies more on touch and feel than sight.

Shearers that “mix-and-match” the wool from the underbelly and the cleaner, top wool are penalized in the competition, since the efficient sorting of wool after shearing is a vital part of the process of transforming wool into sweaters. From time to time, we’d see a bloody red spot appear on the post-shorn pink skin of the sheep. The blade had nicked the skin – another penalty for the shearer. Colin explained that each nick incurred a penalty depending on size.

Jennifer and I were each amazed at the speed with which these regional shearing contestants ran their clippers over the sheep, and the gentleness of their hands and bodies as they held the sheep in position. Colin explained that the sheep needed to be held firmly but gently to avoid exciting them unduly. The fastest shearers seemed to have the calmest sheep.

Each sheep generates about 2.5 kg of raw wool, with a kilogram of wool bringing about $3.90 NZD at wholesale. The sheep pictured here had wool about 6-9 months old, so the wool fell in large tufts; had the sheep been left in the fields longer before shearing, a skilled shearer could have removed a single pelt of wool. In cold weather, in remote areas, shearers are expected to use hand shears, and of course, there was a category for this in the competition. It's slower, but still, with razor-sharp shears, these men could strip the wool off a sheep in under 4 minutes.

As I mentioned, we were amazed at the speed with which these local shearers plied their trade. Colin brought us back to reality by sharing with us his “little red book” of world and national sheep shearing records. It turns out that our local shearers are operating at a snail’s pace. The world record for number of sheep shorn in a 9-hour day is 721 – an astonishing 80 sheep/hour, or 1 sheep every 45 seconds, minute-in, minute-out over a 9-hour period! It’s impossible for the two of us to imagine this, having been amazed at speeds (for just 5 sheep!) of 1:45/sheep.

It was a fun way to spend a few hours; Colin was characteristically generous with his time and knowledge, and we also met some Alaskans who “winter” here in Kaikoura. After our topologically-diverse arrival path, we were not surprised to be able to spend time at a local farmer/rancher fair, just several hundred meters west of the beautiful ocean waters of Kaikoura Bay, surrounded by the fir trees of the Kaikoura mountain range.

I was reminded of Mark Twain’s quote that “If you don’t like the weather in New England, just wait a minute.” It turns out Twain traveled to New Zealand, around the time the Brits and now-Kiwis were making war with the Maori, and praised the Maori as patriots. He might also have then quipped: “If you don’t like the view, just turn your head.” ... and to which I might now add: “… unless you’re a sheep who values its wool.”

Prayers for Japan; IDG/NZ/Australia are OK

Hi:  We woke this morning to hear the dreadful news about the earthquake and associated tsunami in Japan; as sailors, and as travelers through New Zealand, which also just suffered a major -- albeit much smaller -- earthquake, our hearts go out to those affected.

We've gotten some notes asking about us, and our boat, as a tsunami warning was also issued for New Zealand (!).  The warning is for the North Island, with a maximum expected wave height of 1 meter, so no real worries.  It does not appear that warnings were issued for our current homeport of Cairns, nor for Australia.

It did get us thinking, with the recent earthquakes in New Zealand and Indonesia, whether there were deeper forces at work at the boundaries of the Pacific Plate ...

We return to Australia in a few days, and will be posting some notes and pics about our wonderful stay here in New Zealand.  Stay tuned.

A Word About The Pirate Situation ...

 As Jennifer and I have been traveling around southeast Asia and New Zealand, a number of our sailing friends have been struggling with an ever-worsening piracy situation in the northern Indian Ocean and the Gulf of Aden.  Many of you will have heard of the news of the American yacht Quest, whose owners and crew were hijacked and then murdered.  A few days later, a Danish sailboat, Ing, with parents and teens on board was hijacked and is now being held for ransom. Jennifer and I actually crossed path with this boat and family in Manihi, where I nipped the tip of my finger off.  They arrived as we arrived, and one morning we brought them bread from the local bakery.  It's odd how one's emotions are heightened about a tragic event when one has a personal, if passing, connection with the victims.  Our hearts go out to them. 


When Jennifer and I began our journey, we were, of course, aware of the piracy situation, but took a small note of comfort in the fact that fewer and fewer sailboats were being hijacked, as the pirates appeared to be favoring the more lucrative commercial ships.  In fact, until the Quest was hijacked, no sailboats were hijacked in 2010, and until a few months ago, we were feeling pretty good about our chances.  Recently, we have learned that throughout the region's current sailing season -- October-March -- hijackings have been on the rise, and have increased 13-fold compared to the same period last year.

What seems to have happened, however, and we see evidence for this in many of the cruising blogs and bulletin boards, is that the number of pirates has increased significantly, their range has extended well into the Indian Ocean, using mother ships and fast, well-armed smaller boats, and they are increasingly desperate, for want of a better phrase, to earn a return on their investment.    Ironically, the measures adopted by commercial ships to ward off attacks -- including re-routing their ships around the danger zone -- have likely left yachts more vulnerable.  More pirates are chasing fewer ships, and are going further afield to find them.

The extended range of these pirates now threatens sailors well outside the internationally-recognized and policed "transit zone," and even there, sailors face unimaginable fears and anxieties.  Here's an excerpt from an email a few days ago from a yacht transiting the safest part of the Gulf of Aden.  You'll see some excisions to protect the boat and its crew.

*************

"Unfortunately, we have had 4 incidents along the Corridor in less than 24 hours.

Last night we saw a ship being attacked not 5 miles from our position. Flares going off and then a fast moving boat with a red light headed in our direction - then light went dark. Enough for us to call MARLO who got US Warship to speed in our direction. We had Helo's and an escort the rest of the night. Then today we spotted a dhow with 2 skiffs in the middle of the corridor again 6 miles from our position...and even though they get reported, the resources are too thin to respond in time! And at 12:30 sailing yacht XXXXX (USA) & yacht sailing yacht XXXXX (USA) reported a merchant vessel was being attacked again in the corridor only 38 miles ahead of us. It is NOT good here. It is very very bad. We are ditching plans for [deleted] and going north to [deleted]...Yes, I have the report on gun fire and rioting in the Port of [deleted]..that IS how bad it is here in the Coalition Corridor." Incredibly scary.

*************

Below is a map of piracy incidents over the last 5 months or so -- in red are the pre-October 2010 attacks; in blue are those since then ... note how the zone of attack is expanding ... and the number of attacks is increasing ...





Jennifer and I are in serious discussions about our next steps; complicating matters is that a journey around the Cape of Good Hope (South Africa) is also dangerous -- contrary currents, sudden gales, and monstrous waves, and now, recent reports of epidemics of untreatable mosquito-borne diseases on the islands of Mauritius and Madagascar ... what's a sailor to do?

Here's a summary by one sailor of what boats currently are doing:

"As far as I can determine around 71 crews of private yachts were planning to cross the Indian Ocean and sail towards the Red Sea this month. Of those, most have made alternative arrangements as follows:

• Shipping their yacht from Male, Maldives to Turkey - 15 yachts
• Shipping their yacht from Salalah, Oman to the Med - 21 yachts
• Turned around and headed towards South Africa - 3 yachts
• Turned around and will stay in SE Asia at least another year - 8 yachts
• Currently crossing the Indian Ocean, Gulf of Aden and Red Sea - 22 yachts
• Hijacked at sea - 2 yachts"

We'll keep our loyal readers posted as our thinking progresses ... at this point, we have made no decisions.  Shipping our boat is prohibitively expensive.  For now, please say a prayer for the victims of these hijackings, and for the sailors currently en route through these dangerous waters.

Hoi An, The City of Food, Tailors, and Lights

Jon and I spent our last 5 days in Vietnam in the central city of Hoi An. It was lovely. The city is ancient and was one of Vietnam's earliest trading ports on the South China Sea. Japanese and Chinese traders lived in the city for several months a year and established their own sections of town and, today, the architecture of the Old Homes reflect a blending of Japanese, Chinese and Vietnamese styles. The Portuguese, Dutch, and French were also early traders in the city and left their marks as well. Fortunately, both wars left the city relatively unscathed. The old quarter of Hoi An was designated a World Heritage Site by UNESCO and the town is proud of its special history.

Three things about Hoi An are particularly noteworthy. First, the food is incredible. Central Vietnam is famous for its cuisine and Hoi An holds the seat of honor. Whether one ate on the streets or in restaurants, the food was fresh, light and held a lovely combination of subtle flavors that would dance in your mouth and make you smile. (But hey, I am a Martin, and the way to our hearts is through our stomachs. I was in food heaven.)

Second, there are 500-600 tailors within about one square kilometer of the old city. I have never seen anything like it and it makes absolutely no economic sense. But there it is. The Lonely Planet even says, "let's admit it, the tailoring business in Hoi An is out of control." I suspect people saw the success of the first tailors and want to get it on on a good thing, but the over supply of tailors keeps their prices low and they have to work very hard day and night to compete. However, consumers can get personally tailored clothing at very low cost. The tailors come up with their own designs, but mostly they have no problem copying anything you might want. Just bring them a picture from a magazine and they're off. I love to look at fabrics, especially silks, but found that "just looking" was not an acceptable option for shop owners, and because I wasn't going to buy anything I had sneak sideways glances at shop windows while walking a safe distance in the middle of the streets.

Third, it's filled with colored lights -- on the streets, on buildings, even floating on the river that bisects the small town. In part it was Tet, but Hoi An also throws a big party on the 15th of each lunar month. In any case, the results were stunning, as we walked the city each evening.

It was nice to spend a few days in one place, and Hoi An couldn't have been an easier place to enjoy our last few days in Vietnam. Below are some photos.

The streets are relatively uncrowded, since cars are banned from the older sections of town.

Tet brings out the lights; in Hoi An, the river is filled with fantabulous "light sculptures" of animals, floating in the river.

Lights, part two: Hoi An is also famous for its colored lanterns; at night, certain streets glow with the lights that lie within these ornate paper and silk creations.

The houses in Hoi An are very old, and were left undamaged by the wars; here's an interior atrium in one of the ancient riverside houses made of timber, tile, and stone.

The Japanese built a bridge over a canal to "their" section of town (Hoi An was a central trading port for centuries); there's a pagoda off to a side of this bridge, not shown.

A shrine to the Buddhist goddess for sailors: The rear of the main hall is dedicated to the worship of Thien Hau Holy Mother. Her statue sits in meditation. On the left, there is a model of a 1875 sailing boat.

One of the many tailor factories, filled with bolts of fabric, sewing machines, and the occasionally exhausted shopkeeper.

Time warp: Some Russians were filming a movie about a U.S. soldier in the Vietnam War. Due to its untouched city streets, Hoi An serves as a film location, and we happened across this scene on a walk.

Jennifer took a cooking class, held on the outskirts of town; here's the organic garden that supplied ingredients. 26 families work this farm and they only use seaweed as fertilizer once a plot has been harvested.

The Hoi An market -- a scene repeated in every Vietnamese village and town; dozens or hundreds of small stalls selling every food imaginable.

A food stall vendor, cleaning her products. She is sitting on her table, barefoot, and if I had captured her smile, you would have seen a bright red tongue and black teeth stained from her years of chewing betel nuts.

Jennifer at the cooking class, preparing rice noodles.

Jennifer's prepared meal -- Pho Ba, beef noodle soup. One of six dishes we made.

Hoi An sits just inland from a long beach, whose northern terminus is China Beach and the neighboring city of Denang. We took our motor scooter there to enjoy fresh crabs!

In the afternoon, the ladies that run the meat stalls in the local market take a break to play blackjack ... ante is 20 cents, and Jon managed to lose to the dealer.

Hoi An -- to us, the City of Lights and Food.

Vietnam Videos

Below are some videos Jon took during our stay in Vietnam.

This first one was taken on Unicorn Island in the Mekong Delta. It's a coconut candy factory, and as you'll see, it's a small time operation, but the product was really tasty!

After visiting the Candy Factory, we stopped by a small cafe for some tea and fruit. We were entertained with Southern Vietnamese folk songs by the following singers.

While walking in the nicer part of Saigon, we noticed these singers and performers outside one of the hotels. It gives you not only a since of their traditional music, but also costumes and instruments.

More of the same troupe, just a different song.

As noted in earlier blogs, we celebrated Tet in the Chinatown section of Saigon, called Cholon, so there it is the year of the rabbit (Chinese), but for the rest of Vietnam, it is year of the cat (the Vietnamese astrological calendar does not have a rabbit). Our hotel hired the troupe to preform first outside the door and then they came inside and paid respects to the altar and even went from floor to floor to bring good wishes to all the guests. I could not help but think that the happy Buddha looked liked Gorbachev.

The Old Capital Hue

After our hiking and climbing excursions in Ha Long Bay, Jon and I took an overnight train from Hanoi to Hue, the capital of the Nguyen Dynasty from 1802 to 1945. We shared a sleeper car with a lovely couple from Austria. They had previously toured Myanmar and thoroughly enjoyed it; they made us contemplate the possibilities of sailing there on our way to Sri Lanka... Just before arriving in Hue that morning, we passed through the former Demilitarized Zone, the DMZ, one of the heaviest bombed areas of the war. That day, we passed nothing but rice paddies coated in a foggy mist that were full of farmers pulling weeds and tending to the needs of their precious crop.

The old city of Hue sits on the north side of the Perfume River (Song Hurong) inside a large citadel that protected the capital and its residential nobility. The rest of the city spreads out across both sides of the river. The citadel's walls are quite thick, so while the area was heavily damaged during bombing attacks, the outer citadel itself held. Inside the first citadel is another citadel that housed the royal government, and inside that, another citadel, called the Forbidden City, which enclosed the private residence of the royal family. The flagpole you see in the photo is the largest in Vietnam and held the Viet Cong flag for 13 days during the Tet offensive of 1968. Jon and I were surprised at the effect the Vietnamese flag could have on us. Though we were children during the war, it still could occasionally instill a bit of fear and apprehension; perhaps we'd seen too many movies since we were never here before.

Sadly, the Fobidden City was mostly destroyed by bombing. Hue was bombed by both the North and the South, given its central location. The entrance no longer exists and most of the private residences are gone. What remains, however, is slowly being restored. After re-unification in 1975, the Communist government was not too keen on preserving Dynastic relics so they remained neglected for years after the war. Now that tourism brings much needed foreign currency, their historic significance is being appreciated. Here, a man is cleaning a newly painted exterior wall that encases a long hall.

Buddhism has a strong hold in Central Vietnam and Hue is home to many pagodas and monasteries. The Chua Thien Mu is one of the more iconic in all of Vietnam. It was built in 1601 and has seven stories, making it the tallest pagoda in Vietnam. We took a taxi from the citadel and he tried to charge a flat rate of 50,000 dong, but we insisted that he use the meter, which only cost us about 27,000 dong. It's a complicated emotional process dealing with taxis, cyclo drivers and boat taxis. First of all, you quickly get used to thinking in terms on dong alone, not in what they translate into dollars, and thousands seems like a lot of money.....But in reality, it was 19,500 dong to the dollar so we were quibbling over a $1.50 and felt petty afterward. We took a boat taxi back and ended up paying 100,000 dong, almost four times the amount of a metered taxi, but $5 in the end.

We finished touring Chua Thien Mu and its grounds in the early evening and were treated to a beautiful sunset on the Perfume River. It was as lovely as it was copacetic.

The fishermen's boats let us know that we could be nowhere other than Vietnam, and we felt lucky to be able to experience this beautiful sunset on the Perfume River in the City of Hue, with the mountains of the Central Highlands in the background. We had to pinch ourselves. We hoped that the fishermen's nets were full as they pulled them in for the day.

In the city itself, we enjoyed the park along the river. It was still full of flowers and decorations for Tet. Below, pointed straw hats had been turned into lanterns.

Along this park, we also noticed vendors selling what they purported to be antique pottery. As Jon and I were looking, knowing that we could never tell the difference between antique and distressed, we noticed a surprising display. US military dog tags were for sale. We were surprised because we thought these things were returned as part of the MIA/reconciliation efforts. The vendor did not speak English and we didn't speak Vietnamese, so this encounter raised more questions than it answered. If anyone knows more about this, please feel free to inform us.

Our time in Hue, the historic capital of Vietnam, was short. Straddling a river, and housing the under-renovation Citadel, Hue reminded us of the long, pre-colonial dynastic history of Vietnam, a history that seems -- despite the initial inclinations of the current Government -- to be acknowledged and appreciated.