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.

A Few Days in Hanoi

Though we arrived in Hanoi two days after the Vietnamese New Year began, we were to learn that Tet lasts for weeks -- and weeks! As you can see, the streets were still in full celebration. But, having come from Saigon, Hanoi was different. First of all it was much cooler; some people even wore sweaters and jackets. For me, I was determined to soak up every bit of cool air I could before returning to the tropical south. Apart from our drive from the airport, we spent most of our brief time in Hanoi in the old quarter, which had more character and charm---a feeling of having been in a city with a long history.

People from the North are considered more serious than those in the South, but to us, they were just as friendly and openly accepting of we tourists. It also had the feel of a capitol city, the seat of government, whereas Saigon is the business capitol, busy making money and entertaining itself.

Hanoi was also enjoyable because the city was relatively empty due to Tet. We didn't experience the wall-to-wall density of people, motor scooters, and bicycles that we had in Saigon. But Hanoi was also a city in transition, running fast to modernize and expand its economy. As you can see to the right, the land line telephone system was having a hard time keeping up.....this chaos of wiring was a typical sight in both Hanoi and Saigon. In fact, it is so common it can be seen on T-Shirts saying, "Vietnam Telecom."

On a rare occasion I was not with Jon, I met a gentleman who was in his 60s and a licensed tour guide. (I couldn't help but think of my brother, who is also in his 60s, and spent 4 years in the Navy from 1966-1970; part of that time spent in Vietnam and Thailand.) Like many others, he approached me asking where I come from; the opening line for all who want to part you with your money. What a hoot he was. When I told him I was from the US, he immediately responded with, "Don't worry, be happy! Let bygones be bygones! No hard feelings!" I couldn't help but start laughing and listen as he showed me his notebook of comments from previous pleased American customers. While I didn't have the time for his personal tour of Hanoi, I did let him give me a ride back to our hotel on his motor scooter. (I finally got to experience Vietnamese traffic from another perspective.) While he was clearly out to make money from the many tourists, he was also clearly a person who enjoyed meeting foreigners and sharing his city with them. It was a charming, if brief, experience, and one shared by a large number of Americans. Jon and I could not help but notice the many American tourists who would have been young adults during the war....many of whom we assumed had been veterans.

Having had a brief career as a Sovietologist, I was keen to see if more people spoke Russian in the North, or if there was more Russian influence. While there is a bit of influence to be seen, trust me, no one in Vietnam says "Zdradstvietye" to a foreigner....they all say "Hello."

Hanoi is home to the Soviet-style Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. Like Lenin, Ho Chi Minh (Uncle Ho as he is still lovingly called) had no desire for this kind of over-the-top deification, but he had little say in the matter once he died in 1969. Imitating the Russians, the Vietnamese embalmed him and put him on public display. His body is even shipped to Russia annually for re-embalming. Pretty gross to me, but who am I to criticize? We Americans can have our own pretty gross forms of idol worship. The square in front of the tomb was not quite Moscow's Red Square, but seems big and severe enough to host a large military May Day parade. Around the corner, is the Ho Chi Minh Museum where one can learn about the Father of modern Vietnam, although it would be more interesting to one who could read Vietnamese. Interestingly, but not really that surprising, he is depicted as a nationalist, not a communist, who devoted his life to ridding his country of French colonialism (although I love to visit France, and even like French people, I would not want to be their colonized subjects either) and, later, to unifying his country which was artificially divided at the 17th parallel in 1954.

The One Pillar Pagoda is nestled back in between Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum and Museum. An iconic Vietnamese pagoda, it was built by Emperor Ly Thai Tong in 1049 in honor of the bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara. He was childless and dreamed that she delivered him a son while seated on a lotus flower. Soon after his dream, he married a peasant girl who bore him a son. The one pillar is to depict the lotus flower stem. Ever since, Vietnamese wishing for children come here to pray to her. One of the last things the French did before leaving Vietnam in 1954 was to blow up this pagoda, so what you are looking at now is reconstructed, and not the original thousand year old shrine. (Earlier in our trip, we passed thru the Tuomotus, which the French used to test nuclear weapons; later, we are traveling through New Zealand, where the French violated NZ national sovereignty and blew up the Greenpeace vessel, Rainbow Warrier, to halt its anti-nuclear testing efforts.)

The Temple of Literature (Van Mieu) is Vietnam's oldest university. Founded in 1076, it was dedicated to teaching Confucianism to the noble and warrior classes, and later became a place for scholars based on merit and not class. There are two halls dedicated to recording the achievements of the school's best scholars throughout the ages. Located in the heart of Hanoi, it is a sprawling complex of gardens, ponds and shrines, and is advertised as an oasis of peace and quiet in the otherwise bustling city of Hanoi. It being Tet, however, when I went there, it was packed with remaining locals who came to see the flower displays and have their holiday photos taken.

Outside the Temple of Literature, along one of its walls was what I called Calligraphy Row. Vietnamese and Chinese calligraphers were lined up with their wooden trays of pens, brushes and Indian and gold ink, and of course, plenty of red paper. They were inscribing traditional sayings, such as good luck and prosperity in the New Year, which everyone seemed to need to complete their Tet holidays. It was not an art and interest just for the more traditional elders either. Many young people seemed to be apprenticing alongside the older calligraphers and many young people were lining up to get their sayings written; and good street food could be had on the other side of the street.

Finally, we took in a show at the National Water Puppet Theater, known as Thang Long. (Thang Long was the original name for Hanoi, and some want to return the ancient name to the city, which we're sure would make the Hilton Hotel company happy since there is no way of getting around the infamous implications of its current accommodations in Hanoi.) Water Puppetry originated around a thousand years ago in the Red River Delta, the Red River runs through Hanoi, where rice farmers created this form of entertainment to please the spirits who controlled their lives and harvests. The plays depicting folklore as well as everyday life, such as rice planting, were first performed in the rice paddies when they were flooded. Today they are performed in waist-deep water inside theaters. The puppets are carved from wood and then lacquered, and are manipulated form behind the screens.

The performance is accompanied by a live orchestra of traditional Vietnamese instruments and singers who sit off to the side of the stage. They were very professional and clearly enjoyed entertaining us with their national art. Once Vietnam opened itself up to the world, these performers began traveling the world sharing their art form. Vietnamese musical instruments seemed very exotic and the delicate manner in which the women can play them was captivating. We were lucky to get good seats up front.

The show Jon and I attended had about a dozen scenes that ran the gamut of farmers planting rice, young love, wars, noble life, and coconut harvesting. And of course, there was a dragon or two thrown in for good measure. Some puppets had candles lit on top of their heads as they danced and one even performed a fire baton act. After the show, the puppeteers waded out in the water with a dragon of their own to receive the audiences applause.

A City in Ruins, An Island in Shock

The 6.3 magnitude earthquake struck Christchurch, NZ at around 1pm local time on Tuesday, its epicenter a bit south of Christchurch, and located a scant 5 km below the surface.  The impact on the center of Christchurch was devastating, with dozens of buildings suffering collapse, and the magnificent steeple of the chuch toppled.  We arrived -- owing to previous plans -- at 1:00 am on Thursday morning, about 36 hours after the quake, along with the Taiwan Search and Rescue team and a host of journalists.  We discovered a city at a standstill, as its residents were fleeing, its emergency services personnel digging frantically, and the people stunned at the damage and loss of life wrought by this earthquake, occuring less than 6 months after the massive September 4th earthquake.

We were in Niue for that earlier earthquake, and recall vividly the charitable impulses of the peoples of the South Pacific, with each store and restaurant collecting donations for the people of Christchurch.  Having arrived so late at night, we stayed at a hostel that had once been the town prison, with 60cm concrete walls.  While likely the safest place to be in Christchurch, outside of an open field, it was nontheless disconcerting to wake up and discover that there had been 12 aftershocks between midnight and 6am.  Later, as we picked up our camper van for our long-planned 3-week tour of the country, both Jennifer and I felt the ground wobble and shake a few times, with the display stands featuring local attractions swaying gently in the office lobby.  Yikes.

Our first instinct was to offer our assistance, but when we heard every disaster management official urging locals to leave town, and when we learned that the local "Youth Service Army" had mobilized thousands (!) of young people to help clean up the streets and houses outside of central Christchurch, we decided the better part of valour was to head north, toward the ferry to the North Island of New Zealand, and to try and make the best of a difficult situation.  Already we have met a number of fellow sojourners who evacuated Christchurch, and their stories are harrowing.  Tonight, we learn that over 100 people have died, and that several hundred more are missing.  The city is in shambles, and hundreds of homes and businesses have already been condemned.

Our thoughts and prayers are with all new Zealanders; we will be returning to Christchurch before heading back to Australia, and hope to get a better sense of the devastation, as well as see what remains of the beautiful city of Christchurch.  For now, we are enjoying meeting the friendly Kiwis, and the spectacular geography of this southern island nation.  Jennifer, for one, is enjoying daytime temperatures in the 50s!

P.S.  For those who haven't heard, the hijacked sailors on board the vessel Quest were murdered, and our thoughts and prayers are with their families, and with all cruisers sailing those treacherous waters.  We are facing some difficult choices, relative to our long-intended plan to sail up the Gulf of Aden, the Red Sea, and the Suez Canal.

Back in Oz, Headed to NZ, Earthquake Permitting

We arrived safely back in Australia after a long 45 hours of travel from Hoi An -- flights to Saigon, Bangkok, Melbourne, and then Cairns -- the joys of frequent flyer mile traveling!

On arrival, we learned that fellow SSCA cruisers had been seized hostage in the Indian Ocean, and the recent 13-fold increase in boat/ship kidnappings/hostages is causing us a lot of sleepless nights and thinking about our next passages ... and we were hoping to take advantage of our planned 20-day camper-van trip around New Zealand to ponder our options ... and then, this morning, we heard about the 6.3 magnitude earthquake that struck downtown Christchurch, our initial destination on our planned trip.

We have friends in NZ who are currently visiting Christchurch and we hope they are OK; internet service and phone service are disrupted.  As things stand, we take a morning flight to Sydney -- about 3 hours by air -- and then we hope to have a connection to Christchurch; as of now, the airport in Christchurch is closed.

We'll keep folks posted -- we're OK, and please say a prayer for the four sailors on Quest, seized by pirates and sure to be experiencing a horrible situation.

Pieces of Viet Nam

[We leave Hoi An this evening for De Nang and our flights back to Saigon, Bangkok, Melbourne and finally Cairns. (Flying on frequent flier miles can lead to some convoluted routing.) When we return to our computers and reliable internet, we will post more blogs on our visits to Ha Noi, Hue and Hoi An, so this is not the last of our Viet Nam posts. I wanted to give you some of our more memorable impressions as we leave this interesting and beautiful country.]

After spending 3 weeks in Viet Nam, we know that we have just scratched the surface of seeing and experiencing this beautiful and interesting country. As we leave, however, a few nuggets rise to the surface as highlights of things we've learned and experienced that will remain with us long after we've moved on to other adventures and other countries.

Rapidly changing countries requires a bit of adroitness. New language, new alphabet, new currency and exchange rates (such as 1 to 1.3, 1 to 30 or 1 to 20,000), and, switching from driving on the right to driving on the left and back to driving on the right. Nothing, however, prepared us for traffic in Vietnam, so here are A Few Traffic Rules:

• Right on Red OK. Left on Red OK. Straight on Red OK, but proceed with caution.

• Going the wrong way is OK as long as you're going along the curbside.

• Sidewalks are for parked motor scooters, people cooking and eating food, card playing and moving motor scooters. Pedestrians may use whatever little space remains.

• Red lights are optional.

• Lanes are optional. Dynamic reversible lanes are even better. (Two lanes going north and two lanes going south can instantly become 3 lanes going north in a manner than can only be described as organic.)

• The horn is the only means of signaling your presence or intentions. Turn indicators are irrelevant.

• No street intersection will ever be clear and safe for crossing. You have to step out into oncoming traffic, move slowly so that the cars and motor bikes have time to decide how they will go around you, and Keep Moving! once you start.
  

Other nuggets include:

• Same Same: the expression that what you're about to purchase is the same as whatever you originally asked for. Or, whatever you're looking at is just like the original that was first there. It's really a versatile expression and any self-respecting Vietnamese merchant or hawker uses it a thousand times a day. We particularly like it when they say, "Same Same, but Different," or, "Same Same, but Better."

• Men play cards, women work: in every town we visited, it was common to see men of any age squatting on the sidewalk around a piece of cardboard playing cards, most likely poker. Beer (bia in Vietnamese) was an essential component, and occasionally money was also openly at stake, though gambling is frowned upon by the Communist government. Meanwhile, the women nearby would be sweeping the street or selling pho (soup), vegetables, shoes or trinkets.

• Soccer 24/7: European Soccer, especially English Premier League, is always available on Vietnamese television. You may not always get a lot of world news, but you never had to wonder about the latest soccer scores....they're also in the daily papers. Soccer was a nice respite (and a piece of home life) after a full day. Jon was able to watch the Asian Cup being held in Doha and was especially thrilled to watch, live, Wayne Rooney's amazing bicycle kick goal for Manchester United against Manchester City.

• Au Dais and Pointed Straw Hats: It's the quintessential image of Viet Nam. The au dai is the traditional Vietnamese outfit for young women; silk pants worn underneath a long, carefully- and tightly-tailored silk tunic with long slits up the sides. No matter how many Vietnamese women today have modern hair cuts and wear western clothing, seeing the young women in their traditional au dais, pointed straw hats and long black hair is breathtaking.

• Face Masks: While not unique to Vietnam, wearing a face mask that wraps around the ears, much like the kind dentists and surgeons wear, is more the norm than not....and perhaps if we'd worn them too, we wouldn't have this little cough. Initially I thought the masks were worn to prevent the spread of respiratory diseases and because of the pollution and smog in the cities. Since we are here during the dry season, I quickly discovered that the masks are also necessary to keep the dust out of your mouth when riding on a motor scooter, the primary means of transportation.

• Ramps: Each storefront/house we saw on each street had one or two ramps leading up the front steps, ramps to drive up the scooters, or, in rare cases, cars, into the first floor "lobby" of houses and storefronts at night. With streets narrow and sidewalks even narrower, nearly everyone stores their transportation in their houses.

• Shrines: They're everywhere -- against houses, inside houses, on tree trunks, on lampposts -- you see small statues, tiny vases, and incenses sticks everywhere there's a shrine, and around Tet, they crop up in more elaborate ways as well to honor ancestors and gods. Not unlike the roadside gatherings of flowers we see on US highways to mark the site of fatal accidents, these ancestor-worship shrines surrounded us as we walked the streets and alleys of Vietnam.

• Cyclos: These pedal-powered, single seat carriages sit on every street corner in Vietnam, beckoning passersby for a "1 hour ride." As walkers, we learned to turn a deaf ear to their constant solicitations. In Hanoi, one evening, we encountered the remarkable and unnerving sight of about 40 of these strung out in a single-file parade through the streets of the Old Quarter, each carrying an elderly Western tourist. Given the number of crossing streets this parade needed to negotiate, it was a wonder it didn't have its own police escort!

A Food "Bletter" for Dan and Dori

Years ago, when I took a few years off to sail professionally, we had to rely on the old-fashioned mail service to communicate experiences and adventures to our friends and family. Phone calls were prohibitively expensive, so letters and postcards were the media of choice. I still have many of the letters and cards sent to me in those college years by some folks that I still consider to be close friends -- Dan Nathan's notes from London; Mark Kling's letters from all over, and Richard Eidlin's political missives from the left wing; I especially treasure one set of letters from my dear friend Patty Joffee, who died a few years ago, and whom I miss dearly. I would also sometimes make copies of my outbound letters, since I fancied myself an essayist in the tradition of E.B. White, whose collected Essays accompanied me on every trip I was taking back then. Bundled in crumbling rubber bands, these letters are a bit of a time capsule into the years of 1975-1981, the years just after high school and before I began my professional career. For most of us, those are formative years, and I now feel lucky to have preserved these snapshots (even if their contents should probably never see the light of day!)

Today, perhaps out of laziness, this blog seems to have taken the place of the letters of yore -- and while it takes a lot of work to keep this blog current, I sometimes miss the way personal letters are, well, personal -- where the writer and reader can share the story of a particular trip or adventure through the lens of a shared past experience. My notes to Richard always shared our high school history of would-be revolutionaries, our anger and optimism shining bright in the aftermath of the Vietnam War and Richard Nixon's corruption. Patty's artistic, chocolate, and traveler sensibilities would inform much of our back-and-forth, and Mark's dark humor would always make me laugh and would help shape the way I described a particular sailing trip or port experience.

For Dan, it was food -- something I've always appreciated as necessary to my physical well-being, even as I lack even the most rudimentary palate. For me, food is hot or cold, bland or spicy, textured or pureed. That said, and against the backdrop of my sense of regret at having abandoned the art of letter writing for this mass-consumed (even if carefully produced) blog, let me adopt a new web log -- or "blog" technique -- that of a letter -- a web letter, or "bletter" -- dedicated to a friend, and focusing on the unique and, in most cases, overlapping interests of our friendship. In this case, it's the "wanna-be-but-never-gonna-be-foodie" reaching out to Dan and Dori -- both of whom appreciate food in all its glorious subtleties.

Hi Dan and Dori: You guys would love this place: filled with markets where every manner of fish, meat, vegetable, spice, etc. are laid out in bamboo baskets on the ground. Every corner has a street food vendor, whose equipment arrives each morning before dawn in two sets of baskets hung from the ends of long, flat, shoulder-worn wooden poles. As they walk down the streets, bearing either raw food materials or cooking implements, these baskets barely sway as the women navigate uneven streets and speeding scooters.

Vats of simmering broth sit atop propane burners, and pots of thick, viscous soups, bubbling away are perched on concrete platforms in the markets, surrounded by miniature red plastic tables and chairs for the patrons. Steamy odors of corn soups, black bean soups, and pigs feet boiling away combine to a not-unpleasant melange of flavors that defies description -- although I am sure you two, with a little help from Jennifer, who has a discerning nose and tongue like none other, could figure it all out. For me, I just avoid the pig feet.

These markets lack ice, it goes without saying, and the butchers' sections, while usually under a roof, are simple square tables with round, hand-hewn cutting blocks on top, each piled with cuts of meat for sale. The soups we favor -- cau lau and pho -- each contain a few carefully-sliced bits of pork (cao lau) or chicken or beef (pho). So far so good on the food born illness front, so the meat must move smartly from the butchers' blocks to the soup bowls.

In Cat Ba Town, where seafood is abundant, I saw many flat shiny aluminum bowls filled with wriggling eels and fish, no doubt having been extracted from one of the many fish farms that morning ... so far, and I'm sorry to report my lack of courage, no eels for dinner. In fact, I've been a bit of a coward, sticking to chicken as the meat dish of choice, even if prepared Vietnamese style in a variety of soup and noodle settings. As far as the bullfrogs that are kept inside wire-mesh cages, the snake, the larvae, or the dog meat, I've been able so far to steer a wide berth.

Jennifer takes a cooking class tomorrow, complete with a morning visit to the local market. That's a great investment for someone who can taste the delicate flavor of star anise in the pho broth, and can make a wonderful dressing with a pinch of this and a dash of that. Since I treat cooking like a high-school chemistry class -- two teaspoons of this, one tablespoon of that -- I think I'll just stick to the cookbook. I know she hopes to get a better handle on the greens and noodles that are indigenous to this area -- Dori, your penchant for piquant salads and obscure noodles would find complete fulfillment here, as the market stalls devoted to noodles, vegetables and greens have bundles of this and that and stuff that I've never seen before ... and that's before we even get to the fruits. One fruit that we've come to enjoy has a white, crispy meat flecked with black specks. It's know as dragon fruit here, pitaya in the states, and, served cold and sliced, is delicious.

In Hoi An, which Vietnamese claim is one of the culinary capitals of the country despite its relative small size, there are several local dishes we've come to really enjoy, including the aforementioned cao lao, which boasts the local noodle, wheat-based, thick, and square in cross-section, parboiled with some bean sprouts and served in a bowl alongside a gathering of spicy greens (don't ask), and topped with a sauce (don't ask), a few slices of pork, and, yes, I can get this, a few drops of spicy fish oil. Another, banh bao vac, or, "white rose," features tiny dollops of shrimp wrapped in see-through rice-paper and steamed ever-so-briefly. Finally, and my favorite owing to its close resemblance to Doritos, is the local version of fried wontons, where two large sheets of thin dough are laid offset, with a small piece of meat or crab between the sheets, and then flash fried to form a 4" x 4" flat chip of sorts. Served 4 to a plate, and sprinkled with some diced bits of tomato, cilantro (I had to ask Jennifer), and cucumber, it's the local version of nachos .... yum

No discussion of food in Vietnam would be complete however, if I didn't mention that we have found ourselves longing for pizza and hamburgers on a weekly basis, and thus break stride with our efforts to stay local by visiting a local restaurant that serves up some Western food. I mentioned to Jennifer the other day, after enjoying some local food that featured marinated pork and chicken over a barbecue, that a Texas-style BBQ would probably be a big hit here, as long it was served on tiny tables with short chairs.

We've loved the food here in Vietnam -- even if I can't describe most of what I see in the markets. I especially love the colors and sights and sounds of the market; the schizophrenic mix of raw food vendors who don't give a damn about Westerners, contrasted with the finished food vendors who live and die by our purchases; and the overhanging tarps and the food scraps and leaves underfoot. I love the morning energy of the markets, and the afternoon lethargy. I love the small clusters of bored or satisfied vendors that gather to play cards on greasy sheets of cardboard, and I love the shoulder-to-shoulder masses of locals that rely on these markets for their daily sustenance.

I love it all, believe me I do, just don't ask me what anything is, and don't ask me what's in any of the dishes I eat. For that, I need the two of you, Dan and Dori, to partner with Jennifer, and together I'm sure you three could help guide a simple palate through this complicated culinary terrain. Perhaps one day, we make a collective return trip to this part of the world? Until then, I miss you both tons, and please give a great big hug to Louisa and Izzy from both of us.

Love, Jon