COPENHAGEN – NOT EXCITING, BUT DEFINITELY APPEALING

Bill Bryson, in his book ‘Neither Here Nor There; travels in Europe’ (a hilarious read. Definately recommended), calls Copenhagen ‘not exciting but appealing’. And I think he might just be right. It never seemed that there was a whole lot to do in Copenhagen and yet I was there for four months and had something to do almost every weekend. If you like museums and galleries and palaces then Copenhagen is the place for you. I really enjoyed living in Copenhagen. It’s a friendly city, everybody spoke English (even the homeless people, bus drivers, waitresses etc!), it was safe and clean and small enough to be manageable but large enough that it was a real city. Admittedly, the university system is a bit weird and the apartments are small but I loved it. And I’ve left now.

One of the highlights of Copenhagen for me was Wednesday night dinners. Pretty early on a group of about 8 of us started to meet for dinner on a Wednesday night (surprisingly enough). We rotated where we had it and who cooked and split the cost between us. I wasn’t allowed to cook. A couple of people witnessed my pavalova disaster at the cabin trip (did I tell you about that? My next attempt was even worse) and decided that it was better if Lisa cooked at my apartment. It was a fair enough call. But we would just sit around a table for a couple of hours and talk and eat and drink and laugh and it was good times all round. I got to meet some pretty fantastic people while I was in Copenhagen. Within the Politics international students we were the only really mixed-nationality group. Mostly Germans hung out with Germans and French hung out with French and Americans hung out with Americans. You get the picture. But we had Austrians, a Ukranian-American, a Canadian-Australian, a Finn, an Indian-American, Germans and, of course, a Northern Irish-Kiwi. So we were pretty varied. And to me, that’s the point of doing an exchange; spending time with people you normally don’t get to. I can hang out with New Zealanders at home. Why would I want to do it in Denmark (admittedly, there weren’t too many Kiwis about)? I didn’t actually get to meet many Danes, which I was a little disappointed about. My classes were all in English and everybody I meet was non-Danish. I guess that’s the problem of coming through an international programme. But my non-Danish, non-Kiwi friends were great. We learnt so many useful things; revolutionaries can’t be fat, don’t inject spiders or chew colourful frogs.

My last few weeks in Copenhagen were actually madly crazy. The problem with the Danish university system is that there is no incentive to work during the semester, so for three months all I did was go to class and occasionally did some reading. Then, all of a sudden, I had two 15-page papers to write. I actually couldn’t have started to do them any earlier because you have to have done a good chunk of the course to decide what your topic will be. So for three weeks I read until my eyes hurt and pulled more all-nighters than I probably should have. Not only did I have to do all this work, I also had to attempt to plan my trip around Europe, organize some of dissertation research, pack up my apartment, and say all my goodbyes. My last Wednesday night dinner was so strange because I knew that this was it. I would never again sit around a table with all these people. But it was so hard to believe. This felt like my real life. This is what I did, where I went, and who I spent time with. So walking away from all of that so soon was an incredibly strange feeling.

I had my apartment to myself for the last two weeks. My flatmate did some traveling around Europe before going home. So it was just me on my lonesome. But I enjoyed it! As I’m sure my former flatmates and family will attest to, a common Amy catchphrase is ‘I’m bored!’ But now I am able to entertain myself, to spend time by myself and enjoy it. I knew exchange was useful!

ITALY – LAND OF THE ESPRESSO (God bless them!)

So it has taken quite some time to get this bit of the blog out. I was in Italy at the end of November and its now the beginning of January. It’s almost 2am and I’m sitting in München Hobahnhof (have I spelt that wrong?). For those of us who don’t speak German, that’s Munich train station, but I’ll get to that later.

I took a week out from real life (or as real as living in Copenhagen can be) and betook myself to Italy, spending three days in Rome and three days in Venice. Basically I wanted to get away from Copenhagen autumn, which means rain and leaves not changing colour. At the airport you could tell who the Italians were; they were better dressed than the rest of us. But then I got to Rome and it seems that their immaculate grooming does not follow on to their cities. But that was ok. It was part of the charm.

It took quite some time to find my way to my hostel. I found out quickly that Italians don’t explain things very well (at least, they don’t in English and as it’s not their first language that’s probably alright). I managed to figure my way into the centre of the city but then got off at the wrong stop on the metro system. I found a man who spoke English and to begin with he didn’t really understand what I meant because I thought I was somewhere different and he was actually being quite helpful. He had just figured out what I was talking about when a younger guy, who had been listening into our conversation, came over and told me that this guy didn’t know what he was talking about, that he spoke really good English (which was a bit of an exaggeration but it was miles better than my Italian which is limited to ‘grazi’ and ‘espresso’), that he was going the same way as me and he would show me a better way. I’m not very good at saying no to people who are trying to help but this guy took me on the wildest goose chase ever (or wildest to that point actually). After I had already been on a bus, a train and a metro he took me on another metro, a train, 2 buses and then I had to walk a bit. I was ready some dinner and my bed.

Thankfully, my hostel (which was really a campsite) had a restaurant on-site. I was looking forward to some real Italian cuisine! Now, I had been warned that as a young, single female I would get some attention in Italy but I was not prepared for what happened when I walked into that restaurant. There must have been a work party or something staying because the entire restaurant was full of men. Some of them even turned their chairs to get a better look! If it wasn’t a little freaky I would have been quite flattered.

My hostel was about 45 minutes outside of the city so getting there was a bit of a mission but it wasn’t so bad. My first day took me to the Vatican. Before I go any further I must add a disclaimer: I had had only two little bread rolls for breakfast. When you have low blood sugar and a border line caffeine addiction, things were never going to be pretty. Now I can say… I hated the Vatican! Well, actually that’s maybe a little strong. But I did not enjoy myself. Lets start with the tourists. Oh my goodness! About 500 people leave on a Vatican tour every five minutes, starting at 8.30am. I got there at 11am so just imagine how many people were in there. And the corridors aren’t wide. When one of these groups stops they block the entire way. And there are more than one groups! When I rule the world, Americans and Asians will not be allowed to travel in groups of more than 5 (apologies if you are Asian or American). And when I rule the Vatican (which will be when they elect the first female, non-Catholic Pope, so any day now), there will be no more than 300 people allowed in at any time. The worst bit is that all of these tourists, with their cameras and tripods and guide books and big hats, are all pushing just to get to the Sistine Chapel (which is stupid because you can’t even take pictures when you do manage to make it there). The only time that I was by myself in the Vatican, actually just me-and-the-guard by myself, was when I was in the Modern Religious Art exhibition. So I was standing there by myself looking at some amazing pieces of art by some of the most amazing artists, like Van Gogh and Gaugin. Stupid tourists (I can say that as I am a traveler, not a tourist).

The Sistine Chapel has some of the most incredible artwork in the world. But you are packed in there so tightly that moving isn’t an option. You see what is directly in front of you, above you and a little to either side. Too bad if you end up just looking at clouds. I had to get out there. I decided that if I was going to punch someone then the Vatican probably wasn’t the best place to do it. The Catholic Church is reasonably powerful (it’s one of the two richest organizations in the world. The other is Harvard University); best not to get on their bad side. So I made my way to the cafeteria. At least there was light in that dark tunnel; espresso.

The thing that I think annoyed me the most about the Vatican (although the tourists come in an incredibly close second) was the fact there were gift shops every 5 metres but not once did I see anything that presented the gospel. Admittedly, I wasn’t looking very hard but it certainly wasn’t obvious if it was there (unlike the ubiquitous gift shops). I took a photo of a gift shop in the big courtyard thing (I’m not sure what it’s called) because I thought it was funny that there was a gift shop in the Vatican. Then I got inside! If you want to find some souvenir rosary beads, a postcard of the Pope or a Vatican jigsaw puzzle then you’re in luck. If you want to find the truth, you’ll be hard pushed. So many people pass through the Vatican every day. There is such an opportunity. But it seemed to me that it was about the glory of the church rather than the glory of God. Of course, that’s just my opinion and I’ve already put a disclaimer on it.

Actually, all of Rome seemed about the glory of Rome. That used to be the Roman empire and now it’s the Catholic Church. And nothing displays that glory and grandeur better than St.
Peter’s Basilica. It’s the largest church in the world (in the smallest country in the world, ironically) and it is magnificent! It’s huge and ornate and spectacular. I walked up the cupola (or the dome) and the view from the top was stunning. Looking down into the church you can see just how much detail there actually is. From down below it looks as if it has been painted but a lot of it is mosaic. And the view of the city is amazing. I love looking down over cities. You can get a real feel for them. Rome has the craziest lay out and everything seems to be about the same height. There’s no obvious ‘downtown’ area and it looks as if people just live everywhere; there are so many apartment blocks. Actually, flying into Rome it looked like everything was made out of lego. I went into the prayer room in St. Peter’s and it was so amazing to see so many people of different nationalities, different ages and, I presume, different denominations praying to the one God.

I spent the rest of that day just wandering. I took a walk along the banks of the river and it was astounding how clear the reflections were. I got to the Roman Forum just as it was closing up for the day, as was the Colosseum, but that was ok because there was always tomorrow. I was informed that the Trevi fountain was best viewed at night so I went to take a look. I kept walking until I found a little pizzeria and the Pantheon (which was also closing and sadly, there was no tomorrow for that). I saw the Spanish Steps too, but they just looked like steps to me, with lots of people sitting on them. Anyone know what the deal is with those? Post a comment.

Next day was a step back into classical history. I started at the Roman Forum. First stop, however, was breakfast. My little guidebook (which was more of a brochure really) told me that a typical Italian breakfast consisted of an espresso and a little pastry called a cornetto. Well, when in Rome… I even ordered in Italian. I was most impressed with myself. I ate it as I wandered around the Forum. Since beginning my travels I have come to the conclusion that I’m not overly bright. I’m not sure why, but I honestly thought that the Roman Forum was still in tact, that I could go to the Temple of Jupiter and the Curia etc etc. Sadly, no. It’s a bunch of rocks and rubble. At this point I wished that my guide book was more than a guide brochure, that it had detailed pictures and explanations. As I’ve already mentioned, the Italians aren’t very good at explaining things so it actually was just a pile of rocks. But I did not study Latin for 5 years for nothing, so I had at least a little idea about had gone on, even if I didn’t know which piece of rubble used to be what. It was all quite interesting (although next time I go to Rome I will make sure that I bring enough money to pay a qualified guide).

That guide will also come in handy for the Colosseum. It is massive! I’ve seen pictures and heard that it can hold around 300,000 people (I think) but I was surprised by its size. It took a full ten minutes just to walk around the perimeter. Again, my Latin came in handy, otherwise I wouldn’t really have had a clue what was going on (here’s a piece of advice if you are thinking of going to Rome; do your research and buy a guide). The Colosseum has big chunks of its walls taken off, not through decay or the ‘ravages of time’ but because over the years people have mined it! It’s actually quite shocking that it is so well preserved.

My biggest disappointment with Rome was the Circus Maximus (although I now prefer the Italian version: Circo Massimo). It’s just a field. People jog in it. If I had brought my running shoes, I also would have gone jogging in it. I saw it when I was on the Palatine. Rome is surrounded by seven hills and the Palatine was the hill on which the emperor had his palace. There are still foundations and outlines and stuff left up there. But again, no explanations.

That was pretty much my time in Rome but I have some final thoughts. We all know the phrase “When in Rome do as the Romans do.” I’ve already applied it to breakfasting but I’m not entirely sure what it is that the Romans do that the rest of us don’t. Use toilets with no seat, maybe? View coffee as a perfunctory exercise rather than an enjoyable experience (coffee is drunk in shots. A short, sharp boost of caffeine)? Charge double the menu price in service charges (if you want to sit and drink a coffee you pay around $5. If you stand at the bar and drink it you pay $1.50)? Drive like lunatics? Live in houses built on top of ancient ruins? What it is that Romans do they have a method to their madness. They’ve been surviving well for thousands of years.

By the end of my time in Rome I was ready to go home. Not just back to Copenhagen, but home (wherever that actually is)! Next time I go to Rome I’ll not go by myself. There’ll be me, a buddy and a guide (so if anyone wants to go to Rome let me know). I had to spend the night at Rome Ciampino airport. My flight was at 6.45am, which means that I had to be there before 6am. Shuttle buses to the airport finish at 11.30pm and don’t start again until 8am, which meant I was at the airport from 11.45pm. At midnight, a guard came along and told us that this terminal was closing and we had to go to arrivals. There were exactly three seats in the arrivals area (that may be an exaggeration but there were only three people on these seats). The rest of us were on the floor. It was cold and uncomfortable and pretty miserable actually. It most certainly did not improve my mood.

When I got to Venice I found out that my directions were, again, rubbish! I thought getting to the hostel in Rome was bad; it took 3 hours. It took 5 hours in Venice!!. I got on the right bus and, got off at the wrong stop. So I had to wait half an hour for the next bus. I tried to buy a ticket when I got on the bus but the driver said no, so I thought ‘Sweet, free transport’. Then an inspector got on the bus to check tickets and I had to sneak off. I eventually managed to find someone who spoke English who explained to me how and where to get tickets. So I got on the next bus, and got off at the wrong stop. Again! In sheer frustration and desperation, I went right back to the very start and after some trial and error (dinging the ‘stop’ bell at every stop that looked like it might be mine) I found, at long last, my hostel. It was a campsite again and I was left, with some more bad directions, to find my room. I was led to where the pod people live! I found row upon row (or maybe about 12) of these large, round, plastic pods. They had no windows, were about 2.5m wide and I was terrified that they expected me to sleep in one of these, let alone enter one. Regardless of the fact that I had already paid, I was ready to turn tail and run. Instead I decided to keep walking. And thank God and all the angels in heaven, I was staying in a caravan-type thing. It was nice and the bathroom was large and clean and there were windows and no plastic in sight. And I had it all to myself (I had had to share a room with a Polish couple in Rome. Every time I said anything the girl said “I am Monica.”)

The moment I found myself in Venice I not only didn’t want to go home right then, I didn’t want to go home at all! It was eye-candy! And I’m not just talking about the Italians (although they definitely had a role to play). The whole town is stunningly beautiful. I got there just as the sun was getting about ready to set and I sat at a little table on the side of a canal drinking coffee and watching the sun go down among all of these crazy little streets and waterways. I was so gutted that my camera had a flat battery at that moment. As I walked through the streets all I could see was this pink glowing water and the reflection of these narrow streets all tinged in beautiful light. I got hideously lost but I eventually found my way back out so it was all good.

The next day I discovered that if you follow signs for the Piazza San Marco or the Rialto bridge you will get where you want to be on your way in and you follow the signs for Piazza Roma to get out again. I swear, I went a different way every time I tried to get anywhere, but I always ended up where I wanted to be. The second day in Venice was the sight-seeing day. First stop; Basilica San Marco. This may be the most amazing church I have ever seen. The entire ceiling is covered in gold mosaic so the whole place gleams. It’s on the edge of the biggest piazza in Venice, also called San Marco, and there are pigeons galore here. I have never seen so many birds in my entire life (maybe even put together). You can buy little packets of bird feed and they will actually come and sit on you to eat. So there people covered top to toe in birds. Why you would want that I don’t know. The piazza leads out to the gondola stop so it’s where all the rich people are. Very upmarket. Out of my league. But someday (probably when I rule the world or the Vatican) I will come to Venice and stay in one of these hotels and eat at these restaurants and spend entire days on a gondola. Dreams are free, even if hotels, restaurants and gondolas aren’t.

Right next to the Basilica is the Doge’s Palace. The Doge was the head of the Venetian Republic, which I really knew nothing about (and I know precious little more now). But it was interesting to see how things were run in the 17- and 1800s. As a republic it did very well; very democratic and sea-faring.

What I loved most about Venice was the walking around looking at all the masks. This is pretty much how I spent my second day. Venetian masks, which we have all seen as they are the type that we wear to masquerade balls, are worn at Venetian carnivals and in Venetian theatre. They start off quite basic but some are absolutely stunning. They’re huge and ornate and spectacular (kind of like St. Peter’s Basilica). They are covered with Swarovski crystal and all hand made and hand painted. I wanted them all but sadly, the vast majority were well outside of my meager budget (and would never fit in my suitcase). Again, when I rule the world… But I could have spent my whole time in Venice just walking. It is amazingly beautiful. The streets are so narrow and either really windy or really short. They have laundry hanging between windows and some of them are just like little dark alleys that I would be nervous about walking down by myself at night. I got lost so many times and then would come across a mask workshop that I had a strange feeling of déjà vu about until I would realize that I had actually been there before and knew where I was going.

What I discovered while in Italy is that, to me, every foreign language sounds like Italian but spoken with different accents. The Danish, for example, speak Italian with a Northern Irish accent (I did tell you that I wasn’t very bright).

SWEDEN – LAND OF IKEA AND ABBA

You know what I love about Denmark? The words for ‘poison’ and ‘marriage’ are the same. I’ve been here for about two months now and I’m starting to get the hang of the whole not understanding what on earth is going on around me. A big part of that is that I am beginning to understand the language. I can’t speak it, other than basic little things like ‘thanks’ and ‘excuse me’, but then again, Danish children start speaking later than other children because their own language is so darn hard. I can however read a little bit. Well, that’s an overstatement. Occasionally I can get the gist of something, like the information at the train station or directions on food packets. I can even sometimes figure out different food packets are. Yay me! Basically, all the Danish I know comes from watching TV with subtitles. You can actually learn quite a lot that way. I can recognize lots of words and I know a little about sentence structure. Sadly, most of the programs in English are sitcoms and other crap things like that so the words I know are ‘Jeg elsker dig’ (I love you) and ‘Det er utroligt’ (That is incredible). Obviously, very useful things.

I have an interesting translations-error story. I think I mentioned the Danish culture course I’m taking and the excursions. We had a city walk last week and we were told to be aware of the fact that the clocks were going back. So I put my clock back before I went to bed on Saturday, very excited by my extra hour of sleep. I slept in. I rushed to get ready and phoned my friend Lisa to say that I was going to be late and that I would phone around 10.30 to find out where they were. What she said was, ‘Um, it’s 10.45.’ I said, ‘No, daylight savings’. She said, ‘What’s that?’ I said, ‘When the clocks go back.’ She said, ‘That’s not for another couple of weeks.’ We had been sent an email the day before to tell us there was a time change for the trip to Frederiksberg, not for the city walk. No native English speakers turned up on time. The non-English speakers, however, understood the translation of ‘time change’, never having heard the phrase ‘daylight savings’.

We had holidays last week and, much as I love Copenhagen, I needed to go somewhere else. I moved about so much before I got here that the first few weeks of not moving were fantastic but then I started to get bored. So I hopped on a bus and headed to Gothenburg in Sweden. Copenhagen is on the island of Zealand, which is only 12kms from Sweden, and the two countries are linked by a bridge (the Scandinavians love their bridges. They’re everywhere). So anyway, my bus took me straight from Copenhagen to Gothenburg, which is the second largest city in Sweden. I liked going by bus because it let me see a bit of the country. Sweden was actually quite different from Denmark, which surprised me, but it was kind of similar at the same time. When you drive through Denmark there are only fields, flat and un-extraordinary. Sweden seemed to be covered in forests. All along the road were miles and miles of autumn. You know when it’s not quite misty but it’s definitely not clear and the light is shining behind all the low cloud? Well, it was like that behind all the reds and browns and yellows of the leaves and it was just the picture perfect autumn scene. You could just feel that there were elks and moose in the forest.

Gothenburg is a very pretty city. The centre is similar to Copenhagen in that it’s built around a series of canals, with plenty of beautiful architecture. It seems that most of Scandinavia (at least Sweden and Denmark) were hit with some pretty major fires during the 17th and 18th centuries, and most of the cities was wiped out and had to be rebuilt a couple of times. The cities look pretty old but in fact, in the whole scheme of things, they’re actually quite young. But there is some outstanding architecture. I could wander around for days just looking at buildings.
Sweden, in contrast to Denmark, is more industrial. Or maybe it’s just that it looks more industrial. Copenhagen has no high-rise buildings, very few ‘office’ buildings and even the modern buildings have been designed to keep up the fame of Danish design. There are actually some really phenomenal examples of modern Danish architecture, like the Copenhagen Opera House and the Black Diamond, which is the new royal Danish library (also, the second best place in Denmark to get hooked up). Gothenburg Opera House is apparently the most modern opera house in the world. So modern that it took me a while to figure out that it wasn’t still under construction. It was, in fact, supposed to look like that.

I spent most of my time in Gothenburg just wandering around and looking. I looked for all the beautiful, young, blond people who are supposed to live in Sweden but I couldn’t see any. It’s funny the little things that are different between countries. For example, I needed to draw some money out of the ATM and try as I might I just couldn’t. I tried four different machines but I could not get my card in. Finally, the last machine had a picture on it. I’m beginning to love diagrams. It turns out that in Sweden you put your card in upside down. Who’d have known? Anyway, as I was saying, I spent most of my time just wandering around and looking. The tourist information had given me a self-guided walking tour which I did on Sunday morning. It took me around the city centre and gave me some information on places of interest. Just as I got to the cathedral the Sunday morning service was starting, so
I decided I just go on in and experience mass in Swedish. They had an amazing choir, who sang in English, so I got something out of it at least. And I found the beautiful young blond people. They were in church! At least half of the church was under 30 (and a good 60% were blond)! I spent the afternoon wandering around Slottskogen, which my translation skill tells me means ‘king’s palace’. I’m not sure why. It’s a huge park in the centre of the city, with a little zoo and the natural history museum and an observatory. I walked up a big hill (which is the first I’ve seen since I hit Denmark). I was just following a sign that I had no idea what it meant but it led me to an observation platform that looked out over the whole city. The actual centre was blocked by trees but there was one of the
ubiquitous bridges and apartment blocks, which seem to be the main dwelling places of the Nordic people. I guess they figure that if you pack people in the body heat will keep you warm.

So that was my little weekend in Gothenburg. The other point worth mentioning is that I got to ride around in trams. That was exciting. I’ve never done that before. I liked Sweden. I’d like to see some more of it. Thankfully, it’s really close.

The other thing I love about Copenhagen is the royal guard. You can do it as a summer job! In Britain, the soldiers who have earned the highest ranks get to guard the queen. In Denmark, teenage boys do it for the summer. And the huts they stand in have little hearts cut into the side. It’s very cute.

DENMARK – LAND OF VIKINGS AND DANISH PASTRIES

Before I got here, when I thought about Denmark I thought about Danish ice-creams, Danish pastries and Danish butter cookies. Now that I’m here, I’ve added sausages and beer to the list.
But more seriously, I’ve been in Copenhagen (or København, as it’s written here) for a month now and I just love it. The city is amazing! There is so much to see and I keep asking what this building or that building is (if it were in NZ it would be important if it were that nice) but no, that’s just someone’s house or an office or something. There’s so much more to it than just good food (although you should check out smørrebrød, (huge open face sandwiches)). I already have a list a page long of things I have to do just in and around Copenhagen, not to mention the rest of Denmark, or the rest of Europe for that matter.

There’s no way I can give a minute-by-minute account of what I’m up to here. If I did you’d probably be bored because I’m at uni and most of the time I have a very quiet life. Sometimes I do interesting things though so I’ll just post photos and brief ‘blurbs’ from time to time. But for now, I’ll give you a brief overview of what’s going on.

So I’m studying at the University of Copenhagen, in the Political Science Department (Statskundskab, which is really a very ugly word). I’m looking at the Danish Political System (which I’m sure will be of no use to me but I might as well do something Danish) and Social Movements and Political Development in the Third World. Basically I turn up for class 2 hours per week per course and I’ve got massive amount of reading to do and then for my ‘exam’ I write an essay, topic of my choosing. And you can work in up to groups of three. And that’s your entire grade. It is however slightly harder than my course on Danish culture. All I have to do is turn up to 80% of the classes (or get a friend to mark me off). But it’s an interesting course. We do some Danish history, some mythology, some cinema and we get to go on excursions.

I’m living in a very Copenhagen apartment. That means that it’s small and in a really tall building and the entire street is full of such buildings. But I like it. It’s cute. Ridiculously small (as in, when you have a shower you have to put the toilet paper outside otherwise it will get wet) and expensive by NZ standards but as I keep being told, that’s Copenhagen for you. Some international students don’t have anywhere at all to live yet so I’m not going to complain. It’s a rather strange set-up though. The people we’re renting from have gone on exchange to England for a semester so they’ve left everything pretty much as it was but have put my bed into the living room. So I’m still trying to decide whether my I’m sleeping in the living room or there’s a dining room in my bedroom. I share the apartment with another exchange student. She’s from America and goes to Dartmouth. We get on well and have the same ideas about living stuff like cooking (ie neither of us know how). It’s strange living in a house with only one other person. It’s very quiet and we end up watching a lot of TV for lack of anything else to do. I’m not used to having evenings free. I always wish I did so I could read or play my guitar or use my sewing machine. And now I have all this free time but oh, no books or guitar or sewing machine. I’m thinking of taking up knitting.

You meet some interesting people when you’re on exchange. I’ve met people from just about everywhere and so I end up doing things like going to ‘Friday bar’ with some Austrians, spending Saturday afternoon with some Czech’s, Saturday evenings with Americans and going to a Ugandan church on Sundays. ‘Friday bar’ is probably something I should mention. Most departments have a bar, on campus, where students can go to get a drink at any time but there’s a huge party there every Friday night. Drinking is a very Danish thing. People do it all the time. A guy in front of my on the bus was quite happily drinking a Smirnoff at 3 in the afternoon. In all of the plads (like little squares dotted throughout the city centre) they have set up all of these outdoor bars for summer. You can buy alcohol in any café, any supermarket, any 7-11. It’s just the culture. You can drink anywhere at any time. And because it’s just the culture of it, people do it sensibly. It would be just like how we (or at least I) drink coffee. I guess that’s what happens when you live in the city with most breweries per capita. It’s also the city with the highest cost of living in Europe (as in, $20 for cheese, $7 for ice-cream). We’ll see how that works out.

the queen of denmarks house

Bill Gates' boat parked outside the queen of denmark's house

THE UNITED KINGDOM - GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

I experience my first flight delay flying from Tanzania to England. I had to spend 6 hours in Ethiopia. To recompense, they gave us food vouchers. And I ate my meal off a table which was actually at about a 60 degree angle. No joking! The table was actually slanted.

Hands up who has done the London Underground?
Now imagine doing the London Underground after having had no sleep, not knowing where you’re going and lugging around 40kg of luggage. It was some fun, I can tell you. Thankfully, there are many nice people in London and when there were no nice people I asked the closest person to help me. Eventually I found my way to my hostel (which was the former residence of Samuel Palmer, of Huntley and Palmer’s crackers fame) and after doing some much needed laundry, I headed into London.

I love London and London loves me. It loves all the same things I do and we had fun. My first day in London was spent wandering reasonably aimlessly around Greenwich Village. Admittedly, I had gone to Greenwich to see Big Ben. My reasoning: Greenwich Mean Time. Time = clock. Clock= Big Ben. Ok, I was wrong. So I spent the day walking through Greenwich Park and seeing the Royal Naval College and the Royal Observatory (and the real GMT). The weather in London was nicer than it had been in either Vietnam or Tanzania. Good old British Summer time.

I couldn’t figure out why no-one in the hostel had an accent. Then I realized they were all Kiwis or Aussies. There were a small handful of Americans but literally everyone else was from the Antipodes. The girl in the bed beside me had graduated from Otago the year before. And I actually didn’t meet any English people in my entire first day in London. All the airport staff, the hostel people, the waitress where I had lunch were not from the UK. Apparently London is the only city in the world that has every single nationality represented.

The underground is much more fun when you’re not dragging a couple of suitcases behind you. Day number 2 was spent sightseeing. I got off the Underground at Westminster and oh my goodness, there’s Big Ben and oh look, the Houses of Parliament (which are really quite impressive). It turns out you have to pay to get into Westminster Abbey and I ain’t paying 10 quid ($30) to go to church! So I just looked. A big walk up Victoria Street took me to Buckingham Palace.
Again, I just looked at the outside. Even if I had wanted to go in, I would have had to have queued for about 4 hours. A lot of people wanted in. After that I got lost. But I loved getting lost in London. I ended up finding Soho and Covent Garden! I got overly lost on the way to Notting Hill though and arrived just as the Portobello Market was packing up for the day.

I only had 3 days in London (this time) so I was supposed to finish the ‘major’ sights on my final day. I succumbed and paid to get into St. Paul’s Cathedral (it was cheaper than Westminster) but it was worth it. It was a long way to the top of the dome but the view of London from there was incredible. I was sad that I didn’t have anyone to test out the Whispering Wall with though so I’ll be going back. Then I just sat on the steps of the Cathedral and felt that I needed tuppence so I could feed the birds (I’ve seen Mary Poppins too many times). Then off I went to get lost again. I headed in exactly the wrong direction from where I wanted to be going but it turned out to be a very fortunate mistake. After unknowingly walking across the Millennium Bridge I came across Tate Modern and spent a few hours walking around there and when I’d finished I left and stumbled across the Globe Theatre, just as a play from the Summer Season of Shakespeare was beginning. So I had the chance to watch theatre as Shakespeare wrote it (i.e. I stood for 3 hours watching ‘Coriolanus’).
But it was quite possibly the best piece of theatre I have ever seen! It did however mean that I was running late for my bus to Bath.

God was rather pre-emptive in his grace again and my bus had gotten a puncture on its last trip and was 10 minutes late. So was I. Thank the good Lord! So I arrived in Bath. I stayed with my friend Paul and a couple of his friends and generally just had a good time. Bath is a beautiful town and as my guide on the walking tour kept stressing, it has had 2 major periods in history; the Roman period and the Georgian period. But it really was a great place just to wander around and that’s how I spent my first day. After my walking tour I went for ‘tea’ at Sally Lunn’s. Not only is this the oldest house in Bath (which is an old city) but it is also home to the world famous Sally Lunn (a round, kind of semi-sweet bread for those not fortunate enough to be acquainted with this delicacy).

I also managed to squeeze in a trip to Bristol. It’s only about 15 minutes from Bath by train so I spent a day there, again just wandering. I did window shopping rather than sightseeing and it was nice to spend a ‘normal’ Saturday. I caught the passenger ferry from the city centre back to the train station and oddly enough I was the only person on the boat. So I had a personal cruise up the canal. Rather pleasant really. I finished up that day with a trip to the Baths. The lady at the tourist information was right when she said it was better at night. You get given this phone thing and along the way there are numbers that you ‘dial’ and someone on the other end spouts out info about the Baths. It was reasonably interesting but very often I was happier just to listen to get the gist and then marvel at the ingenuity of the Romans. There are actually 2000 year old drains that still work! The baths were lit up by torches and the lamp light on the water was a pretty spectacular sight.


400 years of fashion. That’s how I spent my last day in Bath. The Costume Museum is located in the Assembly Rooms and if you have ever read Jane Austen you will know about the Assembly Rooms and the Pump Room. Sadly I couldn’t get into either of those as they were closed and cost lots, respectively (I did however walk up the Gravel Walk where Anne Elliott walked with her beau, whose name I have forgotten). The Costume Museum was fun though. I wished I’d lived in the ‘20s.

The next stop was Witney, just outside of Oxford where I was to visit Ruth, who has been my best friend since I was 3 years old. She was just back from Slovakia. In fact, I arrived before she did. And we only had one day before I had to head to Northern Ireland. So, like we always do, we spent the day talking and laughing and not doing much. Boy, it was good, both hanging out with Ruthie and not doing much. After 6 weeks of traveling you really begin to appreciate stopping and sleeping. Your head gets pretty full of amazing sights and thoughts and to take a day to process some of it without refilling on awesome is quite nice actually.

The terrorist plot to blow up transatlantic flights was foiled while I was in London and so security was tight throughout the UK. A sleepless night traveling from Oxford to London included a reasonably long stint in the Luton airport. So at 4.30am I was not really in the mood to be told that I would have to check my hand luggage on and I would be charged for it as excess baggage. I nearly cried. The excess baggage came to more than the cost of my flight. But they let me take my laptop on so it was ok. But I arrived in Belfast and for an entire day the room felt like it was spinning (admittedly, I felt like that quite a lot while I was traveling. I really liked boats because then the room was supposed to be moving). That was a family-filled day where I saw grandparents and aunts and cousins and everybody but I don’t really remember much else. The next day my grandparents took me for a drive. We ended up in Kilkeel so I could see where Nomes would be living. There are a lot of fishing boats. We stopped at this little car boot sale thing and I was shocked that everyone was speaking Northern Irish. And then I remembered.

It was off to see the other side of the family the next day. My cousin was getting married and I was able to be there for the wedding which was great. I got to see the whole family, including one of my cousins who I had never met before (due to his not being born last time I was home). It was a beautiful wedding and I was so glad I was there. There was a chocolate fountain! Actual chocolate cascading down, with things to dip in it!
Obviously that wasn’t the only reason I was happy to be there.

The next stop was visiting friends. All these 2 day stops were crazy. But my friends had organized a birthday party for me, which I didn’t know about before I got there so I felt special. It turns out that my friends who didn’t know each other before I left now do know each other so I got to see everyone at once.

Nomes was supposed to turn up on my actual birthday and we were going to stay in my home town for a few days but at the last minute she had to change flights and I was stood up. So I quickly had to make some new birthday plans. It was alright on the night though. My lovely friend Catherine took me to the funfair and out for lunch. It was someone else’s birthday on the same day and his party had been planned in advance so I spent the evening at somebody else’s party (and someone I didn’t know). That was quite tough but I guess that’s what happens when you go away for 4 and a half years. It was so good to see everyone again though and it’s good to know that we’re still friends even though we live in different hemispheres.

Other than all the new apartments (of which there are thousands) Northern Ireland really hasn’t changed much. But I was shocked at how quick it was to drive between Belfast and Coleraine and Newcastle. We used to do these drives a couple of times a year when I was little and I remember them taking all day. We even used to take picnics to eat along the way. But I guess when you’re used to driving 5 hours to get to Christchurch driving across Northern Ireland doesn’t seem long at all. Less than an hour in fact. And I must say, one thing I loved about the UK was that a cup of coffee could be procured for £1.75. I feel better about that than spending $3, even though £1.75 is actually more. It felt like home (the coffee was part but not all of that feeling).

TANZANIA – DON’T GENERALISE AS JUST AFRICA!

So I didn’t stay in a mud-hut in rural Africa. But lets be honest, I’m not a mud-hut, squat toilet,
sleeping on the floor kind of girl. I had all these beautiful dreams of living like a ‘real’ African but I can barely go two days without washing my hair so I’m glad God knows what I can handle. I did get quite a unique view of Tanzania though. It wasn’t the tourist thing but honestly, I don’t think I could have done the tourist thing.

It was a long way from Vietnam to Tanzania. I had a ten hour wait in Bangkok airport and then another ten hour wait in Nairobi airport (I wouldn’t recommend it). I kept getting this horrible thought of, ‘What if no-one picks me up at the airport?’ So I prayed! And thankfully, God answers prayers. Someone met me at the airport. One of the girls who works with the organization I was observing was dropping her parents off at the airport at the same time I was arriving. It turns out God has pre-emptive grace. I got to where I was staying to be told that they had thought I wasn’t coming and had even written an email to Richard Dawson (who organized the whole thing for me) that morning to say that. Only by the grace of God and the power of prayer, they had checked through their emails to find that in fact I was arriving that day! So I was not stranded in Tanzania.

I stayed in Dar Es Salaam for two days with Greg and Fay Foster. Greg is the country manager for an organization called MEDA (Mennonite Economic Development Associates) and I was there to observe their ITN (Insecticide Treated Net) program. (Get prepared for lots of abbreviations). It was an economic development project working on malaria prevention. In Swahili the project is called Hati Punguzo (which means Discount Voucher). MEDA and the Ministry of Health (MoH) have set up a system which gives vouchers to pregnant women (because pregnant women and infants are the most susceptible to malaria) which allows them to buy a heavily subsidized ITN. The women get the vouchers the first time they go to an RCH (Reproductive and Child Health) clinic, which is one of the only things the Tanzanian government provides for free. They take the voucher to one of the Hati Punguzo retailers and pay about Tsh (Tanzanian Shillings) 1000, which is about NZ$1.50 or UK50p (that’s quite a bit of money for Tanzanians) and get a treated mosquito net. The rationale behind that is that if people have to pay for something, rather than just being given it, they are more likely to value it and therefore use it. And the project is working! People are getting their ITNs and as a by-product women are also visiting RCH clinics earlier. As part of the program the women also receive two free IRKs (Insecticide Retreatment Kits) when they bring their baby back for its 3 month and 9 month vaccinations. (When we went to visit the IRK suppliers they insisted not only on giving me a sample of an IRK but also of their other products which were water treatment tablets and condoms. Not only that, but they also gave me a massive, bright yellow T-shirt to advertise said condoms. I don’t feel I should wear the T-shirt if I haven’t tested the condoms. It may be false advertising).

So I was there to observe. I followed Mary around for a week. She’s one of MEDA’s RMs (Regional Manager). There is a lot of paperwork involved in this project (remember there are no computers in Tanzania). Each clinic has to fill stuff out in about 5 different books for each woman so it takes a long time and the RM’s job is to go around all the clinics in their region (and there are lots) and make sure it’s done right, and very often it isn’t. They also have to make sure the retailers are filling their paperwork out right and to liaise with the DMO (District Medic Officer). I got to see some interesting things. A lot of the clinics were pretty similar. There would be at least one, maybe two, nurses and sometimes a doctor and the mothers (mamas) would walk sometimes for miles in the heat and dust to come and sit outside the surgery for hours in the sun with no food or water so their baby could see a doctor. And we complain about waiting a week and a half for an appointment at student health. At one clinic we had to wait for almost 2 hours before it was sufficiently quiet for the doctor to see us. At another clinic we had to go into town to fetch the doctor because he had left because no-one had turned up. There are a few clinics which have been set up for a particular group of people and their families like the police clinic and the railway clinic. We went to this one clinic. We drove up this big, tree-lined driveway and got to this huge set of gates. As we drove through, Mary told me that this place was run by the home-office so I shouldn’t take photos or anything. This place was nice. The houses were relatively big and well built. It was clean (ish). But there were guards walking around with guns! It seemed like a pretty normal clinic to me. Then as we drove out I saw guys in orange jumpsuits and I made the comment that those guys looked like prisoners to which Mary replied, “Yes, this is a prison.” So guys, if you’re ever in Tanzania and can’t afford accommodation, commit a petty crime. The prison is nice, there are lots of visitors and the gates are half open. I just couldn’t figure out why male prisoners would need a reproductive and child health clinic.

I can’t tell you about Tanzania without mentioning being a mzungo. This word means white person and, unlike most comments about skin colour, it’s not derogatory. People say it as you walk past them in the street. It almost sounds like a sneeze. But some people have never seen a white person. I was sitting in the car at one stage and these kids walked past and one of them actually walked backwards after spotting me. They stared for a moment and then ran off…only to return a few minutes later with their friends. They kept getting as close to the car as they dared and then running away again, shrieking with laughter. It was like being in a zoo. But they’re very friendly, the Tanzanians. They liked to stop and talk to me because I was a mzungo. It turns out that it is quite typical to expect a new friend to invite you back to their house (I didn’t know this at the time so it was quite worrying). It turns out many people (by people I mean men. Women didn’t tend to stop me in the street) thought of me as their new friend. It was hard trying to convince people (again, I mean men) that I was not a rich, white westerner with a nice house and lots of food. They had some interesting comments. One guy told me 5 times during a 3 minute conversation that he loved me. Little kids kept calling after me, “Good morning teacher.” This is the first thing they learn at Sunday school which is taught by nice white missionaries. No matter what time of the day it is you get ‘good morning. When I replied that I was only 19 to questions of why I wasn’t married yet I got, “No! But you’re so…bulky.” (This was said with arms in the Hulk position. I tried hard to remember that fat was good in Africa).

So after spending one full day in Dar, I headed to Dodoma, which is the supposed capital of Tanzania. We were meant to leave Dar at 10am but 10am turned to 4pm. It was a 6 hour drive and by the end of it I was angry! The roads were bumpy. There were no streetlights. We didn’t stop for dinner so I was hungry. And then I realized just how hideously selfish I was. Here I was, actually angry about a little discomfort (admittedly a lot of that probably had to do with low blood sugar) but for 6 hours I had driven past mud-huts, people carrying water on their heads because they didn’t have any running water at home, children with babies tied to their backs so their mother could work, families cooking around fires because they had no ovens, not to mention electricity, kids with preventable diseases. I had heard about all this. I’d seen it on TV. I’d given money to help fix it. But when I saw someone carrying water on their head for the first time I was shocked. I don’t think I truly believed people actually lived like that. My whole time in Tanzania really revealed to me just how blessed I am. I have a house (although technically I didn’t at the time). I have the means to live independently. I can afford to buy my cup of fair trade mocha everyday, for flip sake, and feel like I’m doing something good for mankind. These people live a life of discomfort and here I was getting angry at just 6 hours of relative discomfort.

As aforementioned, I was not staying in my mud-hut. I started off by staying at a MAF base. That’s Mission Aviation Fellowship, not Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries. So bed and breakfast cost a grand total of NZ$6 per night (or UK 2 pounds). But there were other mzungo there so that was nice. It was self-catering but there are actually no grocery stores in Dodoma. So I ate bread for 5 days. But I ended up staying longer than expected in Dodoma and had to move after 5 days. I went to VETA (Vocational Educational and Training). It was like a mock-up hotel. The staff were being trained in the hospitality industry so based on that I wouldn’t recommend a nice holiday to Tanzania. The room was like a prison cell (actually the prison might have been nicer). The bar and the restaurant were alright but, like a lot of Tanzania, it just felt unfinished, like the money had run out before the finishing touches were made. But I appreciated the restaurant. And I had a few interesting experiences at the bar. Although Dodoma is the capital, everything but the parliament is in Dar (by everything I mean everything. Dodoma doesn’t even really have a CBD. There are no museums or tourist attractions or anything and only a few shops). As you can imagine, a weekend there isn’t very exciting but that is exactly what I had. A free weekend in the quietest (lets not say most boring) capital city I have ever seen. So I took my book and sat in the bar. As I said, parliament is based in Dodoma and it was in session…and based down the road from where I was staying. So there were lots of MPs staying at VETA. I tried to read my book but those darned MPs kept wanting to buy me drinks. I was told a lot about what Tanzania needed. And I was asked a lot if I could get people from my country to come and help. I was even asked if I would stay. I could have Tanzanian citizenship within 10 minutes if I so wanted it. (So if you ever need help getting out of your free accommodation at the prison I’ll get my friends in government to help you out).

I had two days of ‘tourist’ while I was in Tanzania. Day One was spent on safari in Mikumi National Park. Safari is kind of like the zoo but not. It involves driving around keeping your eyes peeled and it’s worth concentrating because I saw some amazing things. Elephants and zebra and giraffe and warthogs and wildebeest and buffalo and impala and baboons and a hippo’s ass. I even saw lions which was a minor miracle. There are only 300 lions in the park that’s about 3000 square kilometers. So to see a lion at all on a day safari is a treat. We saw 2 before we had even gotten into the park. We had to stop on the main highway to let them cross the road. Safari was fun but it was the first time I was sad that I was traveling alone. It’s the sort of thing that you want to do with friends. The one thing that bugged me though was that it cost me US$20 to get in but if you were black it cost Tsh 1000 (NZ$1.50)!!! I know that it’s all relative but even still, it doesn’t really give a good impression. If we tried to price discriminate (check out my economics degree) based on skin colour in NZ we would be in some serious trouble.











Tourist day number 2 was a trip to Zanzibar. The very name excites me. ZZZZZaaaaanzzibar! It didn’t start out so good though. I was very late for the boat and the guy standing at the gate with the clipboard told me that the boat was full. But, seeing as how it was just me, he would try to find me a ticket. So he took me to the desk and left me in the care of another guy who rushed around and managed to get me a ticket. And it only cost US$85 return including port tax. So I had my ticket and the guy who got it for me told me that in return all I had to do was buy him a coke, he wouldn’t ask for anything else hich is not unreasonable in Tanzania). The audacity of it! I got through ‘customs’ and to the boat where I had for a long time in a big queue. This gave me plenty of time to check my ticket. Which only cost $35 each way, including tax! He had taken a $15 cut for himself which is maybe almost a month’s wages for some Tanzanian families. I just hope he had a large family at home who needed fed and some medical attention.

The boat was in fact full. Some people had to stand on the deck for the entire journey. And because I had bought my ‘friend’ a coke I didn’t have any change left for the porter who found me a seat (he got quite miffed). And on the other side things didn’t get much better. I had not been told that I would need my passport (it’s technically an internal journey) but it turns out that I did. Opps! I had to sweet talk my way on to (and off) Zanzibar. I’m not sure how legal it all was. But anyway, I got there. I had had a couple of hotel’s recommended to me so I went to the nearest and was very disappointed in my dark, damp, musty, expensive room. So I walked 5 paces down the road and found somewhere nicer at half the price. A further 5 paces found me a café who served paninis and a decent cup of coffee. So it all turned out right in the end.

All up I had less than 24 hours on Zanzibar so I was up bright and early and went in search of the nearest beach. Sadly, the beaches that they show you in promo photos are on the opposite side of the island to where I was. But there was a beach on a little resort not too far away and I got to ride on a dalla-dalla (the Tanzanian equivalent to a bus). That was quite an experience. Not only was I the only mzungo on it, I was also the only female. I wasn’t able to swim at my beach and it was slightly commercial but cute none the less. By this stage it was 8.30 am and I had shopping to do so it was back to Stone Town for a day of getting lost and bargaining. Being a single white female makes you pretty noticeable and memorable so all the people who helped me find my way back to my hotel expected me to come back and buy their wares and called me back when I tried to sneak past later in the day. Tanzanians don’t seem to have the concepts of ‘just looking’ and ‘comparing prices’. And when they all sell exactly the same thing you can get in a lot of trouble. They actually chased after me in the street trying to tell that I promised to buy things from them (which I’m sure I hadn’t) but by the end of the day I was angry. Bartering started off being fun, then it got bothersome (an odd word to use, but it describes the feeling well) and it ended up being rage-worthy. But it’s all part of the experience. And Stone Town is absolutely stunning. When you have only one day to spend on Zanzibar you can easily spend it in Stone Town. The streets are narrow and there are all these alleys everywhere and it’s like a big tall labyrinth. It was really quite different to the other parts of Tanzania I had seen. Much more touristy but beautiful. I’d love to go and do more exploring on Zanzibar.

Africa was an experience. When I was waiting for my flight in Bangkok I was actually nearly sick at the thought of going. I had no idea what I had let myself in for. Honestly, I had moments when I just didn’t want to be there. I now have so much respect for the amazing people who can stay for more than 2 weeks. But I’m so glad I did it. The world there is worlds away from my world. And that is what this trip is about. To see, if even only a little, how other people live their lives. To get a greater understanding for how things actually are. To learn about what I have and also what I don’t have. I learned so much in the few weeks I was there. But more than anything else, I learned how blessed I am and how much I have and I just hope that in some way I can get that into the way I live my life. I am so selfish it’s unbelievable. But more unbelievably, I am so blessed.

VIETNAM –NO METHOD TO THE MADNESS

I flew into Vietnam city over Thailand and Cambodia. The view from the plane window was just a nothingness with a river running through it. The comparison to the flight I had over New Zealand, where I’d had the clearest view of the Southern Alps and Mt. Ruapehu and the Desert Road, was astounding. But not as astounding as what awaited me in Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC). After being walloped by the humidity, I had to stand in a mass for two hours. I say mass because the Vietnamese don’t queue. And because they don’t queue (and I was in no fit state to fight to get to the front after 30 hours of traveling), it took me two hours to get through immigration. And then I had to wait for my bags.

Day 1 was a bit of a blur (due to much traveling) but I vaguely remember wandering around HCMC (and going to a concert by the Long Island Youth Orchestra, where I heard ‘Stars and Stripes’ for the first time. Kind of ironic that it was in HCMC). Next day I was back on a plane but only a short flight to Hanoi. I was there for 2 days and 2 nights. The first day we did a day trip to an area called Ha Long Bay. It’s a collection of about 1300 limestone islands so we went for a cruise around these. Some of them had caves so we got to explore a few of those. A very pleasant way to spend the day, despite the humidity. They served us lunch on the boat and it was typical Vietnamese cuisine (which is delicious!) but they only had chopsticks. You may or may not know that I was not very proficient with the old chopsticks but it was do or die. So I did. I’m now not too bad, actually.

The next day started with a visit to Ho Chi Minh. He’s been embalmed and is open to public viewing. Security is tight. There’s an initial check point where they take your camera, phone and water (you get everything back but the water) and make sure that you’re well covered (in case Ho Chi Minh gets offended by your bare arms). I was pulled out of line a further 3 times to have my bag searched. These guys had bayonets so I wasn’t arguing. When you actually get into Ho Chi Minh they literally pull you around by the arm to get you out again ASAP, so there’s no stopping to gawk at the dead guy. On the bright side, the really long line moves quickly when you’re at the back. All that irreverence aside, it’s actually quite a strange experience. The room where he is lying in state is cold, much colder than outside, and darkened and there are 4 soldiers standing guard around the coffin. And just there in front of you (against his will!) is Ho Chi Minh, who has been dead for 40 odd years. He has a gentle face. He looks like he would have been a nice man (if anybody actually knows anything about Ho Chi Ming please post a comment. Also if you know how to grow rice).

The rest of the day was spent exploring the city. I visited the French Quarter and the Old Quarter. The French Quarter is beautiful, with a whole lot of buildings left over from the French colonial period, including a cathedral, which you don’t expect to find in Vietnam (I had a bit of a hairy moment getting to the cathedral when I was in a cyclo traveling up the wrong side of the street with a 4-wheel drive coming straight at us). The shopping there is excellent. The Old Quarter is more typically Vietnamese, i.e. crazy. Unlike the French Quarter where there is some semblance of ordered streets, the Old Quarter is just a maze and mob of streets and people and temples and mopeds and women selling bananas. Once you get in there you seem to lose all sense of direction (don’t go in if you have to be out at a certain time). It’s pretty amazing though. The streets are names after the type of artisan who worked along them (similar artists congregated). Today shops have followed along these lines and there is an entire street of shoes and another of lacquer ware and another of hats etc. It’s the nearest thing to perfect competition I’ve ever seen.







This is taking longer than expected. Sorry. But the next trip was to the Cao Dai temple and the Cu Chi tunnels. Cao Dai is a religion that is unique to south west (?) Vietnam. It’s kind of a mixture of Hinduism, Christianity and different kinds of spiritualism with stuff borrowed from Abraham Lincoln, Shakespeare and Einstein, to name a few. They let you watch one of their daily services which involves sitting on the floor for 45 minutes and bowing whenever a gong sounds (that’s what is involved for them, not you). Their temple is a mass of colour though (see the pictures). The same day I visited the Cu Chi Tunnels. These were part of the tunnel system that the guerrilla fighters used during the Vietnam War (or the American War in Vietnam if you prefer). The Vietnamese actually lived in these tunnels. They’ve widened part of the top tunnel so that big Europeans can get down (by widened they mean they’re now 80cm by 1m 20). It was a hideous experience. Me and my bag barely made it down a 60m stretch (in the pitch black). Weapons-bearing American soldiers would have stood no chance. So really the tunnels were very effective but I think I would have preferred to give myself over to the Americans than tried to live down these cramped, dark, airless tunnels for a few years. Good work to whoever did that (American-killing heroes, they were known as).



I also spent a day in the Mekong Delta which is a simply stunning part of the country. Go there if you can! We got in a little putt-putt boat and explored all these amazing water ways. It was like something out of the Jungle Book. Well, if the Jungle Book included coconut candy factories, rice wine (which at 45% alcohol shouldn’t be called wine at all) and traditional Vietnamese singers then it would be exactly like the Jungle Book. We did meet a big snake though.

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The final day of my trip to Vietnam was spent in a very ex-pat way (loved being an ex-pat, by the way). The morning was spent shopping, with a little trip to the beauty salon. I picked up the most gorgeous silk shoes for the vast sum of $8. The afternoon, however, was spent slightly differently. We went to an orphanage that my aunt is involved with. It’s run through the Catholic Church (although there are no penguin costumes) and there are 27 children, aged between a few months and mid-teens. When we got there, the children were in the school room. After a few introductions (and some English practice) the children all began to sing. Their song? ‘We’re happier when we’re together.’ Not crying was a major accomplishment. One of the postulants who was there for the summer had been teaching them dancing and they just had to show us. They were so enthusiastic and had the biggest smiles on their faces the whole time. The nuns thanked me for coming to visit. Apparently it would make the children’s week. And I kept thinking about how I was just looking. I wasn’t doing anything to help or make anything better. These kids had so little that a visit from me was exciting. The ones who weren’t dancing came and sat beside us and played with my necklace and one little boy kept saying ‘hi’ because it was obviously the only English word he knew. But they seemed so happy! They were just one big family (with no father and 4 nuns as mothers) and they had so little but they didn’t know any differently and compared to some situations I saw, they could have had it worse. These kids have little to no chance of being adopted so this is it for them. I don’t understand how some people can have so much while others have so little.

Vietnam hasn’t quite reached the Japanese tour bus type of tourism status yet, which is great because it means that a visit there isn’t just about sightseeing (although there is plenty to go and see at very reasonable prices). There are just so many sights and sounds of Vietnam that I can’t even begin to explain what made it so amazing. All the thousands of mopeds in the streets and the slums along the river banks and the water buffalo walking up the main highway. There are still so many effects left over from the war. Things like Agent Orange are still causing children to be born with horrible deformities and handicaps into a system that can’t deal with it. Let’s not even mention the lack of McDonalds and Starbucks. But I had the most amazing time. I had never had any desire to go to Asia at all but I figured my aunt and uncle are there, I might as well go while I have the opportunity. And now I just want to go back.