One one things

After breakfast we were introduced to our guide, Su May. She was young, probably around our age, and dressed in the fantastic Red Dzao attire. Sa Pa is one of the easier places to meet Viet Nam’s minority tribal people. They are scattered around the Northern parts of the country whilst a few live in the Central highlands. There are several different tribes, most have their roots in China whilst some have roots in Thailand and Laos. The tribes that we would encounter in the North were largely originating from China. Our plan was to spend the first day trekking South of Sa Pa, through a couple of villages, down to a valley and along the river - a total of about 15km. The second day would be a shorter trek of about 10km to the North of Sa Pa to a Red Dzao village where Su May hails from. The drizzle persisted as we headed out but luckily the skies had cleared a bit and visibility was pretty good.

On the way to our trekking route we stopped at the Sa Pa market where tribal women were busy buying or selling their products. The costumes were fantastic - at this stage everything was a blur, I didn’t know what was what, everything was so colourful and pretty I couldn’t get my head around the different clothing styles of the different tribes. Su May took us to her mother who was selling carpets and some clothes. She was a dignified lady, looking quite regal in her red head-dress and her navy blue gown with the intricately embroidered red and white markings down the centre, studded with silver and other metal accessories. We also met our first Flower H’mong lady, dressed in a black top and knee length dress with stocking like coverings up to her knee - also decorated all over with pink and orange embroidery - again a wonderful array of colours and character. Sadly we didn’t have a lot of time at the market since we had a long day of trekking ahead of us and we had to make a move.

As soon as we got on to the main road young Black H’mong girls smiled and walked with us, with their umbrellas and dark blue dresses with green embroidery. “your name? where you from? how old are you?” All through big smiles. We answered all the questions and proceeded to follow Su May along the main road. Sa Pa was crisp with the light rain in the air and the cool mountain breeze whistling through the pine trees. We were quickly out of town and on our way to the trekking route off the main road. The fantastic views began to emerge between the trees as the valleys below us unfolded in all their splendour. The slopes had been tamed by farmers into staggered rows of paddy, working their way downwards to the river that cut through the valley splitting the mountains in half. We’d spend the rest of the day making our way down the mountains to the valley - a lot to look forward to.

By now most of the H’mong girls had disappeared after asking their questions but one remained and she kept skipping between R and I - smiling at us, asking the odd question and pointing out things in the distance. Having left the main road, the footpath through the mountain wasn’t always easy to tackle, particularly given the wet conditions. Slippery muddy patches and loose rocks had to be avoided and the going was slow. By this time our party had been further expanded by another Black H’mong lady who joined us with a child secured to a pouch on her back. After some time she introduced herself to us and Cha, and the other girl was Mu. As the path became tougher going downhill along slippery rocks, Mu and Cha became our unofficial helpers, deftly navigating the secure rocks and holding our hands to help with balance. It was a pretty warming experience as well as an awe inspiring one, given their adeptness at tackling the mountain terrain in pretty basic slippers. Every now and then Cha and Mu would present us with little gifts - a friendship band, a fantastically woven horse using a few twigs and leaves from the surrounding foliage and similar creations. Whilst at the back of my head I knew that a lot of this was to help convince us to purchase something from them once we reached their village, they really went through a lot of trouble to help us.

Every so often we stopped to admire the fantastic views of the mountains and the valley that have made Sa Pa a favourite destination in Viet Nam. We took our first break at a little shelter where a group of Black H’mong girls were talking amongst themselves. They giggled mischievously and a particularly pretty young one loved the camera and smiled sweetly for a picture while the two elder girls looked out of the corner of their eyes, conversation uninterrupted. The views were stunning. The river had run into some white water and flowed in a hurry through the green mountains that straddled it. We took off again, this time on a gentler slope as we had almost reached the bottom of the valley. Unfortunately the drizzles returned just when we reached the river so it was a bit too cold to have a dip. We crossed the river at two places, first over a very shaky bamboo bridge and then at a shallower point by jumping from rock to rock, helped by Mu and Cha - baby and all. We walked passed some isolated huts, probably the fringes of a village. Conditions were pretty basic, wood based huts with few facilities to be spotted at first glance. A few kids ran out to smile and look at us expectantly, but we had to carry on. Later on a feisty little 8 year old girl followed us trying to sell some tribal products and when we said no money she looked at us and said “no money, no honey” and turned on her heals, leaving us in fits. It was almost 1 O clock now and time for lunch. Su May cooked up some fantastic noodles whilst I enjoyed another lovely Viet Namese drip coffee as the river flowed along next to us.

After lunch we made our way to Ly Lao, a Black H’Mong village. It was hard to say that it was a village as such because once again the huts were not clustered together - and again were pretty basic, with farm animals almost sharing the living quarters of the people. A pretty sturdy building dominated the scene - a school built with Japanese assistance. We went in and saw a few kids engaging in some after-school dance/exercise routine. “They have a few learning problems” said Su May, nodding towards the kids following the teacher’s routine with various degrees of enthusiasm. The kids weren’t in the traditional H’mong clothing - hopefully not a sign of things to come in the future. The cultural uniqueness of the people of Northern Viet Nam is what really struck me and attracted me to the place. We left the school and continued the walk through paddy fields to reach Ta Van village - home to the Zay tribe. On the way we saw a fantastic piece of technology used to create rice flour. A pole is placed across a ledge like a see-saw by a mini-waterfall. At one end of the pole is a bucket which is constantly filled by the water from the mini-waterfall. At the other end of the pole is a hammer like extension - beneath which is a bowl full of paddy. As the bucket fills up with water it tilts to that side, emptying the bucket back into the stream, and the weight of the hammer side swivels it back until the hammer hits the rice - the bucket at the other end fills up again and the process repeats - crushing the grains of paddy constantly until flour is formed.

The Zays were the least colourful of the tribes we saw in the North but they made up for that by being fantastic artisans, producing some amazing stone carvings and pottery. To wind up the long and fascinating trek we stopped at a little tea shop and sipped some green tea to warm the system up. Su May had lost her initial shyness and spoke at length about herself, her family and her aspirations. She was just a month or so younger than me and was married to an ethnic viet namese and already had a kid. She’s one of 5 kids and is the only one who broke away from the family tradition of farming - much to her parents chagrin - despite earning a lot more as a tour guide than she would in the farm. She spoke the best English of any of the Viet Namese we met on our trip and had learned it almost entirely from tourists. I asked her if she’d prefer to work in a city like Ha Noi and she said that she would never have an opportunity bc she doesn’t have a university degree - though i felt her grasp of English would put her pretty high in the pecking order in the tourist industry. But her biggest desire was to travel abroad. “Australia, Europe, Israel and maybe Sri Lanka” she said, with a sweet smile. It was time to head off so we found a couple of Xe Om motorbikes and took a ride back into Sa Pa town, along the winding roads back up the mountains, looking down on the valley that we had spent a fantastic day exploring, as it quietly retreated behind us.

“Good morning! Coffay! Morning! Coffay! Coffay!” I scraped the sleep out of my eyes - a flashback to 3 years ago on a train in Kerala. It was still dark and I heard “Lao Cai” being mentioned down the corridor - and a European voice said 20 minutes. We were supposed to get out at Lao Cai and find our way to Sa Pa, about 28km away. I looked at the Viet Namese lady who shared our cabin and asked “Close to Lao Cai? Sa Pa?” she looked back at me and smiled to suggest that she had no idea what I was talking about. I smiled back - quite used to the reaction. I had a glance at my phone, I had slept surprisingly well, 6 am it said. But more importantly, there was nothing in my inbox. A couple of days ago we met a couple of chaps who recommended a place to stay in Sa Pa called Saparooms. Before getting on the train I had sent a text to the owner asking if we could stay there tonight - but no response. It was a bit chilly but I expected it to be colder in the Northern mountains on the border between China and Viet Nam, but I later found out that Lao Cai was just over 500m above sea level. The train eventually came to a halt and we scrambled out to a light drizzle and walked along the rail track to the station. Immediately a smartly dressed man with an umbrella spotted our wide eyes.

Chap: “my friend you are with tour?
Me: “no my friend, it’s ok”
Chap: “I take you to Sa Pa - 30,000 VND”
Me: “hmmm we’ll see”

We walked along and our new friend came with us all the way. We stopped by a taxi near the station and I asked how much to Sa Pa? Our friend muttered something to the taxi driver who looked a bit puzzled and showed 4 fingers. “400,000 VND”. Our friend with the umbrella smiled and pointed to his mini-van. 30,000 it is. We stuffed the backpacks in and sat with 2 Germans - the man with the umbrella ran off, looking to fill the van before we left. We waited for about 15mins and we saw him return with 4 Westerners behind him. As they got close he ran ahead and popped his head into the van and with one hand kept his index finger to his lips, with the other pointed to his 4 new customers. “100,000 VND..shhh..no tell them you pay 30,000 VND - you pay me now”. I sceptically reached for my wallet and paid up. He took the money and walked to his new clients and in the rear mirror I saw him in conversation with them behind the van and another exchange of cash. We weren’t quite sure what was going on - but our umbrella man ran off again despite the van being pretty much full with 8 people.

This time the wait really kicked in and everyone was getting restless as other vehicles in the station began to leave. I glanced at my watch, it was around 7.30 and I was regretting having made the biggest mistake - paying up front. It became clear why he had pitted us against the 4 Americans with the price differential (he probably told them the same thing) - he wanted us to pay up front so that we won’t just get out of the van and find alternative transport while he waited for the next train to come in. (Either that or he had disappeared with our cash). To my relief he came back, this time about 6 people. I couldn’t help but laugh aloud - 14 ppl in a 12 seater, plus an equal number of backpacks. Remarkably everything fitted in - I was ok bc we got in early, but it looked pretty uncomfortable for the latest recruits. There was a general sigh of relief as the van finally coughed awake and we were off. The drizzle was still quite mild and Lao Cai didn’t look particularly attractive in its own right. We stopped for some petrol and the guy manning the pump looked in and was enthralled by the tattoos on the arm of the American behind me. He touched the tattoos and stuck his thumbs up and produced an iridescent grin. The American grinned back and we set off again.

I kept glancing at my phone hoping for a message from Pete, the manager of Saparooms. Our fallback plan was to find our way to Saparooms from the drop off and try our luck for a vacant room, if not there were plenty of other spots to stay which we would just have to find. The air outside got cooler and the road began to wind as the climb to Sa Pa began. As we got closer the view became spectacular. Vast valleys of paddy surrounded by mist covered mountains dotted with streams came into view between the tall trees lining the mountain road. I was really looking forward to spending 2 days here. To my delight I got a text from Pete - there’s a room available - hooray! An hour later we reached Sa Pa, a sleepy looking hill town which had none of the hustle and bustle of a Lao Cai let alone a Ha Noi. I liked it immediately. The van stopped near a couple of guesthouses where girls ran out trying to sell rooms, with a commission to our man with the umbrella. We wore our backpacks and after a quick glance at the map headed out through the drizzle towards the other side of town - luckily not too far away. After a couple of steep, slippery roads we got to Phan Si street and stepped into Saparooms. The welcome was as warm as the interior - Pete greeted us and offered us breakfast and a nice clean room. Over a warm bowl of Pho Pete showed us trekking maps of Sa Pa and as we planned our activities over the next 2 days our energy returned and we were rearing to go.

It was nice to start the morning on a quiet note - the whole day lay stretched ahead so we had plenty of time to lazily slurp some Pho Ga (chicken noodle soup) while making some rough plans for the day. The Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum was an option but Uncle Ho’s body had been sent to Russia (or London?) for embalming so it didn’t seem quite the attraction it would otherwise be. Instead we decided to have a look at the Temple of Literature, then track back to the Old Quarter, get some lunch on the way and then stroll around the OQ using the Lonely Planet walking tour as a guide. The weather was on our side so we set off on foot - deciding it would give us more flexibility than a cyclo.

The Temple of Literature is out of the OQ and proceeding along Pho Hang Bong was a fascinating transition from the narrow streets, weather beaten walls, tunnel buildings and cyclos to a more modern era of digital billboards, designer shops and cars. It took about half an hour to get to the Temple of Literature - which again was not a temple at all. It’s more a shrine built to honour ancient academics - led of course by Confucius. It became Viet Nam’s first university in the 11th Century and walking in through the impressive gates (which asks visitors to dismount their horses before entering) it feels like a rare place amidst the chaos of Ha Noi in which academia could flourish. Greenery and small waterways line the quiet paths that lead to the main complex - we walked along the middle path, in its heyday reserved for the sole usage of the king. Whilst being a serene and beautiful place, it was also pretty commercialised with numerous tourists and a souvenir shop taking up much of one of the halls in the courtyard. The other hall was lined with stelae placed upon those revered tortoises - each listing the names and achievements of past scholars. The main temple was more of a traditional Mahayana temple with the usual wafting incense, various offerings, low entrance roofs - forcing you to bow, a lot of red, a lot of gold.

I liked the Temple of Literature but wished it was a bit less commercial. Our appetites dragged us out around mid day and we headed towards Pho Cam Chi - a specialised food street. I didn’t even realise when we got there bc it’s more a tiny alley rather than a road as you’d expect with most food streets in South East Asia. It wasn’t particularly busy so it was hard to choose a spot based on popularity among locals - but we settled on a place having glanced through a pretty extensive menu. Char grilled chicken, fried rice, fish braised in beer and morning glory was ordered. Washed down by Bia Halida. Fantastic stuff. Viet Namese food just kept getting better and better. The fish braised in beer was outstanding, as was the chicken though in somewhat marginal quantities. Morning Glory, of course, never fails to impress. Thoroughly satisfied (again) we ambled back towards the OQ as a few rain clouds gathered overhead.

Having tried the excellent LP walking tour of Katmandu in July I was very keen on doing the same in Ha Noi. It suggested we start at the Hoan Kiem lake in the Ngoc Son temple, crossing the iconic red Huc bridge. By this time the drizzle had increased and I was forced to wear my godawful bright yellow raincoat (trust arpico not to have my size in a decent colour). So looking like a hazard beacon, I took shelter in the temple - which wasn’t too impressive other than for the approach across the bridge and the lake itself. I got chatting with a couple of Viet Namese who judging by their cameras, accents and dress were probably based abroad and back home on holiday. Having seen off the rain we returned to the road, starting at Hang Dau’s array of shoe and sandal shops - fending off an army of umbrella sellers who had arrived like meroos following the rain. The first highlight was the fantastic memorial house. We would come across many of these in Hoi An but this was the only such place in Ha Noi. It was restored with the help of the French, preserving the old wood dominated Chinese influenced architecture. We spent quite a while exploring the place, admiring the ornately carved lattices, the little balcony overlooking the open courtyard and the elegant attendants dressed in the traditional Viet Namese Ao Dai. I marveled at how small and delicate everything was - from the furniture to the staircase.

What really stands out about Ha Noi is the little backstreets of the Old Quarter. The persistence of trade clustering is fascinating and exploring this was a real highlight of Viet Nam. The streets today retain the name of what was sold there - in some cases as far as 700 years ago. There are 50 or so such streets, ranging from Hang Gai (silk), Hang Trong (drums) to Hang Mam (pickled fish). We could only explore a handful of these but it was fantastic. Every single sense was tantalised as we walked through the spices street (which included traditional medicines such as sea horses and assorted reptiles), the blacksmiths street, the visually spectacular altar street and silk street and the eerie gravestone street. As we walked around wide eyed, the city moved along at its brisk pace - women carried vegetables balanced on their shoulders, old men played cards squatting on the pavement, a man watched us as he took a long drag from an opium pipe (now used for tobacco) and scooters buzzed by as commerce raged on. By now it was close to evening so we stopped for a coffee break and I had my first Viet Namese drip coffee. While waiting for the coffee to filter through the tiny metal filter placed over the cup, we discussed the rest of the day’s plan - which was just 4 hours before catching the night train to Sa Pa. The espresso sized coffee came with condensed milk on the side. I had a sip without the milk and it was hardcore - easily the strongest i’ve ever had. But with a teaspoon of condensed milk it was absolutely superb - nothing like i’ve had in the past. R had a dragon juice (the fruit) which was pretty decent and we continued along the remainder of the path - dropping by at Kinh Dao temple where two charming old ladies shared some green tea with us, before moving over to the neo-gothic St. Joseph’s church which was unfortunately closed.

We wound up the evening with a fantastic dinner at the family run Cha Ca La Vong - a restaurant that does only one dish - steamed and sizzling fish with noodles, assorted herbs and peanuts. All cooked at the table. Yet again, a fantastic meal. We headed back to Prince II to collect our backpacks before heading to Tamarind Cafe to relax before catching a taxi to the train station. The station was pretty full and it looked like the sleeper to Sa Pa was quite popular. We had booked soft sleepers and the cabin was excellent. The beds were comfortable, clean and roomy - I was pretty happy to be spending the next 9 hours here. A Viet Namese lady and a shady Aussie chap had the other two bunks but everyone was pretty tired and after a few minutes of gazing out at the fantastic city we were leaving behind, I dozed off to the rhythm of the train.

We woke up early the next morning, checked out of citygate and headed to Prince II to catch the van to the perfume pagoda - about 2 and a half hours from Ha Noi. The first 45mins or so was spent picking up the other travelers from various spots around Ha Noi. The traffic on a tuesday morning was pretty crazy and finally around 8.45 we were on our way out of the city. The entertainment till we got to the countryside was provided by a Malaysian Aussie called Adrian. The chap was in Ha Noi for 5 days and was clearly not used to this kind of travel and had pretty sketchy knowledge of the world around him. He sat behind me and for the entirety of the journey engaged in a chat with a jovial brit who lives in Japan. He said some spectacularly stupid things and asked even stupider questions - but by far my favourite piece of dialogue was as follows.

Adrian - So what’s it like in Birmingham?
Brit - Pretty crap really - i hate it.
Adrian - How come?
Brit - Lot of violence.
Adrian - I see. So a lot of militant activity then?
Brit - (Pause). Well, not really, no.

Wars in Birmingham aside, the drive became increasingly pretty. After leaving the city we shifted to smaller rural roads abreast of acres of golden and green paddy with the intermittent conical hat making an appearance. The farmers were drying paddy at every available sunny spot - the road included. In some places the entire road was covered in paddy being dried and tended to by farmers who deftly stepped out of the way of the vehicle and then returned to patiently smoothen the paddy after we passed. 2 hours later we slowed down by the slow moving river and came to a halt by a large number of metallic boats. From here we would be rowed for another hour in order to reach the perfume pagoda. Each boat was pretty small, narrow but long - leaving room for 4 passengers squatting over a mini-bench in two rows and one rower. It was completely open and the 11am sun was baking down. The conical hat sellers made a killing. We shared a boat with a young German couple. Despite the sun and the guilt of having an old lady row 4 able bodied young people, the boat ride was extremely pleasant. There were no engines within earshot, no chatter (we ensured Adrian’s boat had a good head start) - just the sound of a paddle stroking the water and a few bird and insect calls. My mind went back to the previous evening’s puppet show which placed so much emphasis on how rural life in Viet nam revolves around the river. We saw the duck farming, the little children dancing around delightedly in the water - the sun shimmering on the water cascading down their bodies as their laughter echoed on the surrounding hills. A bright red dragon fly hitched a ride with us as we passed a man rowing a tiny wooden boat with his hands, seemingly in search of lotus flowers. Another even more bizarre character stood by his boat in shoulder high water sheltered by a purple umbrella - seemingly doing nothing.

Despite the uncomfortable squatting bench (made to suit the squatting position that people in viet nam and many other south east asian countries adopt when relaxing) we didn’t feel the hour go by and soon we had reached our destination with an impatient Adrian pacing up and down on the shore, fanning himself furiously. We walked up the steps and were given a choice of an hour long hike to the peak or a quick cable car ride for 40,000 Dong. Most of us opted for a cable car to the top and walking back down - which turned out to be the way forward. The main pagoda was, it turned out, hardly a pagoda as we know it. It was a massive cave, the mouth of which was reached by climbing down 126 steps, with a huge stalagmite guarding the entrance. We spent the next hour or so exploring this fascinating place. Ancient Chinese scripture was carved into the rock, immortalising the monks who used the cave as a haven for meditation. Further inside, reached by more slippery steps, there were shrines with elaborately decorated shiny statues in a typical Mahayana buddhist style. I spent much of the time staring around me, mouth agape, trying to absorb it all in - the wafts of incense, the cool, still air and the echoes of ppl speaking in hushed voices interrupted by the odd drip of water from the roof of the cave. I spoke to a guy who said that the last time he came the place was full of Viet Namese pilgrims paying homage - thankfully it was quiet this morning with just a handful of ppl wandering around the cave.

All too soon it was time to leave and we set off on foot to descend back to base. On the way down we stopped at some of the other pagodas - one built into a smaller cave and another sprawling complex including a number of ornate mahayana shrine rooms, gentile gardens and ponds. Lunch followed at an open canteen style restaurant and despite its simple and large scale production, the food was superb. The Viet namese favourite - morning glory (water spinach) braised in garlic, became a firm favourite of mine as well. By the time we left the perfume pagoda it was almost 3pm and the boat ride back was even more pleasant as the sun and heat had eased somewhat. As ripples of water gently lapped our boat, I didn’t really want to get out of the river and get back into the minivan back to Ha Noi. The traffic as we approached Ha Noi was hectic - for several minutes we wouldn’t budge as mini-dramas unfolded on the street outside the window. Motorcycles squeezed through the narrowest of gaps, people shouted at one another through the handkerchiefs covering their mouths and one SUV was stuck in the middle of a narrow road - completely out of place. Suddenly the traffic eased after one junction and we shot through to the centre of the old quarter to reach Prince II. We were due to travel to Ha Long Bay the next morning so we went to the travel agent’s to tell them where to pick us up but as soon as we got there we ran into a set back.

Viet: “Sir we be try to contact you all day - where were you?”
me: “Was out of Ha noi, what’s wrong?”
Viet: “Sir there’s cyclone in Ha Long - can’t take the boat tomorrow - we reschedule”

Bad form. We have a quick discussion and decide to shift Ha Long by a couple of days to let the storm ease and head to Sa Pa instead. But we were too late to catch a night train so we would have to spend the next day in Ha Noi and head out to Sa Pa in the night.

Having settled our travel plans we wanted to try a different place for dinner and had an eye on a cha spot that was recommended by the LP. Cha is another Ha Noi favourite - and is basically flesh cooked on small grills on the street. Follow your nose they said. The place we tried was just outside the OQ and by the time we got there it was quite late and the best dishes had run out. Communication was near impossible and as we sat at the makeshift dining room on the pavement, we hoped for the best that we’d get what we ordered. Eventually we did get what we had asked for but quantity was a bit limited. Most of the staff was watching tv inside and one heavily pregnant girl counted the day’s proceeds in front of us. When we ordered some additional dishes they looked quite perplexed and stared for a good few seconds before going to the kitchen. It was only 9.30 or so, but clearly quite late by Viet Namese standards. We headed back to the OQ looking for dessert and spent about an hour getting lost in the process of looking for a cafe called baguette & chocolat. It was a heck of a lot harder getting orientated in the night, but the experience was fun in its own way. The OQ was bustling at night. While many of the markets were winding down for the day, the pavement bars were just kicking in. Bia was overflowing as little tables and squatting benches spilled on to the street as the chatter reached a crescendo. I could easily see the central OQ becoming like Khao San road in Bangkok or Thamel in Kathmandu. But for now - despite the number of white people walking around, the laundry spots, money exchange and travel agencies lining the streets - the Old Quarter of Ha Noi retains to an extent a more unique viet namese character and charm. Having traversed the OQ, east to west, we gave up and settled on a lovely spot called Cafe de Paris and R appeased her chocolate crepe craving. We got back to the hotel around 11 - exhausted. Luckily the next day would be quite chilled out - a chance to explore Ha Noi at leisure before taking the night train to Sa Pa.

After a night in Singapore with the sibling and an amusing drive with a cab driver who introduced himself as a “fellow ceylonese” and proclaimed, much to my delight, that Singapore has “too much order and not enough character”, we made the final flight to Ha noi on SQ. The nervous energy quietly built up as our first aerial glimpses of the country were, unsurprisingly, checkered green. Immigration took longer for us given the privileges of the LK passport - the officer had obviously never seen one before and kept flipping it over as if expecting it to turn luminous green. “It was issued in New Delhi” I ventured, and he nodded his head. Despite having a pre-issued visa that cost us a ridiculous LKR 20k (we could only find one travel agent willing to sort out a viet namese visa for us), I was concerned that we may not get our full request of 2 weeks stay. After what felt like an eternity the immigration officer reached for a stamp and thumped it hard on my passport and on the immigration form - I nervously flipped through it till I got to the visa page “permitted to stay till 07/10/08 - 16 days”.

The bags turned up soon enough and I opened the doors passed customs to a sea of faces and placards with a mixture of Western and oriental names. Amidst this there was one board with an old Portugese name - I walked up, smiled and waved and the face hiding behind the placard lit up, “citygate? you come!” He tried to persuade us to change our money at the hotel but the rate at the airport money exchange counter looked somewhat attractive based on the forex info received on the welcome to Viet Nam text on my mobile. I changed US$340 and became an instant millionaire. The teller counted out hundreds of thousands of Dong and I ended up with 5.5 Million VND - not too shoddy. We had arranged to spend our first night at a hotel right at the gate of the old city - the Old Quarter. The drive to Citygate was not particularly inspiring - it was hot and the outskirts of Ha noi were more concrete oriented than the picturesque countryside we would encounter later.

An hour or so later the vehicle came to a halt on a narrow lane and the driver showed us the old white arch, grinned and said “citygate!” The actual hotel was hidden amongst a cluster of little shops selling nicknaks and eats. The entrance housing a makeshift reception was narrow and long and it led to a lift - the pride of citygate hotel. After a quick wash we went out in search of our first Viet namese meal. There were two immediate challenges. The roads in the Old Quarter are really a maze - and it took a few minutes to figure out possible routes. Once we had a basic idea it was time to cross roads. Even though it was 2.30pm, hardly rush hour, crossing roads for the first time felt like a mission in itself. As soon as we tried to step out, motorbikes, cycles, scooters came charging at us from the left, the right and diagonally. After yet another eternity, we finally just stepped out and slowly walked, stopping, starting again, stopping - and as the bikes whizzed by, we got to the other end. The Lonely Planet map of the OQ was pretty good and we eventually found our bearings and made our way along Dao Duy Tu Hang Chinh towards the centre of the old part of town.

We decided to eat at Little Ha Noi I (Viet Nam’s copyright laws are somewhat akin to Sri Lanka and restaurant names are not immune - there’s a Little Ha Noi II just down the same lane). One of the specialties here is the Catfish nem - a type of Viet Namese spring roll. It turned out to be a DIY meal with the rice paper, fish and greens provided separately along with the requisite sauces. It was superb. The classic fish sauce, Nuoc Mam, coloured with floating chopped fresh red chili, would become a staple sidekick with most meals. By the time lunch was done with the sun had eased a bit so we decided to make the best of this half day by getting some administrative tasks out of the way. The first thing to sort out was the boat for Ha Long Bay. Thorn Tree provided some insights into the process and we had been forewarned that you really get what you pay for in Ha Long. We had highlighted Columbus travels and Handspan - and went with Columbus based on price and the really nice ppl who worked there. Their best option was priced at US$ 125 and the lowest price at Handspan was also US$ 125. This included overnight in the boat, 3 meals, transport to and from Ha Long, sea kayaking, cave exploration and swimming. This would easily be our priciest investment for the entire trip - but it felt like a sensible option.

Pleased with the afternoon efforts we headed towards the main lake in the OQ - Hoan Kiem lake. Soon as we stepped on to the road a woman came along with two baskets of fruits balanced on a pole placed across her shoulder. She came beside R and promptly placed the pole on her shoulder followed by the famous conical hat she was wearing on to R’s head. Our protests were mingled with laughter - and she said “no money - take picture. It ok.” I hesitantly snapped a quick one and she promptly began packing a small plastic bag of her fruits. Our protests were no longer mingled with laughter, despite the cleverness of her tactics. “40,000 dong” she said, the equivalent of about US$ 2.50 for a banana and a mango. We firmly said no and headed off towards the lake. The roads felt somewhat more familiar now, helped significantly by the map. The plan was to catch a performance of the water puppet theatre - a Ha Noi institution, and then grab a bite for dinner. Outside the water puppet theatre there were lots of tourist buses and we struggled to get tickets until a last minute cancellation opened up two seats for us which turned out to be excellent.

The show itself was a fascinating glimpse into Viet Namese culture - encapsulating traditional viet namese life which we would encounter repeatedly in the our travels over the next two weeks. The show consists of puppets expertly wielded over water from behind a veil. This was also our first taste of classical viet namese music including the fantastic Dan Bau - a single string wind instrument, and an assortment of viet namese violins, flutes and guitars. The folk tales and depictions of village life including duck farming, agriculture and religious ceremonies went on for just over one delightful hour. The classical theme didn’t rule out the use of special effects though - the dragons that exhaled fire were a fantastic exhibition. Thoroughly satisfied and even more excited about the prospects of exploring this country, we left the building and had a lovely walk around the lake. Ha Noi was getting ready to wind down for the night with people jogging, doing tai chi or just ambling around the perimetre of the lake, chatting or contemplating in silence.

We headed back towards town looking for a night market on Don Xuan road. This provided us with a taste of Ha noi that we’d get to really savour on the third day - walking through the specialised street markets - each a concentration of a particular product. We eventually ended up at an improvised food market near Bach Ma temple. The place was packed and utterly chaotic. We just stood aside figuring out whether we need to speak to someone first because it certainly didn’t seem like there were menus or anything of the sort. Eventually we ventured out of the collection of motorbikes and stepped up towards the jam packed tiny tables and even tinier chairs where about 50 viet namese were munching away. Soon someone came up and thrust a menu into my hand and pointed to a couple of chairs next to two diners. We asked if we could sit closer to the fan. The young boy looked confused and then shook his head. “No. Different” We were puzzled but then figured that the table near the fan is owned by a different proprietor. The menu looked good so we sat down. R ordered her first Pho Bo (beef noodle soup) and I tried the eel braised with mushrooms washed down by Bia Ha Noi (4.2% alcohol - less than my cough syrup). It was superb. And the atmosphere really helped a lot - there was so much chatter, people came and went, xe oms (motorbike taxis) revved, orders were shouted, bia bottles clashed as we dined amongst Ha nois best. It was a great way to end a fantastic night that really encapsulated Ha noi - ordered chaos, great food, great atmosphere - i was sure our Singaporean cab driver would have approved. On the way back to citygate we came across an interesting looking hotel called Prince II Hotel. We had a look at the rooms - fantastic quality plus a desktop with free internet to boot. We checked the price, $20 a night, breakfast included. Pretty damn good value for money so we booked for the next night and also booked a transport to the perfume pagoda the next morning. After all this the tiredness set in. We had just been in Ha noi for about 9 hours but we had done so much. At citygate we flopped into bed - a pretty auspicious start to what would be a fantastic journey.

Back in Colombo after an exhilarating 2 weeks in Viet Nam. It’s been a while since I took some time out of the country and South East Asia has long been on my exploration list. The preceding months were pretty hectic at work so R did most of the planning and I didn’t really have time to get excited about the whole thing. The Lonely Planet (LP) for Viet Nam is pretty decent so we had a rough idea of how we wanted to spend 15 days - but most of the planning took place on the final few days of browsing Thorn Tree and other internet traveler forums for up to the minute tips and information. Two weeks felt like too short a time to see the whole country so we decided to stick to the North and Central parts. Saigon and the Maekong Delta would have to wait for a combined trip with Cambodia some other time.

The basic plan was something like this.

Arrive in Hanoi - 2 nights
Halong Bay - 1 night
Sapa - 1 night (plus 2 nights on overnight sleeper trains from and to Hanoi)
Ninh Binh - 1 night (plus overnight sleeper to Hue)
Hue - 2 nights
Hoi An - 2 nights
Danang - 1 night

We didn’t make any bookings which left us with the flexibility of adding a couple of nights here and there in places that caught our fancy or completely changing things based on information on the ground. The day before departure we called up a spot that sounded inviting as per the LP description - they sounded nice on the phone so we had a room for the first night plus an airport pick up. That was all we needed. Backpacks packed, right foot forward - to Viet Nam.

Today’s post is outsourced to a man who would have done a far better job than I. Unfortunately, an assassin’s bullet exactly three years ago prevents him from being among us. The following is a speech that was made by Minister Lakshman Kadirgamar to the Sri Lankan cricket team during the Natwest Trophy 2002 involving Sri Lanka, England and South Africa. Sri Lanka had just lost to England but a few days later went on to lift the trophy, beating England in the final at Lords.

“Captain Atapattu and members of the Sri Lankan team, Members of the Sri Lankan community, Friends of Sri Lanka, Ladies and Gentlemen. Some historians say, I think uncharitably, that cricket is really a diabolical political strategy, disguised as a game, in fact a substitute for war, invented by the ingenious British to confuse the natives by encouraging them to fight each other instead of their imperial rulers. The world is divided into two camps - those who revel in the intricacies of cricket and those who are totally baffled by it, who cannot figure out why a group of energetic young men should spend days, often in the hot sun or bitter cold, chasing a ball across an open field, hitting it from time to time with a stick - all to the rapturous applause of thousands, now millions, of ecstatic spectators across the world. The game has developed a mystical language of its own that further bewilders those who are already befuddled by its complexities. In the course of my travels I have a hard time explaining to the non-cricketing world - in America, China, Europe and Russia - that a ‘googly’ is not an Indian sweetmeat; that a ’square cut’ is not a choice selection of prime beef; that a ‘cover drive’ is not a secluded part of the garden; that a ‘bouncer’ is not a muscular janitor at a night club, that a ‘yorker’ is not some exotic cocktail mixed in Yorkshire or that a ‘leg-break’ is not a sinister manoeuvre designed to cripple your opponent’s limbs below the waist.

Ladies and Gentlemen, let me see whether politics and cricket have anything in common. Both are games. Politicians and cricketers are superficially similar, and yet very different. Both groups are wooed by the cruel public who embrace them today and reject them tomorrow. Cricketers work hard; politicians only pretend to do so. Cricketers are disciplined; discipline is a word unknown to most politicians in any language. Cricketers risk their own limbs in the heat of honourable play, politicians encourage others to risk their limbs in pursuit of fruitless causes while they remain secure in the safety of their pavilions. Cricketers deserve the rewards they get; the people get the politicians they deserve. Cricketers retire young; politicians go on for ever. Cricketers unite the country; politicians divide it. Cricketers accept the umpire’s verdict even if they disagree with it; politicians who disagree with an umpire usually get him transferred. Cricketers stick to their team through victory and defeat, politicians in a losing team cross over and join the winning team. Clearly, cricketers are the better breed.

It is said that the task of a foreign minister is to lie effusively for his country abroad. That may be true, but it is certainly true that he has to fight for his country and defend it at all times. Our cricketers may recall that in the run-up to the 1996 World Cup, Australia refused to play a match in Colombo, citing security reasons. Shane Warne said he wouldn’t come to Colombo because he couldn’t do any shopping there. The press asked me for a comment. I said “shopping is for sissies”. There was a storm of protest in Australia. A TV interviewer asked me whether I had ever played cricket. I said I had played before he was born - without helmets and thigh guards, on matting wickets that were full of holes and stones, and I had my share of broken bones to show it. My friend the Australian foreign minister was drawn into the fray and phoned me. We decided to cool things down. A combined India/Pakistan team came to Colombo at very short notice to play an exhibition match in place of the Australian match. It was a magnificent gesture of South Asian solidarity. Against strong security advice I went on to the field to greet and thank our friends from India and Pakistan. When the whole episode was over I sent a bouquet of flowers to my Australian counterpart. Flowers are also for sissies.

I remember vividly the incident that occurred in Australia when Murali was called for throwing and Arjuna led his team to the boundary, in protest, but cleverly refrained from crossing it. I was watching TV in Colombo. As a past captain I asked myself what I would have done in Arjuna’s place. In my mind I had no hesitation in supporting his decision. A few minutes later the phone rang. The President of the Board called to ask for advice. I said Arjuna was right because a captain must, on the field, stand up for his men and protect them, but the consequences must not be allowed to go too far; good lawyers must be engaged and a reasonable compromise must be reached. That was done. During that tour I paid an official visit to Australia. My friend the Australian foreign minister in the course of a dinner speech invited me to go with him the next day to Adelaide, his home town, to watch the final day’s play. I knew what the result was going to be. In my reply I said that at the end of the match I did not want to be the one to tell him that Australia had “won by a Hair,’. Accordingly, I went back home, as planned, to maintain the good relations that we have with Australia.

Foreign ministers sometimes find themselves in very difficult situations. Take the case of the Foreign Minister of Uganda. President Idi Amin told him that he wanted to change the name of Uganda to Idi. The minister was asked to canvas world opinion and return in two weeks. He did not do so. He was summoned and asked to explain. He said: “Mr. President, I have been informed that there is a country called Cyprus. Its citizens are called Cypriots, If we change the name of our country to ‘Idi’ our citizens would be called…Idiots”. Reason prevailed. A story goes that a shark was asked why diplomats were his preferred food. He replied “because their brains being small are a tasty morsel, their spines being supple I can chew on them at leisure - and they come delightfully marinated in alcohol.” Ladies and Gentlemen, as I approach the close of this brief address I wish to speak directly to our Sri Lankan team. Today we lost a match. But you lost to the rain and M/s Duckworth and Lewis. You did not lose to England. Only a few weeks ago you had a resounding victory against South Africa. You will win again tomorrow. What is important is to keep up your confidence and spirits. All of us, your fellow countrymen and women, have been enormously impressed in recent times by the commitment, discipline, athleticism and determination that you have displayed in the field. The people are with you. We all know that each and every one of you, are constantly busy honing your skills. We can see that you are maintaining a high standard of physical fitness. When the people see this it gives them not only immense pleasure but the moral upliftment that Sri Lankans are capable of in rising to the challenge of sustained performance. Every team loses. It takes two to play a game. One has to lose. It is the manner in which you play the game which gives the promise of success to come. It is a great pleasure to see how youngsters are being drafted into the national team. Our team is united; it reflects all the races and religions of our country.

Cricket, like all international sport today, is highly competitive; and so it must be, and so it must remain. It must always be regarded as a very high honour to represent one’s country at any sport. All of you are role models for our youth. They will be looking to see how you take defeat. To exult in victory is easy, to remain well balanced in defeat is a mark of maturity. Do not allow yourselves to be disturbed by the armchair critics who will no doubt engage in a display of theoretical learning on how the game was played. Many of these critics have never put bat to ball. It makes them feel good to indulge in the past time of amateur criticism. They do not know what it is to face fast bowling in fading light; to engage in a run race against daunting odds; to find the stamina and sheer physical endurance to spend concentrated hours in the field of play. They know nothing of the psychological pressure that modern sportsmen are subject to. Therefore, my advice to you is - ignore them. Go your way with customary discipline and methodical preparation for the next game, the next series in different parts of the world under different conditions. For me it has been a great pleasure and an honour to be here with you tonight. When I was invited to be the Chief Guest at this occasion on my way to New York for the General Assembly of the United Nations, I accepted with eager anticipation of meeting our cricketers and relaxing for a moment. Nobody told me that I had to make a speech, until last night when it dawned on me then that there is no such thing as a free dinner!”

I mean to watch the TV news more often but i don’t usually get down to it. I did so today and learned three things. Two of those enriched my knowledge whilst one did nothing for it.

1) Sri Lanka’s tourism secretary is George Michael. Well I already knew that but it was amusing to hear it being said with a straight face.

2) The General Secretary of the Ceylon Teacher’s Union is Joseph Stalin. A bit of a step down from the General Secretary of the Communist Party of Soviet Russia, but you can’t have it all.

3) Some NASA chaps finally proved that the stuff found on Mars by Phoenix was actually water.

The latter suggests that there could be life on some planet other than ours. But us Sri Lankans already knew that. We knew that exactly two years ago. I fished the following up from the archives of that fine institution of journalistic excellence; the Daily Mirror.

Aliens Seen Again at Thanamalvila
Daily Mirror
1st August 2006

Within weeks of aliens being sighted in Galle and Neboda, the landing of a flying saucer on the banks of Kirindiya Thanamalvwila area was reported last week. An year 8 student of Thanamalvila National school, G.W.Suranga who came to the river in the evening of July 23rd is said to have eye-witnessed the incident.

Suranga who narrated his awful experience said “I with my grandmother, and elder sister went for our usual evening bath in the river. When we were returning home we saw three persons, not more than two feet in height, standing near the junction. They were dark complexioned and wearing hats. When I pointed at them to my sister they took to their heels and soon disappeared into the jungle. The time was about 6.30″

Several others are said to have seen the mysterious creatures frequenting the Sarvodaya site at Thanamalvila at dusk on the following day.

President of Universal Research Society Dr. Nissanka Jayadeva, who is conducting research on aliens visited the area on inspection, but he was not able to find substantial evidence of aliens excluding mysterious footprints. On 25th the researchers went in search of the mysterious beings in two groups. Their mission that day was successful.

” I with several others followed the mysterious foot prints. I advised others in the group not to desert the group. Several persons in Galle and Neboda fainted and had a severe headache when the aliens kept on looking at them. Their footprints were clearly visible in the sand. We proceeded in slow pace without making any notice until we were only a few feet away from them. Chamara, who was an enterprising young man in our group, went so close as 20 feet from them. There were three creatures that had only three fingers in their hands and feet. This was sufficient proof that the foot prints on the sand were theirs.” Dr. Jayadeva said.

W.M.Chamara who played an active role in the expedition, said, ” We proceeded on the instructions of Dr. Nissanka. All of a sudden we heard a rattling noise from the thickets. We stopped for a while and observed the area from where we heard the noise.

There were three creatures, one of them taller than others. They were not more than 2 feet tall. The tallest at once turned his head and looked at me. His eyes were blue and bright. I felt faint when I was looking at him. At once I jumped at them with a club in my hand, but they were so swift that they disappeared into the jungle within a fraction of a second. They were gray in colour and did not have hair. I have no doubt that they are aliens and I believe the reports from Galle and Neboda on similar incidents”

” This is the first time a team of researchers havebeen confronted with aliens. It is no longer a legend now. There is no doubt that aliens from other planets had relations with men on earth in the far-gone days.

I am of opinion that they are preparing to renew their relations with us. I did not see them in Galle or at Neboda. However, I eye witnessed them at Thanamalvila and it is a novel experience that encourages me to conduct further research.” Dr. Jayadeva added.

http://www.dailymirror.lk/2006/08/01/news/18.asp

Good on Chamara for going chasing the buggers away with that club of his - the bastards must have come to steal our grass. Since they have water to grow it on and all. Fecking stoners. Who else would design a flying saucepan?

Anyway clap clap to the Mirror for helping this blog write itself.

Back in town after a fantastic ten days in Kathmandu, and back to the chaos that is SAARC. Being in Sri Lanka we never really appreciate the wonder that is SAARC - I guess bc there’s not much of a wonder. But up in Nepal they really do take SAARC seriously - at every third corner I got some concession bc I had brown skin and wasn’t Nepalese. Anyway, more about that later. I’m back, and back in time for test cricket.

As i’ve undoubtedly said 18 times before, few things give me more pleasure than a weekend at the SSC watching SL inevitably whip the opposition. That is of course unless the opposition is Australia or drugged up Pakistan. I knew that Mohammad Asif was on something to make the ball swing in such a psychadelical manner on our benign pitchers. Damn stoner. But yes, some SSC inevitables do stand - A Mahela Jayawardena century, something similar, if less graceful, by our man Sam and of course bucketfulls for Murali. However there were some pleasing changes - Murali didn’t have to bowl 76% of the overs and opposition batsman couldn’t relax at one end. Over at King Cricket they put things nicely. “The batsman now have a choice, get out to Murali or get out to Mendis?” Damn straight.

Despite oversleeping a tad, we managed to get to SSC around 9.45 and while queueing to get tickets through the tiny hole in the wall, a mini-huge cheer erupted from the ground. The guy in front of me grunted and vented his frustrations at the hole - “mun out wenna issella ticket eka denna oy!” I mumbled something in agreement and soon we were in the brilliant HSBC stand settling down with 4 other local chaps and a random white guy to watch what I expected to be an indian middle order fightback following their first innings surrender. But first we’d have to see through the first innings tail. As expected they didn’t have much answer to the new spin duo except for the overly tall Ishanth Sharma who used all of his 20 foot reach to take everything on the half volley. In the process he delayed the inevitable by an hour or so. The bastard. He really ought to take a leaf out of the Dinesh Karthik manual of how to get out when your team needs you. Fortunately Mendis sorted Laxman out with a peach through the gap. Before long the openers were back in action and inevitably there was spin before lunch and Murali nailed Sehwag - Benson didn’t give it and Mahela immediately asked for a referral. The lack of a TV at the top tier at HSBC is the one flaw in the stand so the cheer had to wait for a text from bro in S’pore which read “dead and buried.” Satisfied with 5 wickets in the morning session, we trooped off to get some mustard lamb and fried rice from the members’. Yum.

The afternoon session was spectacular. After a couple of token overs of seam, Mendis nailed Laxman for the second time in a couple of hours. In walked the big fish Sachin bhai and before long there was a flurry of activity - Murali tweaking, Sachin sweeping and Dilshan leaping through it all to pull off a blinder that was again referred. Before the umpire’s decision there was a yelp from the Sri Lankan players followed by high 5s as they got the signal from the dressing room that they got their man. From then on it was a capitulation. Ghambir was done in by a piece of Murali magic of old. Ever since Murali developed the doosra he seems to be relying less on flight and guile and more on beating the batsman off the pitch. I was recently watching a youtube clip of him take 16 wickets at the Brit Oval in 1998, and it’s so different to how he has been bowling of late. But this weekend was a bit different. The flight was back and watching at the ground it was wonderful to take in the nuances of this great bowler’s armoury. When he tossed it up to Ghambir I could feel myself being lured on to the front foot to take it on the half volley, and I imagined Ghambir panic as he saw the ball drop earlier than expected, pitch and turn passed that fumbling outside edge for Prasanna Jayawardena to pull off a wonderful stumping. It was like slow motion. We broke from a trance of Murali magic to shout in celebration along with the rest of the stand that had now swelled to near capacity.

Ganguly was done in by a quicker one and Dravid again struggled to tackle the young Mendis. Before we knew it the innings had folded. 14 wickets in a day, 9 wickets in about 3 hours. I was thrilled to have seen Mendis’ debut - I had my doubts about him in test cricket since I expected India’s batsman to play him with more certainty than they managed in the crash boom bang ODIs. Unfortunately for them the mystery continues, and I suspect it will continue in Galle. Whatever happens, I’ll be there to see it unfold. Good luck boys.

We stayed a night in Mirissa and headed back towards Colombo on Tuesday with a plan to stop in Unawatuna and then Hikkaduwa for the last of the beach season for 2008. After lazing a bit in the sea off Tartaruga we headed to Hikkaduwa around lunchtime in time to run into some friends over the delights of the roti shop opposite Amaya Reef. It was a poya day so the sea was quite rough in Mirissa the previous day and even Unawatuna was pretty choppy. The Hikkaduwa sea can be a bit violent at the best of times and that day it was particularly rough. Nonetheless we played in the waves, did a bit of body surfing and went in reasonably deep. During the first dip I noticed a current parallel to the beach - it had a bit of strength but was only on the left wing of the water, just South of Top Secret, nothing to fret over bc it was just near the beach and the water was really shallow. Or so we thought.

Our friends left so we went to say bye and lazed a bit more on the beach and around 4pm decided to jump back in one last time before heading back home. By this time most ppl were out of the sea but a short while before we got in a couple of surfers went out to catch the ever ascending waves. There were three of them, two guys and a girl, but the girl didn’t go in bc the sea was too rough. The water really was very shallow, it barely got above my shin and this time neither of us wanted to go very far bc we were tired. I told R to stay away from the left wing bc of the current and so we both walked towards the right. I looked over my shoulder and R was finding it tough to even walk against the current, which seemed to have increased in strength. I still wasn’t in the least concerned bc the water was so shallow - I couldn’t for a moment imagine it being dangerous. When I realised she was struggling a bit I walked back towards her to help her and held her and started moving towards the right. Just then a large wave came and knocked us off balance. But more importantly the backwash pushed us to a dip in the sand and I immediately lost my footing. For the first time I felt not quite in control.

We were still able to stand but the current had dragged us several metres from where we were a few seconds ago. “Ok come, we need to get back to shore”. Another wave, another backwash - and things started to go bad. R could no longer stand and I had to tilt my head up to stay above water. We were being pushed back some more. “Ok we need to swim back now, let’s go, do breast stroke, if there’s a wave we have to catch it to the shore”. Till then I didn’t realise that we had walked into a rip current. The next 10 seconds were the scariest in my life. As soon as we took our feet off the sand we were at the mercy of the current. Within a matter of seconds we had been swept way out without even feeling it. And even then the gravity of the situation didn’t quite register. All my common sense was gone, I knew exactly what to do in a current, but somehow I instinctively kept trying to swim directly back to shore - but obviously it was impossible, particularly trying to hold someone with one arm. I was panicking without even knowing it - so much so that I didn’t realise we were about 150m out and about 50m to the left of where we started - after about 25 seconds. The fact that we needed help only occured to me when I saw the surfers look at us from far away and point at us. Till then I was sure we could swim out of this - again complete irrationality.

Finally I waved my free arm at the 2 surfers, my other arm around R. “Help” I said feebly, still probably not fully realising the gravity of the situation, that we were still being taken away, be it slower than earlier. “Help!” a bit louder. R caught on and screamed help several times until I told her to stop bc the surfers heard us. She told me later that she didn’t even see the surfers there - such is the extent to which you lose control over your senses. I held R and tried to stay afloat till they got close. The silence was terrifying - the sea was empty, there were no waves, just the water quietly pushing us towards the ocean. Thankfully the surfers were excellent swimmers and soon they turned up - “You need help?” one of them said in a very calm Italian accent, I nodded and again feebly said yeah and gave R to one of them whilst we positioned the surf board to use as a flotation device. “It’s ok if you swallow bit of water - don’t worry. Just kick hard ok?” The two of us kicked - but I was completely numb by then. I had stopped thinking and just kicked and hoped our 8 legs would be strong enough to get to the shore. “Come on guys, you have to kick harder..come on!” I just kept kicking. It didn’t feel like we were moving an inch, but at least we had a flotation device. Then finally the waves started breaking over us - “duck duck duck - ok kick again! kick, kick!”

I really don’t know how long we took to get back to shore but it felt like an eternity. The closer we got to land I realised how much we had been carried away by the current - Top Secret looked like a mile away. We eventually reached the shore and staggered out on to the beach. I couldn’t speak - I hugged the two surfers and just said thanks and collapsed to the ground. The two of us sat down on the beach and stared into the ocean for ages. We didn’t say a word, we just stared blankly. If not for the two surfers we’d be dead, there’s no doubt about it. I can’t remember what I was thinking about while sitting there, but I did feel sick and wanted to throw up. It was the most sobering moment in my life.

I’ve always loved the sea, and I still do. But I never respected it the way that I do now. I was in Galle during the tsunami, but even that did not have a comparable impact on the way I thought of the sea. You realise how insignificant, helpless and powerless you are. Bottom line though was I was stupid, I knew the sea was rough, it was a poya day and worst of all I knew there was a current - I just assumed that bc the water was shallow there won’t be a problem. But one wave can change all that - and rip currents can be at their deadliest in low tide, shallow waters - as we found out. Today, I am completely humbled by the sea, I will never assume that my minuscule capabilities will be able to overcome its might. But I’m not afraid of it, I love it, I respect it, but I’m not afraid. There’s no reason to be afraid if you’re sensible and know what you’re doing and act within your limitations. It was a pretty harrowing way to end the Southern sea season for 2008, but I can’t wait to get back in there come 2009. Bring it on.