The Barterer

If there is one element of Britishness that inhibits in us the ability to barter, it is conservatism. Bartering conflicts with our general nature, although some are better at it than others. And, I am sure, all are better at it than me. I do not like to barter, instead preferring to know the price as is. I do not want to be quoted a vastly inflated tourist tax used as an invitation to play the bartering game. Maybe it is about saving face. Perhaps it is the dislike of looking a fool in front of a complete stranger - one whom you are unlikely to ever see again, incidentally. Or maybe that because we, as westerners, live in a culture where we are used to seeing the price in black and white, it is just pure laziness. Others submit to the game and revel in trying to achieve the best price for something that only cost that in the first place. Once, in Saigon, I was quoted a high price for an item and was subsequently and immediately handed a calculator in order to counter offer my best price.

When I barter, I tend to get annoyed with the process and the simple fact that I am having my intelligence insulted by being vastly overcharged. In Ubud, Bali, I was offered a pair of ‘Ballibong’ flip flops for more than the price of a pair of similarly-named real ones. The problem is that once one elects a more aggressive method of bartering, it only serves in forcing the proprietor to firmly sustain his ground where previously there was movement.

I also hate the tedium of markets in Asia where the same tat is sold by the same hawkers singing the same tunes. However, while most of the time I don’t want to be there and don‘t like playing the game, I am a curious and willing spectator who is easily drawn in to a battle of territory when it is played by a pro (like flicking through channels late at night and pausing on darts or snooker for any longer than a few seconds, and staying for three hours). And if there is one talent of Helen’s to which I will acquiesce, it is the ability to barter. I am forever entertained by Helen’s bartering, during which she tactically uses an abundance of humour to win them over, from using their own catchphrases against them such as ‘good price for you, good price for me‘, to the resorting of rock, paper, scissors (which she won). It is funny and entertaining to watch and she never fails to form a relationship with them, which automatically makes it hard for them to say no. And inadvertently, since I don’t like doing it, we have together put the infamous ‘good cop, bad cop’ strategy to good effect. It suits both of us and very often achieves what we want.

We're Back!

Like any decent crime-fighting or music-making duo, we are back! We hope you haven't missed us too much. Our laptop is, surprisingly, fixed and there's no stopping us now. Keep up with things here, we've got lots to blog about... 

Sleeper Bus

Spanning 128,000 square miles, Vietnam is not dissimilar in shape, but slightly larger in size, to Italy. To travel down its length from Hanoi in the north to Saigon (officially Ho Chi Minh City but still known affectionately as Saigon) in the south, one can employ various modes of transport. Adventurous and free-spirited mavericks will do it on bikes, while the rest of us can choose planes, trains or automobiles - the automobile giving the significantly cheaper option. Although there is many on offer from a mind-boggling amount of travel agents, an open bus ticket generally has five stops or destinations, at which one can stopover and stay as long as one requires, and then hop back on to the next stop when one desires. Of these five stops, two are overnight and sufficiently long enough to require what is known here as a sleeper bus.

It was a surreal experience that took us from Ha-noi to Hue and then from Hoi-an to Nha Trang. Normally, a 14-hour bus journey would fill anybody with dread, as it did us. But the prospect became easier to swallow when we saw a double-decker-style bus consisting of approximately 32 bunk-beds laid out in three linear rows front to back. Each one no more than 1.5 feet in width and 5.5 feet in length, the beds reclined back to roughly 150 degrees. We construed that it did not look dissimilar to a military hospital. The bars down the sides of the beds substantiated this notion, while we surmised that the reason for the plastic box at the foot of the bed in which feet are placed, was perhaps to keep foot odour contained to a minimum. Great. Maybe this journey won’t be so bad after all.

While the idea of a sleeper bus comforted the instinctive dread we felt of such a long and arduous journey, the reason for the box and bars soon became clear; they existed to keep us from being thrown out of our bunks. Poorly constructed and maintained roads together with what, I assume, is considered normal driving in Asia by a professional driver persistent in swerving and breaking sharply all night conspired to collectively deprive passengers of sleep. Imagine witnessing, on countless occasions, thirty two people in rows sit bolt-upright at the same time in a half-asleep-daze triggered by the driver’s heavy foot. It is like a scene from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. Evidently the grand idea of a ‘sleeper’ bus was a fallacy.

I am sure we got some slithers of sleep at various points throughout the night. Nevertheless, it was an interesting and surreal journey that got us to our next destination and, as the cliché goes, it is apparently all part of the experience of travelling.

If only travel was that easy

Travel can be a pain in the arse at the best of times. After landing at Hanoi and while waiting for our Visas to be processed, we couldn't help but see the irony in this.

Travel? Simples.

Please don't abandon us!

We have suffered a huge setback as our laptop is broken and we are unable to blog regularly at the moment or put any pictures up on facebook. Public computers are shockingly poor. We hope to get it repaired in a few weeks when we get to Bangkok, so please keep following and don't abandon us, we will be up and running as soon as we can!

After spending a month in Vietnam, we have been in Cambodia for 3 days and will hit Thailand around mid-December.

Thanks everybody.

Mimosa Pudica

We were shown this plant by a guide when we visited Borobudur, a Buddhist monument in Indonesia. It shrinks when it is touched.

The Trials of Travelling

A joke: What does the slug say to the snail? Big Issue. Get it? Well, it’s just not funny when you have to explain it. The slug has no shell and is therefore homeless.

Perhaps more hobo-like, but far from being homeless, our existence consists of lugging a shell from place to place in the hope of finding a base from which we can explore the local landscape. It can sometimes be challenging and, believe it or not, stressful. And we can have good days and bad, just like at home. It is easy for us to think in relative terms and moan about endlessly sweating in the heat and humidity. Or what a nightmare it can be finding a place to sleep and trying to stave off the inevitable shoulder and backache whilst lugging around our oversize rucksacks. Or relentlessly having to consciously think about the security of our belongings. Nevertheless, because we are so far removed from home in terms of time and mileage, it can be easy to forget all of you at home putting up with the monotony of work. Getting up when it is dark, cold and damp and coming home in the same conditions is no fun. Or having to put up with the changes in weather as the winter rolls in. These things are always relative to the situation in which one finds themselves, which is why it sometimes makes it harder for us to take into account what life is like at home. The choice of what we would rather be doing or where we would rather be is, of course, a no-brainer. We are doing something that will undoubtedly enrich our lives and, who knows, send us down a different path. Nonetheless, the numerous positive comments we receive about the photos we have taken reiterate this fact to us when they can momentarily become blurred. We appreciate this no end. But there are other things that randomly happen to aid us in realising how fortunate we are to be doing this.

Like I said, sometimes we can have bad days. Often these days can involve much travelling, and therefore time-wasting, and can often test our resolve. On one particular day in Indonesia we had travelled from Padangbai to Lembar by boat and was then immediately picked up by bus from Lembar to Sengiggi. This part was fairly straightforward, although the process takes longer than you can ever imagine. Once in Sengiggi it took the best part of two hours to find accommodation, during which time we hauled two bags each up and down the main strip trying to get the best price. Nobody wanted to budge on price for a room that just did not seem worth it. It was getting late and we were hungry and tired and it was the kind of day that just makes you say, screw the price, I’ll take the room! Consequently we ended up with a mediocre room at more than we should have paid (although in reality it still wasn’t that expensive). Next task was to find somewhere to eat. The main strip was obviously laid out for tourists and, hence, so were the prices. We were struggling to find something within the budget when we happened upon the beach, with which we were not that impressed. At one end of the beach a woman was selling noodles from a portable cart, which amounted to nothing more than super-noodles topped with a fried egg and tossed with soy sauce and pak choy for good measure and a little iron. We promptly ordered the house special as our hunger overruled any indecision we had. The time was edging towards 6pm and dusk had settled in. As we waited for our noodles, various touts selling goods from jewellery to t-shirts followed the Western beacon flashing above our heads and came over to present their wares. Politely, we declined offers of a ‘cheap price’ and, despite their best efforts in continuing the sales pitch, we indulged them in conversation and banter. Our noodles arrived just as the sun was setting. We sat eating them on the beach whilst sitting with the locals and enjoying the sunset. It was a golden moment that could not have been better planned, and one that surely seldom happens. It was almost as if fate had intervened to ensure that we did not leave with a negative impression of a place that did not deserve it.

We have had so many experiences already, all of them unique, that it is impossible to document them all. But as much as we can we will try to share them with you. Despite how many times we have heard how lucky we are to be travelling like this, we do not see it that way. We are the ones who created this opportunity, planned and saved for two years and sacrificed many things to be make it possible. It is the many experiences and moments that occur along the way that make us lucky.

Indonesian Time

When in Asia it is vital to ask the right questions. The problem is that every question pertaining to a time of arrival always yields the same answer. Someday. Here is proof. In black and white (or black and blue as it's all about being precise).

Who Needs Friends?

As much as we love our friends, they can sometimes get on our nerves. The solution? Have them deep fried.

Who's Desperate?

 We weren't that desperate. Just so you know.

Restoring the Faith

To the locals, the scattering of crazy white people they see on a daily basis must live on another planet when not in their locality. They carry around a huge bag on their backs for months on end with no home to go to just so they can see something that has become a ‘must-see‘ on the tourist trail.

Geographically speaking all places on the tourist map, together with the local people within them, will benefit in some way economically from the trade. ‘Local people‘, however, is a loose term used to describe natives who can often be placed in to two categories: those who will go about their daily business oblivious to your presence, and those seeking commercial gain by your presence. The former have probably lived in that place for their whole lives with the same daily routine and could care less whether you were there or not. The latter move with the tourist trade, wherever that may be, pester you incessantly, treat you like a walking cash machine and try to extract as much money from you as possible for various services and/or products. The challenge lay in knowing the difference between the two.  In a place where everyone wants to talk to you, the unwritten rules of British conservatism, with which we have all grown up, do not apply. At home, strangers generally do not try to talk to you unless they have something to gain and it is, therefore, very black and white and easy to distinguish between the two types. Here, since our very appearance means that everybody wants to talk to us, it is hard to know who wants to sell us something and who wants to genuinely practice their English. A blunt no thanks to every person who probably would have been genuinely and honestly intrigued and curious about us and where we come from, can leave us feeling uncomfortable. It is hard to not get into the mindset that everybody is out to scam us. Nevertheless, it is important that the thick skin one has developed after being in Asia for a while remains just a little porous.

Take, for instance, whilst walking the streets. Now, as much as we say, ‘lets put the guidebook away so we don’t look like tourists’, the very fact that we could not stand out more in an African tribal gathering negates this very idea. Being strangers and seemingly possessing no names, introductions aimed in our direction range from ‘England?’ or ‘Where you from?, London?, Manchester?, Liverpool?’, in that order.  We have a range of other countries shouted in our direction of course, but it did not take long to realise that once we had answered England, the places they know, or at least by proxy, are where all of the top 5 Premiership football teams are based.  Hard to believe they had not heard of Exeter City or Northampton Town. We have given up trying to explain where Devon or Northampton is and on any given day we now come from either London, Manchester or Liverpool and support any one of that city‘s teams. One thing is certain, they adore football here in SE Asia, especially the English Premiership, and they will enthusiastically sell their soul to talk about it with us. It is sometimes hard not to get tired of this same conversation though, especially when we realise they just wanted to sell us something. But, ever the polite Brits, we indulge them.

Other introductions range from the amusing to the downright irritating, depending on how many times we have heard them. After the usual, ‘where you from, England?’, to which we have replied yes, we have lost count of the amount of times we have heard ‘luvvly jubbly’. It is one of those annoying and stereotypical sayings that are said more times by others who know about them than from where they originated. Just yesterday though, for the first time, we heard something that made us chuckle. As random as it was, we heard an ‘izzy wizzy, lets get busy!‘ I was more offended that perhaps we didn’t look busy enough or that she thought our names might have been Izzy and Wizzy.

Learning the difference between those out to scam  us and those genuinely wanting to talk is a challenge, but every so often somebody restores a bit of faith.  The genuine ones don’t hustle for our attention, but instead beam in our direction the brightest and most sincere smile.  What emerges, due to the lack of language communication, is a series of head nodding and eye contact. It is a universal and subliminal conversation needing no translation, telepathically trading all the information one needs to know about each other.  It is also a heart warming exchange of two people, whose lives and lifestyles could not be further apart, and equalises all the terse rejections we usually and automatically give out.

Hi, have you met...Louie?

Louie on his first trip to the beach in Halong Bay

Apparently there is a well-known American seafood dish called Shrimp Louie. As far as we can tell, it is the fancypants cousin of the poorer and more common Prawn Cocktail.

Neither of us had heard of it until we saved a shrimp from the Shrimp Rescue & Rehoming Centre in Bali. According to his testimony, he was destined for a Shrimp Louie salad in a Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. restaurant. He and several others succeeded in a planned Alcatraz-style escape, a split-second from the razor-sharp edge of a crazed seafood chef’s knife. It was weeks later when Louie was rescued while roaming the mean streets of Bali. He was dehydrated, cold, homeless and kicking an old and rusting coke can down the street. With his few belongings slung over his shoulder in a handkerchief on the end of a stick like Huckleberry Finn, he was given a second chance.

So, for the past two weeks, Louie has been travelling with us and has proved himself a very worthy travel companion. As you can imagine he couldn’t wait to get out of Bali and has loved Vietnam as much as we have (although he still has some trust issues and fears we will sell him for the sake of a spring roll). He has been to Hanoi, Halong Bay, Hue and Hoian so far with us and we even bought him a conical hat to keep his skin from burning, the rain off his face and to help him embrace Vietnamese life and culture.

Keep up with Louie and his journey on here and we will try to get him to write something of his own. It will be hard though as his experiences make it hard for him to open up. And he doesn’t always like to share as he is a little Shellfish.

In Hanoi with his new conical hat

Slowly learning how to kick back

Louie admiring the view

Pedestal

This may be a somewhat obvious statement to make but there are an innumerable amount of Buddhist Monks in Asia. As one might expect they are always dressed in robes, sport shaved heads, leather thongs on their feet and wear an aura of peacefulness and tranquillity. Some can be seen wandering down the same street you are, shopping in the same shops and eating the same food. Most, though, are to be found in their rightful and peaceful place in temples and monasteries, which is where one’s stereotypical ideals of Monks can be fulfilled. I have come to realise that I dislike seeing them in any other place other than where I feel they belong and, if they are not in this place, it does not seem right. The tiny amount of Chi that I imagine I possess is immediately affected; something is out of place and my illusion of them is ruined. Perhaps my use of the word illusion suggests that the image of the Monk itself does not actually exist. But it does exist. More accurate, though, the image has been idealistically embellished through photography for the rest of the world - the tourist world. The problem, though, is that I want to hold them in such high regard as purveyors of harmony and serenity so as to fit the whole concept into a neat little box. I do not want to see them in any other place than a temple or monastery so as not to ruin the illusion or mystique carried by them. In much the same way, when I was in Lower School, I remember being devastated when I saw my teacher in the Coop doing her food shop. She was carrying out a normal everyday chore and seeing this ruined my perception - a perception that I, myself, had unfairly created of her. It is easy to put people on such a pedestal and when we do this we are immediately setting them up for a fall. But this is human nature and perhaps to create these perceptions about others is to make us feel secure and better about ourselves. Or conceivably it just serves to give us something to which we can aspire. Either way, I will try to remember that they are all human after all, just like you and I.