Posts Tagged With: tunnel

On to Hoi An

If you are traveling in Asia for any period of time then there will come a point when a certain two words will strike fear in your heart: “Buddhist Temple”. There are a lot of them, and you may be sure that at some point you will feel that either you have visited every one or must feel vaguely guilty for not having done so. We hit that point yesterday morning on our way out of Hué when we stopped at a temple both whose name and history went in one ear and out another. I will grant that it was in a beautiful and serene setting, marked by a cool pagoda over looking the Perfume River. That’s about all I can tell you about it, so here are shots of the pagoda and the river scene that it overlooks.

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The colorful boat at the bottom is a dragon boat, the same one we were aboard the previous night for our folk music concert. The river is full of them; they are popular tourist attractions and also serve as houseboats for the owners.

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We walked down to the river bank from the pagoda and boarded “our” now familiar dragon boat, then set off down the river. No concert this time, just a few minutes of Zen as we motored peacefully down the Perfume River. Phil took the wheel for a few minutes, then asked if anyone wanted to try. You never want to pass up an opportunity like that — I have driven an ox cart in Thailand, mind you — so I jumped up and sat myself down, successfully navigating us down the river for about ten minutes, including passing under a bridge without actually hitting anything.

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Back on the bus, we left town heading for Da Nang and then Hoi An, the latter a center for crafts and our destination for the next three nights. The city gave way to countryside surprisingly quickly, and we were underway for well less than an hour, paralleling the coast before we found ourselves in a very rural area indeed, with the Tam Giang-Cau Hai lagoon on our right as a foreground to the mountains of Bach Ma National Park. The lagoon hosts a large number of traditional oyster farms, and the nets and poles stick out of the shallow water along a few mile stretch. I desperately wanted to stop the bus and take some photos but we were en route to a lunch reservation at a seafood restaurant out over the water where I might have another chance.

The restaurant, as it turns out, had a view of its own, as you can see here, and served us yet another spectacular eight course lunch.Hue IMG_7935-HDR-Pano

But I really wanted those oyster beds, and Phil — in typical OAT Tour Lead style — delivered. As we were finishing lunch, he whispered to me to follow him outside and, admonishing me not to tell anyone we were doing this, handed me a motorcycle helmet and led me to a motorbike. He got on, I got on behind him, and off we went, a mile or so down the road to a spot that afforded me these views.

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This sort of thing is one of the reasons we travel with OAT.

Lunch consumed, we continued Hoi An-ward. But along the way, we passed through a 4-mile long tunnel that brought us to the city of Da Nang, the largest city in central Vietnam. That’s a pretty well known name to my generation: Da Nang airport was one of the hubs of US military operations during the war, and at the war’s peak was the busiest airport in the world.  It’s still a major port and fishing center, and as you exit the long tunnel into the city you first cross, and then drive along, a river dotted with blue fishing boats. In Vietnamese tradition, many are decorated with stylized eyes at the front.

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We walked along the river bank and encountered two unusual (for us) sights: first, a man fishing in a coracle, which is basically a bowl that serves as a boat, i.e.:

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Phil informs us that the popularity of these devices — I keep thinking there should be a butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker in there — stems from the fact that boats are taxed and these are not. So if you’ve got good balance and minimal space requirements, it makes financial sense. According to Wikipedia, the craft is actually of Welsh origin, where its name is — you might want to sit down for this —  cwrwgl. (That’s not actually as unpronounceable as it looks: the Welsh w is a vowel that is pronounced like oo.) Anyway, how they got to Vietnam is not clear to me; apparently they are used in Iraq and India too.

The other new sight to us was a method of fishing that I had never heard of: flour in a jar of water.  You take a jar (about the size of a peanut butter jar), fill it 3/4 with water and stir in a tablespoon or two of flour. Attach to a fishing line, twirl around and cast, then wait a moment and drag it back in. A fish (a small one, obviously) swims in to eat the flour and if you drag it back at the right speed it is stuck in the jar. This guy on the riverbank successfully demonstrated this technique to us, and of course a couple of us tried and failed. I had never heard of this technique… any fishermen reading this, have you?

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Rather more conventionally, a little further up the road we stopped at China Beach, one of Vietnam’s major resort areas. It’s a 20 mile stretch of sandy beach, a popular R&R venue for American soldiers during the war. Today it sports resort hotels along part of its length, but the stretch where we stopped was pretty deserted, save for a few coracles scattered along the beach and some fisherman pulling nets in the surf. You can see all the fishing boats anchored just offshore.

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We arrived in Hoi An in the late afternoon, but deferred going into town until this morning; I’ll write about that in a day or so. We are staying at the Hoi An Silk Village resort hotel, which is quite the most luxurious place we have ever stayed on an OAT trip. It’s spread out over about 10 “villas” of several very large rooms each, in a complex that includes two large infinity swimming pools plus a tastefully upscale shopping complex featuring local crafts — Hoi An’s claim to fame — at about twice the price that you’d pay in the town itself, barely a mile down the road.

What we did do, a couple of hours after arriving, was get a Vietnamese cooking lesson/demo from the hotel chef, who was a major league wise guy and quite funny to watch. Here are a couple of travel mates, Kim and Linda, getting a lesson in spring rolls..

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…and here we are, going full Iron Chef to end the day.

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Categories: Vietnam | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

A Lake, Lots of Tunnels, and the Italian Suburbs of Austria

The weather was much improved today — though unfortunately it is not expected to last — so we pulled up stakes from Gardone Riviera, en route to Merano in a more optimistic state of mind than when we arrived. Lake Garda was bathed in a watery sunlight as the sun struggled with occasional success to break through the low clouds. Our very temporary landlord, the warm and genial Fabrizio, had suggested that driving up the west side of the lake was the more scenic route, and the choice proved to be a wise one: the road hugged the narrow strip between the lake and the granite cliffs above it, beneath, above, and occasionally through one seaside village after another.  Each offered its shares of bell towers, churches, and homes nestled on to the steep hillsides, enjoying watch over the clear lake. This is a typical view from the road, looking up the hillside:

Garda & Merano-2Where there was a safe pullout off the road  and there were more than a few — we took it, soaking up the view and snapping away like lunatics. Following our instincts, we would occasionally pull off the highway (and I use the term loosely) altogether, finding a parking space and walking around the town at water’s edge.

Garda & Merano-4During one such stroll we encountered this 94 year old lady taking a walk with her grown grandson, or so we assume. She was quite emphatic about her age, repeating it a few times in Italian as she spoke no English, and we were able to puzzle out that she had lived there for a very long time.

One of these random stops found us in the town of Limone, about three-quarters up the west side of the lake, where as it happened it was open-air market day down by the waterside. It was lively with visitors and seemed like a good place to walk around and break for lunch, so we parked in a garage and waded into the market place. Leather goods seemed to be a particular specialty, and the prices were good: Alice bought a bright blue purse and wallet, and I a new and much-needed wallet.

It seemed that aside from ourselves, every tourist in Limone — and there were a lot of them — was German. We had been told about this by Fabrizio but were still taken aback by it; other than the vendors talking among themselves, we hard only German being spoken, and the restaurants by the water all offered their menus in German and Italian. (German would become even more prominent as we approached and entered Merano, but more on that shortly.)

Part of the reason for Limone’s popularity among German tourists is its proximity to the Austrian border and the fact that it offers these views at the northern end of the lake:

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Garda & Merano-5You can see that that the town, like its brethren along the coast, is essentially sandwiched between the sea and the cliffs, with the foothills of the Dolomites looming in the distance.

The other common view from the highway as we drove up the side of the lake was no view at all, by which I mean the inside of a tunnel. There are a lot of tunnels on the route, all impressive feats of engineering as they are up to nearly a mile in length and are bored through solid granite. There is really no choice in the matter, as the cliffs come nearly right up to the sea and there is no other place to put a road. Even so, it was surprising: we probably passed through 15 tunnels, dark and windy and narrow, with lots of trucks to keep things interesting.

As we approached Merano it became clear that, the political border notwithstanding, we were entering Austria. And indeed, had World War I gone the other way, that’s exactly where we would be. This region is the South Tyrol, 40 miles from the Austrian border; the architecture, the language, and the culture are essentially Bavarian. A-frame roofs with timbers on the outside, a distinct absence of baroque Italianate facades on the buildings, street signs in German and Italian, and wiener-schnitzel on the menus of the restaurants. It’s slightly more Italian than Salzburg, but not by much.

Oh, and the restaurants close up at about 8:30, about two hours earlier than the rest of Italy. We almost missed dinner because our stomach clock time settings were insufficiently Teutonic. We will not make this mistake again tomorrow; we have ways of making you eat.

Anyway, here is a view of the town. If you think it resembles an Alpine ski resort, you are not far off the mark.

Garda & Merano-6Our apartment here is a spacious two bedroom condo on the fifth floor of a building, only about a block from the center of town. The decor and architecture of the place could not differ more dramatically from the other places that we have stayed. Unadorned white walls, right angles everywhere, and not a scowling 16th century portrait in sight. In fact, nothing in sight: there is not a single wall hanging or piece of decoration anywhere other than a couple of very spare-looking narrow Scandinavian-style bookcases in the living room. Gabriele D’Annunzio wouldn’t have lasted five seconds in this place.

There is a hillside promenade that overlooks the town, and, about ten miles from here, a tramway that goes to the nearest mountaintop. Both of those are on our agenda for tomorrow, so with luck I’ll have some pictures to show.

Categories: Italy | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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