Monday morning blues.
Inevitably, with the travelling ‘highs’ come the ‘lows’.
The more solo travels I ‘ve done, the more I’ve learnt to accept that the excitement and exhilaration are matched with dark days, where I awake lonely, missing my family and home comforts.
The physical and emotional toll of never having ‘down’ time, never fully being able to relax, are especially wearing given my age, the body aches and the mind sighs.
But the best words of advice anyone ever gave me (thanks Andrew) was that experiences are just that, whether good or bad, and this trip is an experience, whatever the individual days turn out.
So, exercise being the best solution to black moods, I abandoned all plans to trawl the cultural highlights of historic Hoi An and once again jumped on the bike.
The hours past in a blur of jumbled sights and sounds and I settled into a rhythm of pedalling along the rice paddies, the rivers and the fishing lakes carved into its bends, the mangrove swamps, coconut groves, towns and villages.
The main town here is a haven for tourists, but as I leave it behind the landscape becomes poorer, the concrete buildings give way to bamboo roofs, held down by sand sacks, the rutted paths become impassable by car and canoes swoop between banks with villagers laden with goods.
And then as if to counter the melancholy morning mood, a magical moment happened. For the first time, as I waved to families spring cleaning their houses for Tet, draping colourful rugs and curtains everywhere, adults and children alike sweeping, dusting, in the river washing pots and pans, I suddenly began to understand, in a very small way, the culture of Vietnam, to feel an empathy, a belonging, rather than a voyeur.
There is anticipation in the air as Tet nears, every house has an orange tree in the entrance, golden flowers lining the doorway, every road and alley is decorated with red flags, the symbol of the horse, for 2014, can be seen at every turn, from the individual home shrines to looming paper mache statues lining the Old Quarter river bank.
This evening the town is buzzing, flower vendors have now taken over the roads as well as the pavement, families pile onto scooters to idle from stall to stall, hawkers with colourful balloons and toys join the throng. Making my way back to the hotel down the main street took ages, literally inching by inch.
As I was stationary anyway, I sat down with the locals for Kem-ice cream, three scoops, durian, coconut and chocolate, liberally sprinkled with peanuts, plus the obligatory free tea in tiny earthenware pots-their generosity and kindness was as much a treat as the gorgeous sweet desert.
Inevitably, with the travelling ‘highs’ come the ‘lows’.
The more solo travels I ‘ve done, the more I’ve learnt to accept that the excitement and exhilaration are matched with dark days, where I awake lonely, missing my family and home comforts.
The physical and emotional toll of never having ‘down’ time, never fully being able to relax, are especially wearing given my age, the body aches and the mind sighs.
But the best words of advice anyone ever gave me (thanks Andrew) was that experiences are just that, whether good or bad, and this trip is an experience, whatever the individual days turn out.
So, exercise being the best solution to black moods, I abandoned all plans to trawl the cultural highlights of historic Hoi An and once again jumped on the bike.
The hours past in a blur of jumbled sights and sounds and I settled into a rhythm of pedalling along the rice paddies, the rivers and the fishing lakes carved into its bends, the mangrove swamps, coconut groves, towns and villages.
The main town here is a haven for tourists, but as I leave it behind the landscape becomes poorer, the concrete buildings give way to bamboo roofs, held down by sand sacks, the rutted paths become impassable by car and canoes swoop between banks with villagers laden with goods.
And then as if to counter the melancholy morning mood, a magical moment happened. For the first time, as I waved to families spring cleaning their houses for Tet, draping colourful rugs and curtains everywhere, adults and children alike sweeping, dusting, in the river washing pots and pans, I suddenly began to understand, in a very small way, the culture of Vietnam, to feel an empathy, a belonging, rather than a voyeur.
There is anticipation in the air as Tet nears, every house has an orange tree in the entrance, golden flowers lining the doorway, every road and alley is decorated with red flags, the symbol of the horse, for 2014, can be seen at every turn, from the individual home shrines to looming paper mache statues lining the Old Quarter river bank.
This evening the town is buzzing, flower vendors have now taken over the roads as well as the pavement, families pile onto scooters to idle from stall to stall, hawkers with colourful balloons and toys join the throng. Making my way back to the hotel down the main street took ages, literally inching by inch.
As I was stationary anyway, I sat down with the locals for Kem-ice cream, three scoops, durian, coconut and chocolate, liberally sprinkled with peanuts, plus the obligatory free tea in tiny earthenware pots-their generosity and kindness was as much a treat as the gorgeous sweet desert.
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