Textick

Tuesday, December 20th, Camellia Hotel, Hanoi, 7:45pm

Halong Bay is heaven. There’s no better way to describe Halong Bay than marvellous, beautiful, stunning, unique. The way to see it is on a three day-two night cruise (some people do two days, one night, but you lose so much doing it that way). On the first night, you stay on the boat and sleep on Halong Bay, on the second night you sleep on Cat Ba Island, the only inhabited island in Halong.
After persistent badgering by the irritating amateurs that were running our hotel, we booked our tour through them. Thankfully, it turned out to be an excellent tour. They outsourced us to Vietnam Open Tours, complete with a tour guide called Huong. He told us Huong meant King in English, and told us we were welcome to call him Mr. King for the trip. This quickly got shortened to King. The first amusing pick-up was two English boys, Rob and Phil, who staggered on still drunk from the night before and proceeded to fall straight asleep. When King asked us how we were, Rob slurred “fucked!” and then fell back asleep. He slept with his mouth wide open, and James and I fought the temptation to throw something in.
We drove over the Red River (which wasn’t particularly red), and dozed off and on through the three hour drive to Halong. About halfway, King’s mobile rang, and it turned out to be for Phil, who was sleeping with his head dangling forward, lolling with the bumps and jerks of the bus. The mobile was passed along, and a man tapped Phil repeatedly on the shoulder. He didn’t stir. I yelled, “Oy!” and he started, looked around with blurred, dazed eyes. The man thrust the phone towards him. Phil’s brow creased. He looked puzzled.
“It’s a phone,” I said. “Start speaking.”
He took the phone. He kept staring at it, blinking. Finally he slowly raised it to his ear and said hesitantly,
“…hello?”
There was a long silence, and I thought maybe he’d fallen asleep again. But then he said “bye” and handed the phone back along and fell asleep. We drove on. Later we found out that the call had been from Rob and Phil’s hotel, letting them know that their train had been changed from 7pm to 11pm. Suddenly James whispered to me,
“This guy behind me is such a fucking knob.”
I glanced quickly over his shoulder. I hadn’t been listening to the conversation, but I knew the woman was singing quietly to herself, and the man was talking loudly and matter-of-factly to a younger male. In my glance, I saw a grandfather, a grandson (about fifteen years old), but I couldn’t see the grandmother. The grandfather was bald, and had permanent frown lines everywhere on his face. His jaw stuck out in a petulant, stubborn way, his chin too pointed and his lips too thin. The boy had a mess of brown hair and a “Doors” shirt. The man was Australian. The boy sounded like a mongrel of Australian and American. The woman later turned out to be Canadian.
“These backpackers,” the man was saying, “these backpackers’ll do anything to save money. They don’t care if they sleep with rats if it’ll save them money.”
I looked at James and rolled my eyes. The man continued.
“Take these two,” he said, meaning us. “I’ll ask them how much they’re paying for accommodation.”
“Don’t. It’s rude,” the grandson said.
“No it’s not,” the old man argued. “They’re always proud of how much they save. They like bragging about it.”
James whispered,
“If he asks us, we’ll tell him we’re paying $2US a night, but we have to share with the cleaner and his cat.”
At our first stop (a “tourist trap” in the words of the old man), I pointed out the man to James. He laughed.
“I’m not surprised,” he said. Something about his voice had said knee-high socks, short shorts and a tucked-in polo shirt. Oh, and I mustn’t forget the akubra. Always an akubra.
The “tourist trap” was a workshop for handicapped children, although all the girls working on the tapestries seemed fairly “capped.” We saw a couple missing legs, but mostly they looked quite able-bodied. Their needles whipped around the tapestries phenomenally fast, and they never looked up from their work as we milled amongst them.
We found our bus again by looking for the two English boys, still passed out against their windows.
We arrived at the dock for the boat-ride around 11:30am. The port was crammed with wooden boats, all with dragons or fish for figureheads. There were so many, that quite a few couldn’t even reach the jetty. People were climbing across boats to reach the ones at the back. We had to do similarly. We balanced across a plank of wood that bent dangerously in the middle, then we stepped from one boat to another. I couldn’t stop saying, “I feel like a pirate!” All the boats looked old and traditional, but they were probably almost new.
We ate lunch on the boat, but didn’t set sail for another hour or so, when we were the only boat left. We sat with Rob and Phil, who pulled out beers and a bottle of tequila. They were nice guys, travelling through Vietnam from China. Rob had only just turned 30, while Phil was gleefully clinging to his final year in his 20s. The other main people on the cruise (and by that I mean the other people who were staying on the boat that night, thus becoming the people James and I got to know) were a French nanny named Edith (who spoke brilliant English and was currently nannying in Hong Kong), French brothers named Yves and Louis (Yves worked in Paris, but Louis worked in Hong Kong), and a Mexican couple named Riccardo and Emma (who owned a bookshop in Juarez [sp?]).
It didn’t take long to hit the islands. We all sat on the deck (we were lucky to have two whole days of piercingly blue skies, no clouds and a relatively warm sun), and gaped as we sailed between sheer limestone islands, rising from the ocean like mountains. Barely any islands had beaches, they were just cliffs culminating in a peak. They were uninhabitable, hence why they were so beautiful. Vegetation covered these lumps of land, and the bases were riddled with caves and attractive rock formations. In the whole of Halong, there are just under 2000 of these islands, and only one, Cat Ba, is inhabited. The islands are everywhere, and despite the number of boats we saw, we saw very few as we went. It was isolated, romantic, unique and peaceful.
We stopped early in the trip, to do some caving. The trek up to the cave mouth tested my knees, but I did it! It was enormous, and quite beautiful, but what we have down south of Perth is equally, if not more, beautiful. Plus, this cave was heavily touristified, and didn’t have that dripping, glistening wetness of our caves. The second cave was used as a hide-out for the Vietnamese from the Mongolians (I think), and this walk was a bit rougher and more interesting, but the cave itself was so-so.
After the cave, we stopped at a floating fishing village. King told us that the fishermen in these floating fishing villages lived here all year round, because they were too poor to buy land. One farm we viewed had small pens with crabs and fish. One had what looked like a small shark, but was apparently a catfish. I debated this point, saying that a catfish is meant to have whiskers, hence the name. People didn’t seem impressed by my denial of the Vietnamese peoples’ animal name choices.
The rest of the afternoon was just cruising toward Cat Ba island, to drop the one-nighters off. This left nine of us, ready to drink the night away. But, when we left the jetty on Cat Ba to cruise to the spot where we were to spend the night, we suddenly found ourselves not moving at all! We were stuck in the mud! The tide had gone out, and we were on some kind of sandbar. The captain kept trying to move, but he just stirred up the mud in pretty, swirling patterns. So it looked like we weren’t moving just yet! We stayed there for dinner, and ended up moving halfway through the night, toward the spot we were meant to have been at earlier. We all made comments that we hoped the captain had done this before, because they are a lot of islands around!!
After dinner, we got the cards out and played for a few hours. James went to bed around 8pm (he wasn’t feeling well), and I stayed up playing cards with Edith, Yves and Louis. Halfway through a game, Louis said,
“Oh! We have company!”
He spotted three rats scurrying past, but I couldn’t turn around quick enough to see them as well. Rob went to bed early as well, as did Emma, but Phil and Riccardo hopped into the tequila at an alarming speed. Actually, it was probably more Riccardo than anyone. He was drinking it by the glass. There weren’t any staff around, so we had to help ourselves to the bar, but we were honest and wrote down everything we drank.
Just before bed, I went up onto the deck by myself and lay in a lounge chair, just breathing everything about Halong Bay in. The air was so fresh and crisp, and there were so many stars, and a half-smile moon. Weathervanes clanked gently in the breeze, and the Vietnamese flag fluttered in front of a yellow light, glowing a soft orange. All around I could see the dark outlines of islands. I closed my eyes and just sighed in peaced-out bliss. Absolutely stunning.
Not long after I’d started to fall asleep, Riccardo started to speak louder and louder as he got drunker and drunker. Eventually he staggered to his room (next to ours, not that it mattered because everyone could hear everything in every room), spoke loudly to his wife (for long enough for me to yell out “guys! Be quiet!”), then he proceeded to vomit for an extended period of time. Finally, there was silence, and I slowly fell asleep. The boat was very cold, but James had been asleep so long that he had warmed the entire bed, so I had a personal hot-water bottle.

(continued Thursday, 22nd December, Mountain View Hotel, Sapa, 1:10pm)
The next morning we were awoken by Riccardo and Emma, but since breakfast was at 7:30 we weren’t too bothered. During the night we had indeed found our way to our destination. The first thing I saw when I opened my door was an island with a tiny temple on the top. The temple was old and decayed, and filled with mystery. How did it get there? The islands are so steep, and the shores non-existent, so how did people get building materials up to its peak? And what was the significance of this island? Unfortunately our guide had spent the night on Cat Ba, so I had no one to answer these questions. Our captain didn’t speak much English, and the only staff member who could was the barman, and even then I think it was limited to “drink?”.
We cruised back through the islands toward Cat Ba, where we were to spend our day. All of us sat on the deck and smiled as we sailed through. I think Rob and Phil had beers in their hand before 10am. Those crazy kids! The night before, King had said about fifteen times “Do not drink and then do swimming! Very cold!”. I don’t think he believed us when we’d said we wouldn’t, but that might have been because of Rob and Phil’s drunken slurring of “is all right, king, is all right!”. It was all right. We hadn’t “done swimming.”
King greeted us at the jetty, and we jumped onto a bus to head towards Cat Ba. By this time, as with all tours, we were becoming a group of friends. We’d spent a night together, albeit a rat-infested, drunken experience, but still there was that bond that somehow happens when you do a tour. We were all getting along really well (although for James and I the Mexicans took awhile to warm up to, but only because of our first impression of him as being a drunken loudy who had to film everything [and I mean EVERYTHING! Riccardo filmed nearly the whole cruise, plus the bus trip. I hate video cameras at the best of times, and everybody hates watching holiday videos, so I just feel so much for the people back in Juarez who would have to sit through not only a shaky cruise through islands, but a shaky bus trip to Cat Ba city. All handheld camera mastery. Poor buggers.]. But we ended up chatting to Riccardo when he was sober, and he was a really nice guy. Emma didn’t speak very good English, so most of what she wanted to say she told Riccardo, and then he translated, but she was really nice as well).
There were two options for our day (and we were welcome to do both). The first was a hike through the mountains, but the King made it sound really…unimpressive. He said that it was three hours, and was more about exercise than sights. He told us that people had been upset in the past, and so now he made a point to be brutally honest about the walk. He said it wasn’t particularly beautiful, and it was hard work, but it was exercise if that’s what we wanted.
“You’re not exactly selling this very well,” James said with a laugh. So most of us declined the walk. We were kayaking in the afternoon, and I was really looking forward to that, so I decided that (knowing how unfit I am) I would reserve my energy for that. If I tried to do the walk and kayaking, I knew I’d end up being too tired for the kayaking (or “kazaking” as James and I call it, due to the guy who we booked our tour through not knowing how to pronounce it. He said “you get to do kazaking” and we’d looked blankly at him. “Kazaking?”. “Yes, kazaking in a boat.” “Oh! Kayaking!” “Yes! Kazaking!”.). The only people who went on the hike were Louis and Yves (and later they kayaked longer than the rest of us as well!). The rest of us went back to the hotel in Cat Ba.
Cat Ba is roughly about two streets of karaoke and hotels (and later in the night we discovered that many cafes and karaoke bars turn into brothels). Our hotel was really nice, and quite self contained! There was a karaoke bar downstairs and a bar on the 7th floor, and a massage and hair salon on the mezzanine level. Plus Cartoon Network, which we watched for awhile before having a nap and then heading out to brave the wilds of Cat Ba.
We found Rob and Phil in about thirty seconds, drinking Beer Hoi at a dinky plastic table, playing cards with about six locals. Beer Hoi is super, super cheap beer straight from a keg (it usually costs around 1500 Dong, which is about 0.10 cents, and you get a substantial glass). It’s fairly weak, but you see many backpackers crouched on tiny stools drinking from plastic cups everywhere in Hanoi. Rob and Phil were drinking Beer Hoi that was being poured from a water bottle, and they were being overcharged, but they were having fun. The kids on Cat Ba speak brilliant English, which means that Cat Ba is well and truly mainly there because of tourists. We’re in Sapa now, and the high quality of the kids English is also remarkable. But in Cat Ba these kids swamped us. When we said no to postcards, the girl called us “cheapskates” (but in a cheeky, mucking around way which made us laugh). She also said, “All right, fine you Cheap Charlies.” I did want postcards though, so after we’d done a lap of the town (there wasn’t much to see aside from dogs and a couple of kids who giggled at us and said “hello!”. Oh, and James made me cross the street to avoid walking through a posse of chickens because they might have gotten aggressive or given us bird flu. Wimp! Live life to the hilt, I say! Take those chickens on!! He’s defending himself now by saying the rooster was very big) we headed back to where Rob and Phil were still drinking and playing cards, and the girls were still desperate to buy postcards. When I told them “Okay! I want postcards!” they rushed me to a seat and started shoving postcards in my face. But one girl, I think she was the one who called us “Cheap Charlies” was the one I wanted to buy from, so I told her that if she could find postcards like the ones another girl was showing me, I’d buy them. The girl jumped on her bicycle and said “Five minutes! Wait here five minutes!”. It was close to lunch, and it took her about fifteen minutes, but she got back just in time and I got a pack of Halong Bay postcards for $1US. James had fobbed off all postcard purchasing responsibility on me, hiding near the card game and claiming to want nothing to do with the postcard war that was on.
On this strip, they also had some really nice pearl jewellery, and I was secretly admiring it all as I walked past. One girl kept saying “after postcards, you look at my pearls?”. I really, really wanted to, but I told her I might later. Later happened when I was a bit drunk at about 9pm, and we were all wandering the streets to find a new pub (the hotel one being too expensive). The girl recognised me and said, “Now? Now you look at my pearls?”. I relented, and pointed at one I’d been admiring all afternoon, a single, not quite perfectly round, pearl on a silver chain. She got them out, James again declined any opinion and quickly backed away. I ended up choosing one on a snakeskin chain (which was silly because I forgot snakeskin always traps my hair in it, so I’ll have to find a new chain for the pearl), and she gave it to me for 45,000 (15,000 less than her asking price). That’s about $4AUD, and it was a real pearl (the good ol’ flame test proved that). She said it was a pearl from Cat Ba Island, and even if that wasn’t true I’m happy to believe that it is.
But before drunken pearl purchasing, we had lunch (the food on the tour was great, with a large buffet of food being served for lunch and dinner [although breakfast was trusty old bread and jam]), and then bummed around until 2pm, which was kayaking (kazaking) time. We took a bus to a different dock, then a slow-boat to get to the floating platform that we kayaked from (it took about thirty minutes to get there). We had to climb from the boat straight into the kayak which was a bit of an adrenaline rush as the kayak rocked unsteadily beneath my toes.
The area we were in was stunning (are you getting sick of me saying how beautiful Halong Bay is yet??). The water was bizarrely warm and clear (you could see your hand perfectly beneath the surface). James rocked the boat too much when he rowed (he kept using his hips or something, but it kept freaking me out that we were going to capsize), so I ended up doing a lot of the rowing and “gently suggesting” when he should be helping, or changing our direction. First we went into a small cove where a decayed, shipwrecked boat had been cast upon the rocks. We joked that it was as if suddenly a man with one teeth and a long beard would burst from the bushes yelling “I’m saved! At last I have been found!!”. At this stage we also met up with Edith, who was in a lone, inflatable pink kayak (very stylish!), and the three of us stuck together for the rest of the journey. We did a lap around some islands, then rested in the middle for awhile, just floating and chatting. It was so peaceful. Occasionally you’d hear dogs barking (a lot of the floating houses have pet dogs. In fact, the fish farm where we set off kayaking from had two sets of parent dogs, but there were no puppies…there was no mystery as to where the puppies had gone). After about 45 minutes of kayaking, we headed back to the boat, where Rob and Phil were already drinking.
Oh, and don’t think you’re safe from hawkers in Halong Bay. They’re there as well! They’re usually women who row up to the tour boats and sell drinks, biscuits and cigarettes. We all convinced Rob and Phil to buy cigarettes from one woman who was dressed in a lovely tie-dyed purple jumpsuit. She was very pretty, and they didn’t take much persuading (although they did beat her price down considerably [she was severely overcharging them]). An older woman with less in her boat came past (she was selling fruit), with two grotty looking kids eating her wares and giving us doleful looks. King gave the kids some Dong, saying that they were extremely poor. I don’t know if he was just doing that for our benefit or not, maybe to encourage us to do the same? None of us did, we all just looked surprised that he’d given them money.
That evening, we went up to the hotel bar and played pool and darts (Edith and the Mexicans did their own thing, so it was James, myself, Phil, Rob, Louis and Yves). The hotel bar was severely overpriced, so we set off to find somewhere else. This was when I bought the pearl necklace. We got suckered in by a girl hawking a bar called “the Koala Bar,” but inside there was little character. It was run by a man from Melbourne with a bottom that was completely disproportionate to his top. It was all too hoity-toity for us, so we left again. Strangely, the bar was on the third floor, the first floor was a restaurant, and the second floor had some children sleeping. We were shocked when we first saw them (one woke up and looked at us as we walked up the stairs), so when we exited we were as quiet as possible.
As we walked the streets, we passed many buildings with pink lights and skanky women. One ran out to us and cried,
“Karaoke? Massage?”
“Yeah,” someone said, “Karaoke where she sings into your dick.”
We left quickly. But then we saw that wonderful glowing sign of “Tiger Beer,” and we were hustled inside a bar that looked like a warehouse. The ceiling was high and the tables were many, but the customers were few. There was a birthday party happening at a centre table, with about twenty Vietnamese youths all drinking shots and cheering. Aside from that it was only us. So we got drinks (Rob and Phil drank flaming B-52s, which I’ve never seen done before) and then we all danced to MJ’s “Beat It.”
Rob recognised one of the guys at the party as being one of guys he’d played cards with, so suddenly we were all being pulled into chairs around the table and giving unnamed shots. We had (I think it was) Bacardi with Red Bull (which was nice), and vodka moonshine, which was awful, and lots of fruit that we didn’t know what was. The girl next to me’s name was pronounced “How,” and she giggled when one of the boys began rubbing my arm and telling me I was very beautiful. James was sitting at the opposite end of the table, and I struggled to communicate that my boyfriend was “over there.” Then suddenly Phil was standing, but only barely. He was swaying something cruel, and James was trying to keep him conscious by idle chatter. Phil was moving like a sloth, swaggering on the spot for about five minutes, then taking a step, then swaggering again, then moving.
And this is where the fun began. James was told “Your friend, hotel now,” and suddenly Louis, Yves, James and I were literally carrying Phil out. I have to give him credit though; the man had drunk a lot and was still kind of standing. Plus he’d taken two hits of unfiltered, stupidly strong tobacco on a pipe on the street (Rob had only taken one, so he wasn’t as fucked). So that, plus a whole day of drinking, plus random shots equalled very, very, very, very, very drunk. But the thing was that Rob refused to leave. He wanted to keep partying, and Phil was refusing to leave without him. He kept saying “we can’t leave a man behind! Medic! Medic!”. Louis and James had one of Phil’s arms each, but the pain simply wouldn’t leave. We got him halfway down the street, and he kept saying “Where’s Rob? Where’s Rob?”. Louis and I tried to trick him by telling him that Rob had gone ahead of us, but Phil didn’t believe us. Then I tried luring him on by singing “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” the anthem of his favourite football team (Liverpool! Yay!). He joined in, got distracted and took a few steps, but then he came back to worrying about Rob. So, frustrated, getting horribly sober and rather pissed off with Rob, I stormed back to the bar and told Rob he had to come. I wasn’t taking no for an answer. As I spoke to him, girls were vomiting onto the floor. Yay for moonshine vodka!
Rob looked at the door. Phil was swaggering right outside. He’d run back to the pub as soon as we’d said we were going to get Rob. He could walk fine then, it seemed! But only just. So I got Rob outside, he walked about ten metres with us, singing Liverpool again, and then suddenly he’d pissed off back to the pub! I’d yelled at him, but by then it didn’t matter, because Phil thought Rob was behind us and that’s all that mattered. We got him into the hotel, I asked the night staff for his key, only to be told that Rob had the key!
So James, Louis and Yves took Phil up to our room, and I stormed back up to the pub to get the key from Rob. I found Rob outside. Later I discovered they’d refused to let him back in, so I got him in to get someone to light his cigarette, then I’d grabbed his hand and marched him home like he was a naughty kid (I was mighty pissed off by this stage, so I couldn’t be bothered not being overly patronising). He swayed as we went up in the lift and said “I have never been this drunk in Asia.” When he said this, I had a bit of sympathy for him. Those boys can drink, and if this was the most drunk they’d both been…well…there was nothing I could say or do but help them get into their rooms to pass out.
Phil was sitting in an armchair in our room, drinking water from a tiny teacup (he’d been too drunk to drink from the water bottle), and Rob went outside to finish his cigarette (and I forced him to drink a teacup of water as well). Then James and I carried Phil to his room and “placed” him on the bed. We said goodnight, and retired to our room where it took us about half an hour to wind down (we watched cartoons to help us).
The next morning I woke up feeling so hung over, which is ridiculous because I’d been fairly sober. It was the white spirit that did it. The day was overcast, which was brilliant, because it gave us all a really good excuse to not look at the scenery and to just veg out and nurse our hangovers.
Oh, and to cap off our hatred of the stupid Sunny Hotel, when we got back the smarmy kid in the skivvy said their hotel was full, despite our reservation. We’d even bought the Mexicans with us, because they needed somewhere to stay and they’d heard the Sunny was an attractive hotel. I just glared at him. He said,
“We have a hotel just down road, we take you, not far.”
I said to James,
“Let’s find somewhere else.”
Skivvy-Kid walked with us, talking constantly, obviously panicking about the fact that he was clearly losing us. He kept talking about this other hotel, and James was listening but I was freaking furious! My theory is you lose our reservation, you lose us. Finally, I turned to Skivvy-Kid and said very firmly,
“I am not happy with you losing our reservation, understand? We are not staying at any of your hotels. We will find our own accommodation. Go away.”
Then I walked on. Skivvy-Kid left in defeat. Then suddenly some other amateur hotelier was running alongside James, and telling him about this great hotel he had. James was again listening. I snapped,
“And where do you reckon this guy come from, huh?”
I knew he had been sent by the Sunny, to recruit us to their second hotel. Sure enough, the boy says,
“This my hotel!”
And sure enough it was their second hotel. I just laughed bitterly, and walked up the steps of the hotel opposite his, one that we’d received a special deal for in Nha Trang. The boy had told us it was very expensive. He watched through the window as we chatted to the friendly, helpful staff, and when we came back from checking the rooms he waves for us to come look at his hotel. I had to restrain from giving him the finger. Instead, I smiled in cold politeness and shook my head. He looked exasperated. I thought I couldn’t have been more satisfied than seeing the faces of those Sunny Hotel idiots fall after realising they had lost our custom, but then the next night there was a blackout in that neck of the woods, and we walked past the Sunny to see if their power was out, and it was. Oh how we laughed.
The new hotel, the Camellia, was great. The rooms weren’t as nice, but the service was a thousand times better. So the major lesson we’ve learned is to stay with family hotels. If you walk in, and there are five people and a baby, you know that chances are high that you’ll be well looked after, because it’s more than a job for them.
On our last day in Hanoi, before heading to Sapa, we spoiled ourselves. Early in the morning we booked our train tickets to Sapa, and our plane tickets to Laos, and then we walked to some hotels that offered cheap massage. The massage was an interesting experience. I don’t think there’s any way for an Asian massage parlour to not seem seedy. The salon was in the underbelly of a fancy hotel, but the dim lights and the pink walls just contributed a brothel atmosphere. We got our massages in the same room, which was just as well, because halfway through, the young girl massaging James stroked his beard and whispered, “You very handsome,” in his ear. James gets that so much here. I have to keep my eye on him!! Anyway, next I heard her whisper, “Is that your wife?” and James said, his voice loud and strong, “My girlfriend.” The masseuse said to me, “your boyfriend very handsome!” and I laughed and said, “um…thanks. I found him all on my own.” James laughed. She giggled nervously. My masseuse popped a pimple on my back. But I kept one eye open for the rest of the hour! Made sure the girl’s hands didn’t slip too low on James body!!
My masseuse was an older woman, with pencil eyebrows and thick foundation. She was like a monkey, picking and scratching at everything on my back. Her hands were like iron, as well, but overall the massage was relaxing. I was hoping for something a little crazy, like the walking on the back. We’ll have to wait till Thailand. Now that James has experienced a massage, he’s keen on getting them more regularly. Yay! We’re going to try to get a massage in each country, and compare the different techniques and so forth. It’s an indulgence, but it’s just so cheap!!
After the massage, we bought winter clothes, and I bought earmuffs shaped like hamburgers. I love them. I’m wearing them now.

This entry was posted on Monday, December 26th, 2005 at 1:10 am and is filed under Travel, Vietnam. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.