Asia Travel - Part 27

A Traditional Indian Wedding Spectacular

by Marsha Rexford

“We are wrens among peacocks” I whispered to Jean. Colorful saris swirl around us: brocades, silks, embellishments galore. Miles of pink and orange fabric drape the perimeter, festooned with garlands of golden zinnias and bouquets of pink roses. Miniature lights twinkle; aromas of spicy curries waft from the adjacent tent to mix with the fruity tobacco from the hookah bar. A techno beat draws guests to the dance floor, and our feet are tapping as we accept flutes of champagne. It is the 3rd night of festivities and we are only halfway through the wedding week.

We had accepted the gracious invitation of our dear friend and former professor, Mohan, to attend his niece’s wedding in New Delhi. He assured us that a traditional Indian wedding was an experience not to be missed. Typically lasting the better portion of a week, it is a lavish celebration. Family and friends come from all parts of the globe to commemorate the nuptials, as well as catch up with those living in distant lands. Parents plan and save for weddings from the time of their child’s birth. Marriages are frequently arranged by parents; however the couple are allowed the final choice.

It began with the first of two pujas, a traditional Hindu prayer ceremony. We sat cross-legged on floor among the other women, men around the outside and family members toward the front. There was a small shrine, and gifts of fruits and sweets were placed among the candles. We were handed small prayer books (quite optimistically as they were printed in Hindi) and shown where to join in. The air was thick with incense as the chanting, clapping and singing continued. It was an easy atmosphere, with folks moving about the room, heads huddled in conversation, laughter rising to meet the music. The bride and other young girls twirl in joyous dance. We feel like voyeurs in this unfamiliar setting, although our presence was greeted with smiles and we were beckoned to join the dance. Into the tent draped with turquoise and white fabric, twinkling lights and flower garlands for the reception to follow: food stations all around with an astounding array of tasty treats. Tonight’s menu is vegetarian since it is part of the religious ceremony: spicy curries, grilled skewers of cheese, chick pea fritters, freshly made naan and chapati filled with an awesome mixture, tomato soup, cucumbers,carrots, mangoes…we cannot possibly sample everything but we save room for our favorite pistachio kulfi (ice cream).

The official engagement party was to begin at 8 pm; we arrived at 10pm, about the same as the hosting groom’s family. Again it is over-the-top decor, flowers and twinkle lights, food galore, and an open bar. The bride’s family present gifts of jewelry, cash and sweets; a Hindu pundit (priest) blesses gifts and the exchange of rings, which seemed a bit perfunctory given all the glitz. The band cranks up and dancing begins. Jean is a desired dance partner and the only female at the hookah station. We leave exhausted at 3 am, and there are small children still dancing.

Our hennaed hands are dark, dramatic souvenirs of the mehndi. Held in the front courtyard of the bride’s parents’ home, the henna application is an informal family event. People move in and out of the house, children play, delicious smells come from the kitchen–lamb kabobs and goat curry. We sip chilled mango juice as we wait our turn with the henna artists; one of the aunts plays a drum and soft singing follows. What a privilege it has been, being folded into the family. At last night’s party, we were asked if we were relatives from Kabul! Tonight is another twinkly function of food, drinks, flowers, hookah…is that Mohan in a conga line with a basket on his head? He deems it the “Punjab Soul Train”.

We are introduced to IST: Indian Standard Time. Nothing starts on time, everything takes longer than expected, punctuality is not a prized virtue. The official wedding day has arrived. Traffic is heinous, so we are over two hours late. However, we are among the first of the 800 or so guests to trickle in. The decor of flowers, fabric and lights is amplified for tonight; an army of waiters laden with trays of hot hors d’oeuvres and drinks resembling mojitos descend as we enter. A great ruckus draws us back outside; the groom and his family have arrived.

Heralded by drums, brass band, torches and banners hoisted,a clapping crowd usher in the horse drawn carriage bearing the groom. Father of the bride greets father of the groom; uncles-uncles; brothers-brothers. Eventually everyone is back inside, where the bride proceeds under a canopy held by her brother and cousins, with female relatives behind. She is stunning and her costume must weigh 25 pounds. The couple stand on an elevated dais, before a purple velvet settee. Photographers begin a lengthy session. I admired the couple’s stamina. It will be dawn before the ceremony concludes.

Visit Taj Mahal from Delhi by Car

If You Go:

♦ Best time is November-March to avoid oppressive heat and monsoons. January is a popular wedding month.
♦ Pack your patience–Delhi is chaotic!
♦ Side trips to Agra/Taj Mahal and Jaipur are easily made from Delhi.
By Train: indiarailinfo.com
By Plane: airindia.in

About the author:
Marsha Rexford is a veteran traveler with a special fondness for the road less traveled, whether on foot, bicycle or the occasional pack animal. She is transitioning from a career in healthcare to free lance writing. Currently living in North Carolina, she can be reached at mrexford1@carolina.rr.com

All photos are by Marsha Rexford except #4 by Jean Wiegand:
Entrance to puja reception
Entrance to wedding venue
Henna application at mehndi
Women of all ages participate in mehndi
Bride with her family

A Walk With The Kobo Daishi

Koyasan, Japan

by Anne Harrison

At the tail end of a Japanese summer, my daughter walked hand-in-hand with the Kobo Daishi, a monk who has spent the last thousand years waiting for the Buddha of the Future.

Dusk fell as we wound through a cypress grove filled with some half a million graves. The faithful have been buried here since the Kobo Daishi died in 835 AD. Famed as a poet, painter and calligrapher, and for bringing Shingon Buddhism to Japan, the Kobo Dashi is of the most revered figures in Japanese history. He sits in repose in his mausoleum, the Oko-in, where monks still bring him food twice a day.

A mist rolled down from the mountains, bringing with it a sea of mosquitoes; we beat a hasty retreat, postponing enlightenment until daylight.

Sacred even before the Daishi established his monastic retreat here in 816, Koyasan is only two hours by train from Osaka. Speeding through the city’s outskirts, the futuristic landscape morphed into a maze of alleyways and traditional wooden houses, with vegetable plots and tiny rice paddies filling every spare space. Then the land opened into farmland, with the occasional dots of a village or even a small town.

The train came to an unexpected stop, and as everyone else melted into the countryside we were left standing on a deserted station. We dripped with sweat. Farmers with conical straw hats worked fields cultivated for centuries. It was a scene lifted straight from the anime of Hayao Miyazaki (famous for classics such as Spirited Away and My Friend Totoro).

Fortunately, a train arrived before we had emptied the ubiquitous vending machine of offerings. As the land climbed, the summer heat faded. Fruit trees heavy with blossom became primeval forests of pine and cypress. At Gokuraku-bashi Station, (where the train-line ends), monks, pilgrims and tourists alike were ushered into a cable car; it leapt into a wall of green, carrying us to the top of the Holy Mountain.

Buses transport everyone to the centre of town – including the monks with their robes of black covered with saffron shawls, for walking from the station is forbidden. The road pottered through the trees, its edge marked by moss-covered rocks. Everything held the colour of dark moss or grey stone; the trees, the road, the view down the mountain, even the air. As a result everything looked a little hazy, as if we saw things from a distant, slower time.

Despite both its age and being listed as a World Heritage site, Koyasan remains a lively mix of Buddhist monasteries, sun-drenched cypress groves and school kids running past workshops on their way home. In the main street stand supermarkets, restaurants, ceramic shops, even a chemist to sell sunblock and mosquito repellent. (The lady in the tourist office kindly wrote the names in Japanese for us, as the pharmacist spoke no English. His shop was filled with all manner of bottles housing dried flora and fauna.)

The journey with the Kobo Dashi begins at a stone basin. Ubiquitous to Japanese temples, these basins overflow with running water, usually from a nearby stream. After ladling icy water over our hands, we bowed on crossing the graceful Ichinohashi Bridge; the Kobo Daishi then joined us. A lady in the shop opposite smiled and waved. The path then winds through the Okunoin, a grove of cypress and tombs. Tiny tracks stray from the main walkway, leading to even more tombs hidden in dells and forgotten grottos. The only sound was the chirping of crickets, or the ring of bells as white-robe pilgrims passed. Many of the tombs are simple stone plaques or wooden markers; others are the enormous mausoleums of shoguns. Animal shaped stones are popular, often with red cloths or little aprons tied around them.

Moss has eroded many of the markings. Shafts of sunlight tumbled through the ancient trees, and mites danced in the sunbeams. We walked through streams of light and shadow. The dead may have been waiting here for over a thousand years, but in one section workmen busily repainted markers while at another grave a monk chanted a service as pilgrims with their white robes and staves of bells walked by.

After a thirty-minute stroll, the track opens onto Oko-in, the Kobo Daishi’s temple. Suddenly the place bustles, for another path (almost a road) comes straight from the huge car park where the daily buses grind to a halt, delivering tourists intent on achieving enlightenment in a few hours. On this walkway can be found many gaudy (and theologically suspect) edifices, such as the White Ant Memorial, built as a guilt offering by a pesticide company.

All this chaos is forgotten in the temple area. A stone bridge arches over the Takugawa River, which is dotted with wooden memorials for those who have drowned. Pilgrims ladled water over huge Jizo statues in offering for the dead before dedicating the ashes of loved ones. Candles and incense saturate the air, and many waft the fumes over themselves for spiritual and bodily well-being.

The Oko-in is truly the heart of Koyasan. A huge wooden temple, it’s tranquillity defies the crowds. Alone with the Daishi, we sat on some reserved wooden benches to spend awhile contemplating the road to Nirvana. Nearby is the Hall of 3000 Lanterns (the Toro-do), where two lamps have burned for over a thousand years without the need for fresh oil. Another hall houses Buddhist writings brought to Koyasan by Tripitata, the prince of Monkey fame.

Despite hosting over a million pilgrims a year, Koyasan remains a spiritual place. Most leave by mid-afternoon, and by evening we walked deserted streets. Many of the temples lie hidden behind wooden gates and guarded by stone lions, with the occasional glimpse of a balcony.

Some fifty of the temples on the mountain offer shukubo, or temple lodging. A bamboo screen in our room opened onto a garden of contemplation; a sea of moss-covered rocks and sculptured azalea bushes, with white pebbles scattered around the larger stepping-stones. A stone lantern stood in one corner, as if it had rested there for centuries.

A deep bell summoned us from sleep, and the chanting of the monks flowed from the centuries-old temple into the mist of dawn. The flames of their offerings shot into the air, the light licking the wooden walls (perhaps the reason why only one hundred of the original thousand temples remain). Afterwards, an elderly monk explained the service in halting English. This was followed by a traditional Japanese breakfast.

A bus ride back to the station, then the cable-car back down the hill; it felt as if we were slowly returning from some distant land to the chaos of the present.

Mt Koya Day Trip from Osaka Including Okunoin and Danjo Garan Temples

If You Go:

Arriving: Koyasan can be reached by train on the Nankai line from Osaka. This takes around two hours. A cable car completes the journey. The Tourist Information Centre is in the centre of town, on the main street. They have numerous maps, including walking trails, information on the various temples and sights, and can help with accommodation. Public phones are outside.

Accommodation: Temple lodging can be organised at the Tourist Information Centre. The youth hostel (offering traditional style accommodation) is a ten-minute walk from the Tourist Information Centre, with a bus stop nearby.

Dining: There are numerous restaurants of all price ranges, with plastic models in the window displaying the food on offer. There is also a supermarket for self-catering.

Helpful websites:
♦ Japan National Tourism Organization
♦ Temple Lodging Japan: A guide to temple lodging across Japan

About the author:
Anne Harrison lives with her husband, two children and numerous pets on the Central Coast, NSW. Her jobs include wife, mother, doctor, farmer and local witch doctor – covering anything from delivering alpacas to treating kids who have fallen head first into the washing machine. Her fiction has been published in Australian literary magazines, and has been placed in regional literary competitions. Her non-fiction has been published in medical and travel journals. Her ambition is to be 80 and happy. Her writings are available at anneharrison.com.au and anneharrison.hubpages.com

All photos are by Anne Harrison:
An ancient temple in Koyasan
Graves hidden amongst the trees
A deserted train station
A temple path, Koyasan
The Okunoin, a grove of cypress and tombs

A Day Trip Through Paradise

Xuan Miao, China

by Troy Herrick

Few places on earth are as diverse and spectacular as historic Suzhou (pronounced “Sue Joe”). Suzhou is known as the Water City. Marco Polo himself named it “the Venice of the East” because of its canal system. Suzhou is also the Garden City and once had over 100 classical Chinese gardens of which only 69 now remain. Bind these two together with silk as Suzhou is also the City of Silk due of its 2500 year history of silk-making and you have what the Chinese refer to as “paradise on earth”.

You can visit this paradise as a day trip from nearby Shanghai by means of the bullet train or through an organized tour. Where do you begin? You go straight to the Master of Nets Garden.

The Master of Nets Garden (Wang Shi Yuan)

Originally laid out in 1140 CE during the Song Dynasty, this garden was abandoned for six centuries before being restored in 1770 by a retired official in the Emperor’s court. This frustrated official indicated that he would rather be a fisherman than a bureaucrat which is how this garden derives its name – Master of Nets Garden. This garden of earthly delights is hidden inside the owner’s yard and was intended for his own pleasure.

Located off of a blind alley to the south, you pass over a high threshold, designed to keep evil spirits out, at the front door. If you didn’t know you were entering the premises of an important person, the gateway, flanked by enormous carved stone blocks, should have tipped you off. Even if this was still too subtle, passing into the Sedan Chair Hall with its 500 kilogram mahogany seat is a little more obvious.

Grace, our tour guide, leads us into the family residence on the eastern side of the property. The Reception Hall is for more formal gatherings and where the family received people who were not close friends. Laid out according to Confucius’ teachings, men were situated on the left side of the room and women were on the right. The hosts were seated in chairs along the back wall. Grace pointed out that all of the buildings were situated so that you could easily access the garden from any room on the property. Furthermore, if you carefully studied the delicate lattice grating on the windows, you would find that no pattern is ever repeated on the property.

The next room, the Beauty Within Reach Tower, was for entertaining close friends and individuals of higher social status. If games and songs were not sufficient, guests could recline on a divan and smoke opium to while away the hours in a lotus dream.

Grace mentioned that neighboring families would compete for the best garden. If one family had a pavilion constructed for a particular purpose like music or art, the other families, not to be outdone, would do the same and then downplay its significance.

Exiting this room, you find a courtyard with inlaid rock designed like a bat, the symbol of happiness in China. A nearby magnolia tree was displayed in its full splendor, blooming with white flowers, at the time of our visit.

Passing into the next building on the north side of the garden, you find the Study of the Ethereal, a room reserved for schooling. Private teachers and tutors were invited here not only for the children’s education but that of the owner as well. Looking at the wall, you find shelves filled with various tomes up to 15 centimeters thick.

After viewing this room, you have the opportunity to wander around the garden. On the path just outside, you may wish to sit on one of the benches along the water and admire the intricately balanced design of your peaceful surroundings. Although the Master of Nets is the smallest of all Suzhou’s gardens, the subtle combination of buildings, rocks, water and plants create an illusion of spaciousness, tranquility and harmony that you instantly feel as you walk down its zig zag pathways. At the center of the garden you find a small pond about 440 square meters filled with lotus leaves and a school of large orange-colored carp who seem oblivious to the stresses of the outside world.

Rock sculptures abound at strategic locations around the pond. Nature creates the Swiss-cheese-like limestone boulders in the local rivers and man arranges them into artistic structures. Grace tells us that the most valuable boulders not only have unusual shapes but the most holes in them. The number of holes is determined by placing the large stones inside a fire and having the smoke pass through them.

On the east side of the pond, you find the hexagonal Pavilion for the Advent of the Moon and Wind whose image reflects off the calm water. Find your way there by crossing the narrow one-foot wide bridge but be careful or you will become one with the pond.

After you re-cross the bridge, double back toward the northwest corner of the garden and enter the Late Spring Study. Inside you find Ming Dynasty period mahogany furnishings, lanterns and scrolls. A replica of this room may be found in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. You will also find other art works – silk pictures – for sale in some of the pavilions on your way out as a reminder that you that you are in the City of Silk.

After you make your way to the exit at the front door of the garden, travel to your next destination which is gondola ride on the oldest and longest man-made water way in the world – the Grand Canal.

A Gondola Ride on the Grand Canal

The Grand Canal, flowing from Beijing to Hangzhou, is 1,795 kilometers long. Segments of the Grand Canal were started as early as 496 BCE but it was only joined into one long artery during the Sui Dynasty (581-618 CE). Over the subsequent centuries, parts of the canal fell into disuse and became blocked up so it is not longer possible to travel to Beijing by water. Fortunately for you the Suzhou segment remains intact and the historic section of the city is still accessible by water. This is your opportunity to enjoy a 40 minute boat ride through some of the most scenic sections of this ancient city.

An elderly river pilot helps us down into his weathered, light brown boat and directs us inside a glassed-in seating area. Remaining outside at the stern, he propels the boat manually with a single oar. I wondered how a man of his age could pilot a craft like this all day just to make a living but from where I sat, he seemed to direct the gondola effortlessly. All the same, he was quite happy to let some of the passengers pilot the boat at times.

Over the course of our gondola ride, the width of the canal varied from about 1.5 to 6 meters wide. Along the route, the height of the greyish side walls varied. In some locations, these consisted of the 5 meter high back walls of stone homes that were over 450 years old. Along the route I began to understand how a rat feels as it runs through a maze. This feeling quickly vanished as we passed under the first of several elegant stone pedestrian bridges spanning the canal.

An occasional pathway and set of stairs between the houses allowed the locals to fish down at the water’s edge. As we passed, two boys were casting their fishing lines into the murky greenish brown water. At other locations along the canal, vendors could be seen hawking their goods in small plazas at the top of the wall, strategically situated to take full advantage of the view and the customers who gathered to enjoy it.

As the end of our gondola tour approached, our river pilot suddenly broke out in song like his Venetian counter-part. He may have been singing Chinese opera or local folk songs, I’ll never know, but as he concluded, we arrived at the dock. We disembarked from the boat and began the short walk to our final destination – the Temple of Mystery.

The Temple of Mystery (Xuan Miao Temple)

[TOP PHOTO] No trip through an earthly paradise would be complete without visiting at least one temple. The Taoist Temple of Mystery, first established in 276 CE, is more appropriately named the “Mysterious Essence Temple” perhaps because of the smell of incense being burned. Arriving on site, your first destination is the Hall of Three Purities (San Qing Dian) with its yellow walls capped by a double roof each with upturned eaves, dating to 1181 CE.

Passing through the front entrance, you come across an altar filled with offerings of apples and oranges. Worshippers kneel on cushions and bow to various statues while at the same time being immersed in the smell of burning incense.

The three main gods for which the hall is named are those facing you in the center of the room as you enter; the solemn, imposing Yu Qing (Jade Pure), Shang Qing (Upper Pure) and Tai Qing (Great Pure). Your eyes are drawn to a large black tablet to the left and behind the trinity with the engraved with the figure of Lao Tzu, the founder of Taoism.

Walking around the hall, you might be overwhelmed by the number of Taoist gods sizing you up from their glassed-in places of honor. A number of these gods carry traditional Chinese weapons so you may wish to stay on their good side. All of the statues in the temple are made from clay and then covered in gold.

Exiting the Hall of Three Purities, you now have the opportunity to visit a number of lesser halls on site dedicated to individual Taoist gods such as the god of careers who determines your ideal career or the god of wealth whose own hall of worship seems to be set in the midst of prosperity. If you haven’t noticed it already, the Temple of Mystery is situated in the center of a great bazaar. This shopping area begins your transition from paradise back into the real world. At this point, you may wish to take some time to wander around and find that perfect souvenir.

Your day trip through paradise ends when you exit the temple grounds. However believing that paradise is merely a state of mind will serve you well when you are caught up in heavy traffic on your return to Shanghai.

Private Suzhou Day Tour: Culture and Taste of Suzhou

If You Go:

♦ Suzhou is approximately 81 km northwest of Shanghai.

♦ The Master of Nets Garden (Wang Shi Yuan) is in a narrow alley just off Shi Quan Jie. Take bus bus no. 55, 202, 529, 811 or 931 and get off at Wang Shi Yuan Station. Admission is 40 Yuan.

♦ Your boat ride starts from the canal south of the train station. Depart from the Foreign Travellers Transportation Company Pier on Chenzhan Lu. The cost was 130 Yuan per gondola at the time of my visit for a 45 minute ride but prices may vary.

♦ The Temple of Mystery is located at Tuan Qian Jie. Admission is 10 Yuan.

Private 2-Day Shanghai and Suzhou Trip by High Speed Train from Beijing

About the author:
Troy Herrick, a freelance travel writer, has traveled extensively in North America, the Caribbean, Europe and parts of South America. His articles have appeared in Live Life Travel, International Living, Offbeat Travel and Travel Thru History Magazines. Plan your vacation at his website www.plan-a-dream-trip.com

Photographs:
Top photo of Xuan Miao Temple by Gisling / CC BY-SA
All other photos are by Diane Gagnon, a freelance photographer who has has traveled extensively in North America, the Caribbean, Europe and parts of South America. Her photographs have accompanied Troy Herrick’s articles in Live Life Travel, Offbeat Travel and Travel Thru History Magazines.

Six Places to Find Graham Greene in Saigon

Vietnam

by Anne Harrison

Having spent a few years living in the city, Graham Greene’s The Quiet American is in many ways his homage to Saigon. Despite a somber tone colored by the knowledge of what is to come, Greene’s love of Saigon and her people shines throughout the novel.

The Majestic Hotel

The rooftop bar of the Majestic Hotel is a perfect place for sipping a cocktail as evening embraces Saigon. In The Quiet American the place overflowed at all hours of the day with American journalists. Close to the Saigon River, it proved a good spot to watch boat movements and garner knowledge from Vietnamese working in the area. Fowler met a fellow journalist here the night Pyle died.

With its colonial charm and retro style the hotel remains a city landmark, and the rooftop bar offers a quiet corner to overlook the Saigon River. The sounds of the traffic rushing along the streets are blown away by the evening breezes, which in turn bring some refreshing coolness after a day of the tropical heat.

Le Rue Catinat

After dinner I sat and waited for Pyle in my room over the Catinat.”

So opens The Quiet American. The Majestic Hotel stands on the corner of Duong Dong Khoi, formally the Rue Catinat brought so vividly brought to life by Greene. Especially down near the Saigon River, Duong Dong Khoi is a perfect place for an aimless stroll, whether browsing through local art works or loosing oneself in some of the best shopping in Saigon. French can still be heard in the occasional café or restaurant, and many women still wear traditional dress.

Up the street came the lovely fiat figures-the white silk trousers, the long tight jackets in pink and mauve patterns slit up the thigh: I watched them – with the nostalgia I knew I would feel when I had left these regions forever.”

The Rex Hotel

Further along Duong Dong Khoi stands the Rex Hotel. Here the rooftop bar (complete with elephants) overlooks the heart of Saigon; perhaps this is why a bottle of champagne here comes with six waiters. The heavens of the wet season opened just as we sat down, so for an hour or so we had the place – plus waiters – to ourselves. After beginning life as a French garage, during the Vietnam War the Rex Hotel became home to the Press Corps, and probably the CIA. Now it is owned by the Communist Party.

Hotel Continental

I had seen him last September coming across the square towards the bar of the Continental.”

Fowler first spies Pyle at the Hotel Continental, and again this is where Pyle first meets Phuong. Greene lived here for two years (in room 210, a corner suite). The Hotel Continental is just up from the Rex Hotel on Le Loi St. Many journalists stayed here during the Vietnam War; wandering past the designer stores and into the chandeliered reception, I could understand why. The infamous bombing, where so many civilians died but Pyle took great care to ensure no Americans were injured, was close to the hotel, in the Place Gamier, just off the Rue Catinat.

Cholon

In Cholon you were in a different city where work seemed to be just beginning rather than petering out with the daylight.”

Cholon is the world’s largest Chinatown. By the time of The War Against The French (the period in which The Quiet American is set), the place had become a maze of opium dens and brothels. During the Vietnam War an uncountable number of US and foreign troops went AWOL here (many never seen again), and somewhere in the unnamed back streets Fowler met with Mr. Chou.

A Wooden Balcony

A few tree-lined blocks to the north of the Rex Hotel, the Cathedral Notre Dame and the Central Post Office face one another across a small square. Although Fowler was dismissive of the style, the cathedral is quite delightful, with each stone shipped from Marseilles, and the stained glass from Chartres.

I crossed to a café on the far side of the square, and was ushered up some rickety back stairs to a spacious wooden balcony overlooking the chaos of the cathedral square. Ceiling fans from the time of Indochine turned lazily above me. The Vietnamese rolls and papaya salad proved perfect in the heat.

Saigon is full of balconies such as this; Ho Chi Minh beckons be explored, but there is always a quiet place to sit, and ponder the past while time barely moves, drinking strong coffee from tiny cups while dreaming of writing a novel.

If You Go:

The Quiet American by Graeme Greene – essential reading

For dining, try:
♦ Temple Club (29-31 Ton That Thiep St) Once a pilgrim house, it now serves specialties from all over Vietnam
♦ Xu (75 Hai Ba Trung S)t An elegant restaurant near the river
♦ Ciao Bella (11 Dong Khoi St)
♦ Ngon Restaurant, (138 Nam Ky Khoi Nghia, opp Reunification Palace). Sit upstairs on the balcony and sample the local dishes

Don’t miss:
♦ Hoa Binh Noodle Shop or Peace Noodles (7 Lo Chinh Thang St) US troops ate pho downstairs, while upstairs the Viet Cong planned the Tet Offensive
♦ War Remnants Museum (28 Vo Van Tan St) Not for the faint-hearted. Upstairs is a spectacular, although graphic, photography exhibition.
♦ Reunification Palace (106 Nguyen Du St) The Fall of Saigon was cemented by tanks crashing through the gates; they are still on display. Within, little has changed since April 30, 1975

ESSENCE OF SAIGON – PAST AND PRESENT FROM HO CHI MINH CITY

Photo credits:
Majestic Hotel Saigon by trungydang / CC BY
All other photos are by Anne Harrison:
The touch of the French is everywhere
The rooftop bar at the Rex Hotel
Uncle Ho watches all
View of Notre Dame from a balcony

Sri Lanka: Forever England

by Clare Gleeson

If Rupert Brooke had visited Nuwara Eilya he would have felt completely at home. The Sri Lankan hill station, developed by the British in the mid-19th century, retains many legacies of the Raj, despite more than 60 years of independence. Nuwara Eilya is proud of its Englishness.

The train from Colombo had brought us nearly 2000 metres up into the Sri Lankan Highlands amid acres of tea plantations. For six hours we climbed higher and higher leaving the urban sprawl of the capital, travelling through tangled jungle to reach the patchwork neatness of the tea country. We left the train at Nanu Oya and bumped along the potholed road to Nuwara Eilya in a taxi, passing hillside tea plantations with names such as Edinburgh and Glasgow.

Nuwara Eilya was founded in 1846 by Samuel Baker, a British Nile explorer. Here in the coolness of the Highlands the ruling British could pursue many familiar country pursuits such as fox hunting, cricket, polo, fishing, golf and horse racing.

Entering Nuwara Eilya the dilapidated race track was immediately in front of us. Our taxi driver assured us that two meetings a year were still held here although this seemed unlikely. In front of the down-at-heel grandstand the final straight was uneven and unkempt and the fence outside the perimeter of the track was falling down. Ponies available for tourist hire grazed on the track. The condition of the racetrack was a stark contrast to that of the nearby golf course which was immaculate.

Our hotel, the Glendower, built in mock Tudor style, had once been a gentleman’s country house and was set in a cottage garden. It had a cosy feel to it, with a billards table and an over-furnished English bar.

Breakfast was a Sri Lankan interpretation of the English meal consisting of fried chicken ham, accompanied by two unusual looking eggs, served on hard white toast. The pièce de résistance was the padded tea cosy featuring villages of the Lake District proudly brought to our table and carefully snuggled over the china teapot by our young, smiling waiter.

Even the weather has a claim to Englishness. Much cooler than Colombo and Kandy, Nuwara Eilya was damp and drizzly for much of our time there. This makes it an ideal climate for the many English vegetables it grows such as leeks, tomatoes, beetroot, beans and strawberries, and has also enabled gardens full of familiar flowers to flourish. Roses, petunias, begonias – everything you could imagine in a herbaceous border – were evident throughout the town and in the impressive gardens of Victoria Park.

Nuwara Eilya is not large and easy to get around on foot but we also used tuk tuks for novelty or to escape the rain. On our first morning we strolled about looking at the variety of colonial homes, many of which are now small hotels. Although some look tired they wouldn’t be out of place in an English village and sit on large pieces of land, quite a contrast to most of Sri Lanka’s housing. Cows grazing on the side of the road and an old, wet, bedraggled and barefoot man walking near one of the houses made a strange contrast and reminded me that this was Sri Lanka.

Walking into the commercial part of the town we explored the shops and market before crossing the road to one of Nuwara Eilya’s most distinctive buildings to post a card home. Slightly elevated, the pretty Victorian brick post office has a tiled roof, gables and a clock spire. From the outside it reminded me of something from an English village and the lines from Brook sprang to mind ‘Stands the church clock at 10 to 3, and is there honey still for tea?’ but inside the somnolent air was dispelled by the eager and noisy customers.

Leaving the post office crowds were gathering along the roadside and the rhythmic banging of large leather drums could be heard. Standing by a British red post box we watched a long line of local monks parade through the main street, cheering up the drizzle with their bright orange robes and assorted umbrellas. Some were very young, probably no more than 8 or 9 years old, and policewomen walked beside them.

Sheltering from the rain we took a tuk tuk up the hill to the gothic looking Holy Trinity Anglican Church built in 1863. The church has a cemetery full of the graves of British civil servants, soldiers, diplomats, planters, their wives and children. Although cared for this corner of a foreign field felt sad and lonely, marking forever the resting place of those who remained behind long after their families had left for Home.

At the planters’ Hill Club that evening we sipped our coffee sunk deep in Sanderson couches in front of a roaring fire. Gazing over us were a youthful Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip, whose portraits, along with that of the Sri Lankan President, hung above the fireplace. Following gin and tonics we had eaten a four course dinner, completely alone, in a dining room which can seat 50. We had been attended by four white-gloved waiters and the chef hovered in the nearby corridor as we made our selection from the menu. The Hill Club has reciprocal rights with the St James Club in London and a dress code which had placed considerable strain on our travelling wardrobes. I don’t think I could have handled being a memsahib but Rupert Brooke would have felt completely at home in this corner of a foreign field.

If You Go:

♦ Getting there: Travel by train or bus to Nuwara Eilya. The train journey from Colombo takes most of the day but is a fascinating trip. There is also a bus from Kandy.
♦ Tuk tuks and taxis are readily available.
♦ Accommodation: Nuwara Eilya has a range of accommodation from small to large hotels. www.nuwaraeliya.org
♦ Eating: A number of restaurants serving Sri Lankan and European food.

About the author:
Clare Gleeson is a New Zealand historian, librarian and travel writer who enjoys exploring her own country as well as those further afield. She has a travel blog at www.thewanderinghistorian.com.

All photos are by Clare Gleeson:
A tea picker
British post box
Parade on the main street
The Hill Club – islanka.com