log off and live!
We spent an amazing week inside the canyons of Zion National Park camping, hiking and exploring the canyons. Although we’re still trying to get our head around all of it, here’s a sneak peak of our 16 mile hike inside the Narrows. 51 degree water, gorgeous fall colors and 10 hours of hiking, what more could we ask for?
You know Bangkok, and Hong Kong, and Singapore, and Hanoi…but what about little Da Nang? While it may be just a paragraph in most travel guides, Da Nang, Vietnam is worth an entire chapter. This city of under one million – teeny, tiny by Asian standards – is not just a stopover; it’s a travel destination in its own right. Here’s why.
Beach, Beach, Beach
In Da Nang you are spoiled rotten by gorgeous beaches. There’s the seemingly never-ending China Beach that frames one whole side of the city in post card white sand and turquoise sea. This stunner is ten miles long and virtually empty all day long. In a classic win-win situation, most Vietnamese people avoid the beach during the day (tans are not popular here), giving visitors and unique chance to enjoy a city side beach all on their own. My Khe beach is just as splendid – and just as free of anyone but you. And, if you’re really in the mood for cliché tropical paradise, Lang Co Beach is a quick scoot away.
Cheap Food, Cheap Stays, Cheap Tailors
Southeast Asia is comparatively cheap for travel. Vietnam is comparatively cheap within Southeast Asia. Da Nang is comparatively cheap within Vietnam. Your money goes far here, and can be spent on incredible fresh seafood that you choose directly from fishermen or immaculately hand sewn suits from local tailors. For such a small place, Da Nang has a surprisingly wide variety of restaurants, bars and activities. Splurge on champagne brunch at the Intercontinental in the morning. Go out diving in the afternoon. Visit the ornate temples that are scattered all around the city. Then wind down with live music and a beer along the riverfront (that’s right, Da Nang has a beach front and a river front). When you’re ready to turn in, take your pick from eleven bagillion hotels with rooms that will cost you a whopping ten dollars.
Culture without the Throngs of Tourists
When you’re finished wining and dining yourself, you might remember that Da Nang is a hub of Vietnamese culture – without the crowds and hassles of Hanoi or Ho Chi Minh. Of course there’s the Cham Museum that pops up in most tour guides, but there’s more to Da Nang than just one museum. There’s the gorgeous (and enormous) Buddah statue that overlooks the city from her perch on the town’s mountain. This green jungle in the middle of the city, called Son Tra, is a protected area with just a few small restaurants grandfathered in – and plenty of monkeys for your picture-taking pleasure! There are temples and churches all around to remind of you of Vietnamese beliefs. And, of course, there are the people themselves, who are all the more apt to sit and chat with you in this smaller, less congested Vietnamese city.
Lovely People
Da Nang is not a city; it’s just a big beach town. Maybe that explains the laid-back attitude of the people here. From the moment you arrive you will find people willing to help you, willing to walk you to where you need to go, and willing to try and understand your terrible, mispronounced Vietnamese. And, no, they aren’t looking to charge you for it. While other cities are full of scammers, Da Nang is quite sincere in its hospitality. It’s new on the tourist scene and the people here want you to have a good time. Within 24 hours of arriving here I’d had people offer to carry my suitcase, offer to help me get a cell phone and scoot me across town to the beach – and all refuse any sort of money. People here are just plain nice.
Da Nang may not be the flashiest Asian city, but it’s one of the most authentic – and most enjoyable. Happy travels to this lovely town!
The sky is blue.
Water is vital for life.
Japan is expensive.
I’m not sure when I developed the opinion that Japan was an expensive place, but it happened well before I ever set foot in the country. When my fiancé and I planned an 8-day trip to Kyoto and Osaka, we were prepared to pay through the teeth and keep to a relatively tight budget. For the first time, I kept a detailed record of every dollar (or, in this case, yen) we spent. In reviewing the notes, I was surprised to find that it wasn’t outrageous, after all.
Here’s our budget breakdown for two people.
Amount spent: ¥43,850 ($558)
Percentage of total: 42%
I was slightly embarrassed to realize that the bulk of our budget went towards food and drink, but then I thought about how much pleasure I get out of those things. Fun fact: we spent $30 on ice cream and $127 on beer, including a ¥6700 ($85) splurge on an all-you-can-eat-and-drink rooftop buffet. All of our breakfasts came from the supermarket, as did a handful of lunches and dinners. We went out for a few nice meals, but not many. Noodle shops were our savior for cheap, hearty meals with a bit of local personality thrown in.
Amount spent: ¥40,645 ($517)
Percentage of total: 38.5%
Four nights in a business hotel in Osaka cost us ¥16,645 ($212), while 4 nights in a traditional ryokan in Kyoto cost ¥24,000 ($305). Breakfast was not included at either place.
Amount spent: ¥14,180 ($180)
Percentage of total: 13.5%
This included trains, subways, buses, and bicycles. In Osaka, a single journey was roughly ¥250 ($3), but subway passes are available as well. We took return trains from Osaka to Nara and Osaka to Kyoto, both distances of under an hour. No fast trains for us, which would have considerably increased the amount spent on transport.
Amount spent: ¥5,200 ($66)
Percentage of total: 5%
In Osaka, we paid for entry to Osaka Castle and the Open-air Farmhouse Museum. In Kyoto, we visited the Silver Pavilion, Golden Pavilion, Nijo Castle, and the mysterious womb stone at the Kiyomizu Temple (it cost ¥100 each and was 100% worth it). We got discounted entry at Osaka Castle for showing our 2-day subway pass, so check for discounts if you visit.
Amount spent: ¥1,085
Percentage of total: 1%
I brought one pair of sandals to Japan, and they blew out on the second day. First, I bought a pair of rubber flip-flops at the dollar store. They were worn through two days later, due to excessive walking and not, as my fiance insists, my heavy-footed walking style. I bought another pair of sandals at a shop in Kyoto, which lasted the rest of the trip. Lesson: In Japan, it’s hard to find a cheap pair of shoes that will fit a US size 10. Bring at least two pairs with you. My third miscellaneous purchase was a hand-drawn print of two geisha walking down an alley. It’s for my mom, but it’s been two months and I still have it. Oops.
It’s not exactly a shoestring budget, but it was affordable, especially over a short period of time. The key for us was to focus on a small region instead of trying to cover too much ground; we didn’t have the money or the time to see more.
In the end, I have to agree that Japan is expensive, but not prohibitively so; especially if you cut back on the ice cream and bring a sturdy pair of shoes.
Traveling to Rio de Janeiro from the Pantanal was a bit like hopping out of Never, Neverland and back into reality. Rio is a vibrant, lively big city, known for it’s beach culture and carnival. The Pantanal is known for it’s birds, quiet and swamp like atmosphere. Traveling between the two was like traveling from one end of the spectrum to the other.
One night in Rio, and we were enraptured. It was as though we returned to Never, Neverland, just this time in a city built in paradise.
We showed up with now plans but quickly found a Rio de Janeiro hotel and immediately started to fall in love with all things Rio. At the corner of our street a juice bar seemingly ran all night, squeezing fresh orange and citrus juices from an industrial sized blender, with bags of fruit swinging from the ceiling rafters. The music played loudly and the crowd kept coming. The people were as diverse as the juices the shop blended. Of all ethnic groups, backgrounds and cultures they converged on this tiny juice stall. The men gathered at the counter, the couples at sidewalk tables. It was as though no other place in the neighborhood existed. And yet every 10 feet there was another place just like it – a gathering place for a seemingly endless neighborhood of friends.
From our base in Catete we explored Rio on foot, by bus and by metro. We walked the famous beaches, wearing more clothing than seemed appropriate, and covered more distance in just a few days than we ever thought possible. Ipanema, Copacabana, Leblon, it seemed hardly real to be at an exotic beach one moment and in a busy, thriving metropolis in the next. We skipped the climb to Christ the Redeemer and Sugarloaf, opting instead to explore the picturesque architecture of Santa Teresa. What was old was also new in Rio de Janiero and the colonial architecture mixed with skyscrapers, creating a landscape that was the antithesis of planned, and at the same time, fit together like an old puzzle.
We met, dined and enjoyed the evening with local students. Unwilling to break the spell that Rio and it’s residents held over us, we talked politics, life and philosophy (as you do when you’re enthralled with a place!) until the wee hours of the morning.
And when we returned, the juice bar was still open.
IF YOU GO: Although Rio de Janeiro is full of interesting neighborhoods with their own character, and a hotel in Rio de Janeiro always seems to be well located- between the bus, metro, taxis and on foot, nothing is a long distance away. It is easy to fall in love with Rio and fall under it’s spell. Take the time to explore beyond the beach and the Sambadome, there is so much more to the city than Carnival and tiny bikinis!
This is how I turned up for my first day of fruit picking:
In purple Capri pants, a black tank top, sunglasses and pigtail braids. The finishing touch was a trendy Billabong straw hat.
Let’s just say the farmer wasn’t exactly impressed.
Fruit picking in Australia is one of those things that backpackers do, so I hadn’t put much thought into it. How hard could it be? I turned up at the farm with a group from my hostel, including Alexa, my friend from home. Alexa and I were wearing matching hats.
“Let me guess,” Farmer Wayne drawled, looking the two of us up and down. “You girls have never done this before.”
He had a fair point. The other pickers included a pair of Kiwi boys, both of whom bore a stunning resemblance to Jesus and didn’t look out of place in the strawberry field. There were two Japanese backpackers who were short on English but long on sense, because at least they’d managed to put on comfortable long-sleeved white shirts. Rounding out the pack was a Thai woman in her 40s, in long pants and sleeves, wearing a battered straw hat that very obviously had not been purchased the day before from a surf shop.
As the hours crawled by, I realized that Wayne was right to be skeptical.
We were terrible strawberry pickers. Terrible.
I couldn’t find a comfortable position. Should I bend from the waist? Crouch so I was level with the plants? Shuffle along on my knees? The downside to all of these options was 1) they were slow, and 2) they hurt.
It seems that I wasn’t as physically fit as I thought, despite being a spry 23 years old. The Thai woman was effortlessly kicking my ass, having adopted some sort of magical technique that involved floating along the rows and making the strawberries apparate into her basket as she drifted past.
I, meanwhile, was struggling with every step, avoiding frogs, recoiling at beetles, and growing increasingly convinced that I now understood what arthritis must feel like.
Wayne came to collect us at two o’clock and surveyed the day’s progress – punnets of strawberries stacked into the bed of a truck. Fortunately, he couldn’t tell who had been quick and who had been slow, but I suspect he had a fairly good idea.
He was all smiles as he paid each of the backpackers, with special words of kindness for the Thai woman. When he got to me and Alexa, the smile dropped from his face. Slowly, he counted out the $80 we’d each earned for our 8 hours of work.
“All right,” he said. “Youse can come back on Wednesday.”
It was as if he was doing us a favor. Which I suppose he was, because I was pretty desperate for work.
The ride home in the hostel van was quiet. We were all too exhausted to talk. My muscles were knotted in pain, to the point where it hurt just to be alive. There was a strip of vibrant sunburn on my lower back, where my ill-chosen tank top had ridden up each time I bent over. I was dirty, I was terrible at my job, and my boss thought I was city scum.
Yet somehow, despite all of that, it was one of the most satisfying 8 hours I’ve ever had.
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