The Mekong delta, the lushest of lush fields, the rice bowl of Vietnam. Home to floating markets and tiny canals. A must-go!
Watermelon sales at Cai Rang floating market
“Nooooooo…., no WAY!!!” Max cried when I told him we would get up at 5:30 am to go on a boat trip on the exciting river. I get it. Max is happiest with a surfboard under his feet or a table-tennis racket in his hand. But he had to soldier on.
Trading starts at 5 o’clock
Bamboo sticks with samples show what’s on sale
Only local trade, tourists are just observers
The market was busy when we arrived. But the few tour boats that were there, easily spotted by the orange lifevests the tourists have to wear, were plainly ignored by everyone except maybe the tea sellers.
Boats with hot and cold drinks, as well as breakfast Phô keep the traders going
Looking out on Saigon from the Rex Hotel Roofgarden Bar, where Western luxury hotels fight for space with the world’s biggest banks, you can’t help but wonder: what ever happened to communism? Ridiculously biased (but not necessarily untrue) war propaganda in the Army Museum in Hanoi, Hoa Ló prison (Hanoi Hilton) and the War Remnants Museum Saigon aside, the only Budenovkas seen are sold on the markets to tourists for “wan dolla”.
View from the beatiful rooftop bar of the Rex Hotel, home to the “Five o’clock follies” the American briefings during the Vietnam war.
When the Americans had to bow their heads to failure in 1973, and accept Vietnam falling to communism, they still kept an ace up their sleave; a sneaky back door and a sure way to infiltrate the communist dogs – McDonalds! They may have had to wait a few years but this war the Vietnamese couldn’t win. Communist or not, everybody wants a Big Mac, Nike sneakers or an iphone.
A poster for the “Glorious Communist Party” next to the epitome of American capitalism: the golden arches
Who cares about pokemons, when you can go around the world collecting volcanos!
Starting at Volcan, the beautiful rain- and cloud forest area of Panama, a ring of old volcanos protectively surround coffee farms and plantations. The dormant Volcán Barú (3,477 m) was a muscle-man of a volcano, not just quietly and gracefully trickling out lava – oh no – he was hurling big chunks of rocks several kilometers. The Hulk Hogan of volcanos! Even on the other side of the valley, from the cosy cafe at Jansons coffee farm, you could see large blocks of stone thrown there by the explosive volcano.
Early morning sun on a (unusually clear) Volcán Barú
Travelling south from Central America, over the continental divide (where the water flows either into the Atlantic Ocean or the Pacific), into South America and Ecuador, we reached the Andes. Pichincha (4,784 m) is an active volcano and lies in Quito’s backyard. With the TelefériQo you can reach almost 4,000 m and either hang with the kids at the amusement park or continue to the peak by foot. (Why you need an amusement park at 4,000 m is another question…). However, a measly 4,700 m wasn’t enough for us, we wanted to see Cotopaxi (5,897 m) and booked ourselves into a Hacienda at its foot. Since Cotopaxi is highly active, with the last eruption in August 2015, it is not safe to climb but at least we got a glimpse through the clouds one early morning.
Unfortunately we were just awarded with a glimpse of Cotopaxi. Impressive all the same!
On a wonderful day we took our rented compact car (read: tiny) and drove through the beautiful country side to Quilotoa. There we climbed into the crater of the 3,914 m high Quilotoa volcano. After the massive eruption about 800 years ago, the volcano collapsed to form a beautiful, and according to legend bottomless, crater lake.
Little Lamas at Lago di QuilotoaPululahua, the only populated crater in Ecuador
The Galapagos Islands are entirely volcanic. Some of the islands are so barren that nothing grows, on others nature has found an astonishing way of creating life. It was exciting to see how the lava had flown, feel the difference of pa hoi hoi and a a lava under your feet and see how some eruptions had blown half the mountain to smithereens. Some islands were pure black lava just stained white in some places by Blue-footed Booby-poo. This was Thor at work: one big showcase of what a super-power of a God can create.
My mum once said to me (in a slightly disappointed tone), “why don’t you buy a house in Skanör and settle here like the other daughters?!” I just stared incomprehensibly at her and responded: “how can you show me the world and then expect me to stay here forever!” It’s true, my parents were (and still are) passionate travellers. Already at the age of 5, I had seen more old ruins and temples than I could count (or care for). I had climbed the pyramids and swam in the Dead Sea. At the age of 12 I saw bicyclists in worker uniforms scuttle down the streets of Beijing. And in 1981 I visited Japan for the first time.
Mount Fuji in spring of 1981
Newlyweds wanting their picture taken with the european kids
Already in 1981 Tokyo was a buzzing, neonlit dragon of a city. For a foreigner it was hardcore. Nobody spoke English, apart from staff in hotels catering for the few foreign businessmen who braved coming, and there wasn’t a single understandable streetsign. People still lived fairly traditionally behind the glitzy modern facades and you could still see one or two geishas. The Tokyo of 2016 was very much different. People now speak very good English, are friendly, outgoing and helpful.
English is very widely spoken and gone is the Japanese shyness of the past
As a preparation for the Olympics in 2020 all the street names are written with latin characters, helpful information boards are everywhere and the metro personnel have been trained to help lost foreigners. Travelling Japan in 2016 with two kids was certainly much less of an adventure than in 1981 but no less enjoyable!
In 1981 my Dad had the hotel write a note with our train information. We found our way by sticking the note up people’s noses and hoping for signs in the right direction. Now it’s all clearly signposted in English.
When I arrived in Honolulu in December 1992, little did I know that just a couple of months earlier I had met my future husband (although I prefer “ski buddy”), and that we would return to Hawaii as a family. Some things were same, lots of things were different!
Already in 1992, I took an instant liking to the crazy excess of Waikiki (it was all so MUCH)! 24 years later Waikiki still has the same overwhelming, mind-blowing Las Vegas feel and although almost nauseatingly over-the-top, I still can’t help liking it. Like a “Amerikaner” at Tivoli in Copenhagen (four scoops of ice-cream, whipped cream, strawberry sauce and a chocolate covered marshmallow treat to round it off). Like the name – American!
Stunning view of Waikiki Beach from our hotel roomI have never been in Vegas but Waikiki by Night looks pretty darn good
The hotels in Waikiki compete with each other in being taller, bigger, more glittering than the next. The welcome smiles are broader, the free cocktail more exotic and the leis more beautiful. The surfers are hunkier, more free-spirited and deeper bronzed than elsewhere. Summarized: just more! Yes, it’s touristy, crowded and artificial but it still somehow does it for me, don’t ask me why! I guess it’s one of those romantic memory things…
Max “the surfer”, grounded due to a cold. He was NOT happy…Watching the Early Birds from our hotel room
What I don’t remember, however, is the traffic. 6-laned bumper-to-bumper grinding traffic to reach our rented apartment at Makaha Valley on the west coast. Not much Aloha-spirit in sitting in a commuter jam…
The traffic jam to reach the North Shore was admittedly more scenic with beach houses that must reach well into the million-dollar bracket and quirky little beach/surfer spots, but no less annoying when all you want to do is submerge yourself in crystal clear water and soak up some sun. And don’t even ask about the approximately 3 million “are we there soon”… But just like all those years ago, the North Shore blows me away. I remember sitting on the Sunset Beach watching crazy Big Wave surfers competing thinking “wow” with a capital W. This was pure paradise!
In December 1992 the beach was crowded with fans watching the Bravest of the Brave take on the Biggest of the Big
The Hawaiian Islands are, without a doubt, breathtakingly beautiful, the beaches are stunning and the water a turquoise colour you think must have been photoshoped. Even in Oahu you can find almost empty beaches (Yokohama, Makaha) where the local kids frolic on their bodyboards while their parents cook up a bbq in the shade. Now that’s Aloha! Shaka, brah! (Daniel disagrees, of course. This is, after all America! The country that might vote Donald Trump as President…)
Five weeks sounds like a really long time. I had so many plans; read lots of books, learn capoeira, brush up on my yoga but all of a sudden, it was time to pack up and go! The five weeks had gone by so fast! Kiteboarding took up a lot of our days but we still had time to have a couple of caipirinhas on the beach, watch impossibly skillful (and visually delightful) guys play beach volleyball and – well – just hang.
No risk of being bored when this is on display
The beach in Jeri is gorgeous; naturally protected it’s not quite as windy and the water is warm and shallow. Great for the kids to play on the beach – or in the water. Max got friendly with Xavi and Sabrina at the surf school and got to pick up any board he wanted at any time, which he did whenever he wasn’t kiting (the energy!)
Underneath the parasol, my Honey and me…
Molly baking a cake for laters
When not kiting, Max was surfing
Although Jeri has become a bit of a holiday destination, especially from nearby Fortaleza, its off-the-chart location has not yet landed on the American or any European package tour radar (and thank God for that!). Only the most keen kite- and windsurfers, mostly French of course, seem to make the journey. One of them being our good American, now Revelstokian, friend Chris, a man-of-many-watersport-talents who said this is a must-go place. Thanks to him we also got a good deal on our pousada, although in Jeri you can still live fairly cheaply.
Pool games at Casa Fufi
Trying to blogg on a (relatively) windfree day
So what happened after the kite surfers had returned, the sun loungers had been cleared away and the surf shops carried their boards away? Did the Jeris watch quietly as the sun set over the dunes and then retreated to the all-inclusive hotel? NOOO!!! This is BRAZIL we’re talking about!! The cocktail carts were pushed (with impressive stamina) up the Sunset Dune so that the revellers could quell their thirst for Caipirinhas, Caipifruttas or Caipiroschkas while watching the sun set.
Te sun setting over Jeri beach
The rare clouds creating a spectacular evening
On top of the Sunset Dunes
I loved the warm, balmy evenings
The bars and restaurants came alive and the bands tuned their instruments for the late-night Samba, Reggae or Forro sessions. I have to confess; there were times when I wished that the kids were not around! Maybe next time. For a next time there will be! I’ll be back!
Enjoying Jeri by night while the kids were tucked away in the posadaReggae night at a prime property venue overlooking the sea. All inclusive hotel? No, just the place were locals gathered for some late-night music, a drink and a chicken skewer
I really don’t know where this horse-craze comes from. To me, horses are big, scary and poop all the time. To Molly they are gorgeous animals and she loves them.
Coming on this trip, we asked the kids what they wanted to do or try. Max wanted to heli-ski steep chutes, surf big waves and try kiting. All Molly wanted to do was ride a horse. Daniel said to me “I’ll make sure we’ll find a way for her to ride. Leave it with me.” And Daddy came through on his promise. Molly got to ride 3-4 days a week in Jeri and the result speaks for itself. I’m so proud of her. And a little bit jealous. If I had had this as my first riding experience at the age of six, maybe I would have become a horse-girl myself.
Daniel’s dream was to ride the kite, Molly’s to ride a horse… Remembering how awful riding schools were in Sweden in the mid 70s, we thought it was worth a try to find a way for her to learn in Jeri. With the help of Sabrina, the lovely German girl running Xavi’s surf school with her local boyfriend, we found Antonio – a horseman through-and-through.
Antonio watching out that Molly can handle the horse by herself
Over the five weeks, Antonio and Molly took a liking to each other. Antonio managed, without speaking a word of any language apart from Portuguese, to teach Molly how to ride. And I mean ride not just sit on a horse while it takes a leisurely stroll!
Showing Molly how to keep her feet when galloping
Always a watchful eye
Letting Molly ride by herself
Brownish was Molly’s favourite horse
Of course Molly wants to continue riding when we come home. Now there’s a challenge; how do you beat galloping along the beach with a guy who let’s you do all that by yourself?! Can’t see that the experience will be the same at a riding school in Munich. It certainly was anything but at Lillhagen, Höllviken, in 1975…
After hours and hours of lessons (11 days and counting) I finally felt that “yes, I can do this!”. I can’t believe how many mouths of water I have swallowed and how many nose rinses I have suffered to reach this point (days 2-3 were REALLY sh…t), not to speak of the colon cleansing when trying to break (girls, do NOT wear bikini bottoms) – but here I am, kiting like a champ! Hmmm…. maybe more like a chimp but let’s not spoil the fun…
Our transport filled with the young, hot kite wizards from KiteIScool
The “KiteIScool” kite school is really to be recommended! Paolo, a guy in his 30′ (I guess), and from Fortaleza, is running a great show with excellent instructors, new gear and a winning headset. André, my hunky 25-year old instructor (and no, this is unfortunately NOT the reason I “needed” so many instructor days), showed great patience and positive spirit. Just what I needed to kick myself forward and not give up. (That and the Dahlman stubbornness…)
Letitia, the 21-year old French/German kitebabe was my first instructor
André guided me to success
Max, of course, quickly became the instructors’ favourite and now carves, turns and kites with hair-raising speed. Naturally, I am extremely proud of my son, who has mastered this difficult sport so quickly and easily. But I must confess – and those who know me will not be surprised – that my ego is slightly dented. On the positive side – how many mothers-of-two learn a new, challenging sport at the age of 48?! Mum-power! Yeah!!
How do I feel about Max being faster, better and – let’s face it – cooler? Envious!
Who's been here? 