Author Archives: Marce

Caves and waterfalls are popular excursions in Luang Prabang but we’re more interested in getting a sense of the town itself. The old section is a UNESCO World Heritage site because of the fusion of traditional Laotian urban architecture and colonial styles from the 19th and 20th centuries. UNESCO particularly likes well preserved areas, and this one certainly is.

The city lies on a peninsula formed by the Mekong and Nam Khan Rivers. It’s only about three blocks wide so most days we walked one way or another down to the water.

We didn’t remember before we got here that Laos is nominally one of the few remaining communist countries along with China, Vietnam, North Korea and Cuba, so the occasional old hammer and sickle flag surprised us.

Two days after we arrived I got up before dawn and went down to the street to watch the morning alms giving. This is a ritual in most Buddhist or Hindu countries, where the monks walk through the streets gathering offerings of food and other needs from the faithful. We observed the procession from our rooftop hotel in Bhaktapur, Nepal, last year. Now I have the opportunity to watch from across the street. There are strict rules for tourists: no flash photography, no impeding the monks’ progress, stay out of the way and quiet.

As the sun rose, the monks came in waves. All in all there may have been about a hundred, many of them young boys.

Here in Luang Prabang the alms-givers sit on low stools with pots of cooked sticky rice and drop balls of rice into the monks’ bowls or baskets. In other places we’ve seen small packages you can buy to give the monks that include toiletries or other non food items.

We learned that many young boys enter the monastery for the purpose of education, since schooling is not free in this part of the world, and many poor families can’t afford the school fees.

The alms-giving ritual here in Luang Prabang was silent, with only the padding of bare feet on the street and the swish of the robes as soundtrack. In Bhaktapur the monks were accompanied by drums and chanting. I’m glad I witnessed both.

The small girl holding up a bucket is begging from the monks. This area, the historic district, is a relatively wealthy area, so I’m not sure where the children who are begging come from. I did see many of the monks share their rice with the children.

We spent each day exploring the town, trying different cafés for meals and coffee breaks. Often we ran into fellow slowboat passengers and shared more time with familiar faces. We felt like we’d gained a whole community by taking the two-day boat journey.

Luang Prabang is known as much for its crafts as for its architecture. Jewelry, textiles, carvings, unique clothing. We enjoyed every little shop, but of course with limited luggage space and no home to put anything in anyway, we had to walk away from all the beautiful hand crafted things we saw. These soft sculptures particularly delighted us. We’ve never seen anything like them, and we watched the women in the back of the shop working on other similar creations.

The days were warm and the sun was harsh. We usually retreated to our air conditioned room for a few hours each afternoon before heading out again in a different direction.

We saw this Silkworm Poo Tea in a small shop on a back street. We passed. And spoiler alert: we bought a couple of those soft sculptures. We love them.

Back when I was looking for an affordable flight to Asia I tried for the first time the travel services offered by our credit card company. After searching via Google Flights, Skyscanner, Kayak, and all the other sites, Capital One Travel came up with the most economical and easiest journey via Hainan Airlines, a company I hadn’t heard of and that none of the other portals included in their search results. Not only was it considerably cheaper than the others, but it came with a guarantee to refund the difference if the cost went down after booking. Sure enough, a week later the price went down and I was credited $100.

Based on that good experience, and facing hotel rates in Luang Prabang higher than our budget normally allows, I applied the $100 credit to a six-day stay at a historic hotel in a deluxe room with a balcony overlooking the street where we could watch the sunrise procession of monks for the daily alms-giving.

When we arrived in Luang Prabang our slowboat company drove us to our hotel and it was as beautiful as we hoped, nestled on a shady street in the quiet historic district. We will be living within a UNESCO World Heritage site and we were thrilled.

Not so fast, said the travel gods. The hotel did not have our booking. I showed the manager my confirmation. He shook his head. “I never heard of that site,” he said, indicating Capital One Travel. He showed me the reservation list. No Schulz in evidence.

We were tired and hungry, sweaty from climbing up to the Buddha Cave. We wanted a shower, a nap, and dinner. We wanted to unpack.

The manager suggested I call Capital One. I didn’t have a local SIM card so he logged me onto the hotel wifi and I called via Skype. The woman who answered was sympathetic, said she’d call the hotel, then put me on hold. I waited. The hotel phone didn’t ring.

When Capital One Lady came back she assured me that the hotel had our booking; she had spoken to the manager Sara herself. “Go to the hotel,” she said. “They’re waiting for you.”

“I’m at the hotel right now,” I told her. “I’m sitting next to the manager and his name’s not Sara. What hotel are you talking to?”

“Can you let me talk to the manager?” she asked. I passed the phone over. I watched as he listened to Capital One Lady. Then he said, “Da.” There was a long pause.

“Da,” he said again. Another pause, then “Mister Da. That’s my name.”

With the introductions settled the two got down to business. I only heard our side of the conversation but it went something like this: Yes, that is the correct address. No, that’s not the phone number and hasn’t been for ten years.

The phone was passed back to me.

“Please hold.”

We spent the next hour and a half alternately waiting on hold and passing the phone back and forth. I kept asking Capital One Lady what hotel had our booking because at this point we’re happy to just go there and call it a day. She wouldn’t say. But Mr. Da told me “Sara” is not a Lao name so he can’t imagine that any hotel in Laos would have a manager by that name.

I practiced deep yoga breathing while I was on hold. Jack was slumped in a chair outside with our luggage. It was hot. Da got bottles of cold water for Jack and me and managed the noisy fan, turning it on when we were on hold, then off when Capital One Lady came back online. Otherwise you couldn’t hear anything.

While we waited on hold Da told me that anyway he didn’t have six nights of a deluxe room available because they were fully booked for the coming long weekend with a group of VIP envoys from many different countries attending a regional conference on economic development.

Eventually, Capital One Lady admitted defeat. “It’s our mistake,” she said, stating the obvious, and we all wished she’d come to that conclusion an hour ago. She never said what hotel we had been mistakenly booked into or what country it might have been in, but she offered either a complete refund or a handover to a supervisor who could “solve our problem.” Oh good grief. Just give me the money, I thought. I reminded her that I had used my $100 credit as partial payment and I wanted that back too. She agreed and she even added an additional credit which will come in handy in the future but doesn’t help us right now.

All parties handled the situation with grace and humor but we were left at square one with no room. It was now past 8:30. Da could give us three nights in the hoped for deluxe room with a balcony but then we’d have to move to a small room in a different building in the back for two more nights. Our planned sixth? Well, he’d help us find a room somewhere else. The town was booked to the gills.

Fine, we said. At this point we’d have accepted a futon in the alley. In sympathy he gave us a break on the deluxe room price.

By the time we got checked in it was late and we were weak with hunger. Da pointed us in a few directions for food but as we walked the neighboring streets we learned that the UNESCO part of town shuts down early and we had trouble finding anyone still serving at 9 pm. Eventually we came across a little bistro where we ordered small bites because our need for sleep was overpowering our hunger.

Back at the hotel all was forgiven as we settled in to our lovely spacious room and I set an alarm for 5:45am so I could watch the monks from the balcony in my pyjamas. This was the whole point of booking this particular room.

Not so fast.

I awoke before the alarm to find the travel gods were not finished toying with us. First of all, the view from our lovely balcony was obscured by shrubbery so that my planned morning sitting in my pj’s on the balcony with coffee watching the procession of monks was a bust.

Ok, no worries. I’ll just need to get dressed tomorrow morning and go out to the street to watch the alms-giving.

Before returning to bed I went to the bathroom and when I sat on the toilet the seat broke off and nearly launched me across the room.

Have I done something to deserve this karma? Or are we just on the Practical Joke Tour of Laos? I remind myself of our guiding mantra, “Every day is a journey” and expect the day will improve from here. But for now I’m going back to sleep.

With cold weather approaching and the end of our allotted time in the UK looming we shifted into high gear to arrange storage for the van and a destination for the crew. Somewhere warm, of course, and somewhere we can take care of various medical and dental maintenance. We’re fortunate to be in good general health but we do need to get checked over once in a while and the American medical system is beyond our financial reach, especially added to the cost of travel to the US.

It’ll be Asia again for us. Affordable, warm, great medical and dental care at a reasonable cost, and a healthy cuisine with lots of fresh fruits and vegetables. It’s a clear violation of Rule #1 (Never go back) and there are plenty of places we haven’t been yet that might also fit the bill, but I for one crave a couple of months of free time to read, write, do family history, and perhaps explore some new places.

In a flurry of activity we booked a flight to Thailand and arranged for a room in our favorite guesthouse in Chiang Mai. Our friends in Northern Ireland graciously agreed to let us stash Escape Velocity in a secure back paddock where our sailor friend Alan can keep an eye on her. This is a much better solution than last year’s storage, which was lovely and secure but difficult to get to, complicating the logistics and adding to the overall cost.

When departure day came we said goodbye to our tiny home and Alan drove us to the bus station in Newry where an express bus takes you to the Dublin airport in just over an hour. We’re not used to such efficiency!

We weren’t confident that the bus and the flight would line up properly so we used some points to book an airport hotel for the night, then it was off to Thailand via Beijing. It was a long but mostly comfortable journey, except that my vegetarian food order didn’t make it to the plane so by the time we got to Bangkok I was starving.

We had a long layover in Bangkok and our Chiang Mai flight was further delayed — I think this has happened every time — but that gave us a chance to get local currency and Thai SIM cards for the phones.

We finally made it to our guesthouse where we are booked into the coveted Room 8 for the month. For the next couple of days we visited our favorite places to eat, checked into the ongoing work at our neighborhood temple and generally reacquainted ourselves with the lovely, quirky, funky, welcoming Old Town Chiang Mai. It feels like home and it’s good to be back.

Fastnet Rock is legendary to anyone with an interest in the sea or sailing. It’s the southernmost point of Ireland lying way out in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of County Cork.

My birthday was looming and after seeing Fastnet from Mizen Head we took the plunge and booked ourselves on a day trip to the Rock and Cape Clear Island. It’s a fitting way to spend my birthday.

The boat leaves from the little town of Schull and we arrived early enough to watch the local sailing school readying their boats for launch.

We were delighted to find our tour boat was half empty.

It took about 45 minutes to get to our first stop, Cape Clear Island, where we picked up additional tourists. We were now at capacity and headed for the Rock.

A lighthouse was first built on Fastnet after an American sailing packet was lost on a nearby island in thick fog in 1847. By 1854 the new lighthouse was signaling to ships at sea.

The original brick and cast iron structure proved to be too weak to withstand the ferocious gales common in these parts, despite attempts to shore up the base. By 1891 the powers that be also concluded that the signal from the lighthouse was too weak to signal ships arriving from across the Atlantic, and in 1899 construction of a new tower was begun. The stronger structure was built from dovetailed blocks of granite and entered into service in 1904. The beacon has a range of 27 nautical miles.

Here’s a little tech background for non-sailors. Every lighthouse has a unique sequence, described in abbreviated form on a nautical chart. It’s possible to be in range of more than one lighthouse at a time, so it’s important to know the pattern you’re seeing in the distance to be sure of which beacon it is. Here are some examples of lighthouse characteristics.

As a sailor I can tell you there’s nothing more reassuring when approaching a landfall as spying a signal exactly as described on the nautical chart, assuring you that you are where you think you are.

All of that aside, our first closeup view of Fastnet took our breath away.

We circled the Rock in both directions, giving everyone ample opportunity to get the money shots. It’s beautiful from every angle. And I promise you every one of these photos has had significant horizon correction; while it was an unusually calm day on the ocean, taking photos from the deck of a boat pitching in the Atlantic swell while dodging other tourists is no easy task.

Fastnet Light is the rounding mark for the legendary Fastnet Race, one of the three classic offshore yacht races, along with Sydney-Hobart and Newport-Bermuda, all about 625 nautical miles.

The 1979 race was hit with an unexpectedly severe storm that wreaked havoc on the 303 participating yachts and called in thousands of rescuers and emergency services. It was the single largest maritime rescue operation in peacetime. Nineteen people died, 75 boats capsized, five were lost and believed sunk.

There are plenty of videos about the event. Here’s a link to one of them.

When the captain decided we’d exhausted the photo possibilities he turned the boat back toward Cape Clear Island where we’ll have a couple of hours to explore an idyllic outpost of County Cork.

Not far from the harbor lies a memorial to the nineteen souls lost in the 1979 Fastnet Race. (More names in the side, for those counting.)

Beautiful Cape Clear Island swallowed up our fellow boat passengers and we spent a pleasant few hours exploring the country roads to the other side.

And then it was time for the return trip to the mainland. Escape Velocity’s absentminded navigator forgot to bring the tracker so if you’ve been following along on our track link, here’s the missing bit courtesy of Google maps.

We’ve had a delicious run of good weather but now it’s about to end.

We picked our parkup for the night because it’s ten minutes away from tomorrow’s destination. It didn’t register until we arrived that we were visiting the 4000-year-old Altar Wedge Tomb. Not only is this a great example of the type, but we had it all to ourselves. We found that odd because the car park was full — we grabbed the last remaining spot — so we wondered where all the people were. A short meander down the road (truth be told, I was looking for ripe berries) revealed a small, protected beach. So that’s where everyone went.

We were content to bask in the sunshine and explore our little corner of the universe as afternoon slipped into evening.

I never get tired of gazing at the place where the sea meets the sky.

The days are getting shorter. We have so much more to see.

Just a few miles from Mizen Head, on the north side of the peninsula, is Three Castles Head. Any mention of castles gets Jack to break out the hiking poles so off we went towards Dunlough Fort.

You can’t drive all the way there, and what you can drive is an unpaved track. A nearby farmer has set up a car park where you pay a couple of Euros to a young man who presumably watches your vehicle while you tramp up to the castle.

The name is confusing. The headland is called Three Castles, but there’s only one castle and it’s called a fort. The castle has three towers, hence the name Three Castles Head.

The path starts easy enough. Before long we were wheezing up a steep rocky trail that switched back and forth around hillocks and rock piles.

When we crested the hill we finally saw the castle and paused to catch our breath and take in the sweeping landscape.

It’s still a long way down. The distances are deceiving!

The castle is beautiful, as 13th century ruins go. We loved the many arches.

The real magic of Dunlough Castle is the setting, perched on the edge of a lake, with views out to the sea. It’s postcard perfect.

We thought it couldn’t get any better until we discovered a trail that leads further up the slope. And as we all know by now, Jack can’t resist getting to the top. So up we went.

What a stunning place! I know we say that a lot, but this is really one of our favorite castle ruins. Of course the brilliant weather helped.

We could have stayed for hours but it’s a long way home. We hiked back down to castle level and followed the path along the lake for a bit. Then it was time to start the steep trek down towards the sea and overland to Escape Velocity.

Believe it or not, this beautiful day isn’t over yet.

Slea Head Drive on the Dingle peninsula was gorgeous but we weren’t permitted to complete the circuit via the dizzying and beautiful Conor Pass because of a weight restriction. No campervans or motorhomes allowed.

We reluctantly retraced our route (a Rule#1 violation: Never Go Backwards) to our home for the night, a quiet memorial park along the River Maine in the tiny village of Castlemaine. We had a bit of a think on our strategy for the next few weeks, aware that the consistently bad weather in July set us back a lot. We now have only about six weeks left before we need to leave the country, lots of Ireland still to see, decisions to make for where to go over the winter months, and figuring out where to store the van while we’re away. We both suffer from Planning Resistance so it wasn’t an easy discussion. We generally live by the Baba Ram Dass philosophy: Be Here Now.

In the end we made the shocking decision to skip the Ring of Kerry completely and drive right across the Beara peninsular via the Caha Pass, recommended by our Irish friend Gordon, and also skip the higher Healy Pass and continue to Bantry. We love mountain passes in general and some of our best memories are of thrilling high altitude scenic drives but they’re lots less fun in a campervan than in a zippy little car. And we certainly aren’t suffering from a deficit of dazzling scenery, regardless of where we go.

In Kenmare we stopped for groceries. I haven’t mentioned before but nearly every supermarket of any size has a dedicated section like this one. We learned there are about 100,000 Polish people living here, and Ireland has accepted more than 80,000 Ukrainian refugees so far. The array of regional comfort foods shows how much the Irish do to make them feel welcome.

On the other hand, ketchup flavored Cheetos is just wrong.

Our parkup gave us a stunning valley view across from Molly Gallivans Visitors Center, and we got a vivid sunset to boot.

The Caha Pass goes through three tunnels hand-chiseled through solid rock. We are small as campervans go, but I imagine the driver of a larger motorhome would be holding his or her breath driving through the tunnels despite the reassurance of the road signs.

For once there are places to pull off the road and take in the scenery. We must have taken fifty photos along the road, each view as pretty as the last.

We are people who like to go to the end of the road, any road, wherever it leads, and so we drove to the very end of Beara peninsula where we’d heard a cable car takes one across to Dursey Island, sticking way out in the Atlantic Ocean. You can’t go any further. That’s for us, we thought.

We saw the cable car as we approached but when we parked we realized it wasn’t moving. The food and coffee trucks we saw in photos were missing and the place was more or less deserted. Eventually we found a small sign informing us that the cable car was closed for repairs. How long it’s been closed or when it’ll reopen is anybody’s guess. We wished we’d known that before we drove all this way but it’s beautiful nonetheless and we learned about a dramatic 1881 rescue from the lighthouse at the memorial just up the road from the island.

For the second time in as many days we retraced our route along the coast and arrived at the cheerful little town of Bantry, where we were welcomed by St. Brendan and a rare municipal motorhome car park.

The motorhome aire gave us the opportunity to service the van without having to book into a campground, and we went to the movies for the first time in about five years.

Our good weather is predicted to continue for the coming week and we left Bantry on a mission to make the most of it. We are heading for a place that evokes awe and respect from sailors everywhere. It’s bucket list time again.

Since we got to Derry/Londonderry we’ve been more or less following the Wild Atlantic Way, a tourist route that runs along the rocky west coast of the island. We’re now getting to the area most visited by tourists — and tour buses — and many of our decisions are made to avoid the crowds that high season and good weather bring.

We feel no need to stick to a line on the map and we often seek out quiet outposts for the night.

On any day without rain it’s rare to find a beach that’s not crowded but here we are at Kilgobbin Bay Beach on Dingle Peninsula. Not only did we have the place nearly to ourselves, but the beach was bordered by some of the most colorful rocks we’ve seen so far in Ireland. If we were still on the boat I’d have relocated a few choice ones to our saloon, but sadly the campervan can’t accommodate a rock collection.

We’ve grown accustomed to one-lane driving and luckily there’s little traffic in remote areas and we rarely meet someone coming head-on, but even the official Wild Atlantic Way route is also often one lane but with enough passing places to squeeze by another vehicle safely.

Still, there are areas you hope to goodness someone isn’t barreling toward you from around the bend with no passing place in evidence.

We don’t think there are nearly enough places to pull off to take photos but we take advantage of most of them. Sometimes there are food trucks or vendors or buskers. We loved this man’s music but he was selling CDs. What are you supposed to do with a CD?

We found a quiet beach parkup just before another storm blew through. Our weather has definitely improved but the squalls are still fierce and require some planning.

By morning the sun was shining again. This is the Ireland we came for.

We mentioned before that it can be challenging to visit cities where motorhomes are discouraged or safe parking is hard to find. We heard about a park ‘n’ ride outside Galway and took advantage of the opportunity to leave the van in the company of others of its kind while we took the train to the city.

For once it didn’t rain and Galway was a delight, colorful, artsy, often whimsical.

We stopped in the visitor’s center for a map and a walking guide but we made no attempt to see all the sights. It was fun just to share the joy of a dry day with fellow tourists.

Galway embraces the new and modern but celebrates its history, too. Here’s a look at the original castle walls under the floor of the Aran sweater market.

We tried following our walking tour map but there were too many distractions to keep us on track.

Ah! A cheese shop! Maybe we can get something besides cheddar? But no, the shop was closed and we could only peer longingly through the door at what might have been a very big sale for the proprietors.

I don’t play chess and I don’t collect anything, but if I did I’d consider chess sets. They always catch my eye wherever we go and these are particularly fanciful.

By the time we left the park it was well past lunch time. Jack couldn’t pass up the Irish stew.

We finished the day with a visit to the museum and loved seeing these posters of Irish musicians.

I wish we could visit more cities as easily as this. One quick stop on the train and we were back home again. It looks like the bad weather is behind us. Maybe we’ll have summer after all.