Taking It Easy In Tenggol Travel Tip

Saturday April 12, 2008, Taking it easy in Tenggol Travel tip

By MICHAEL D’OLIVEIRO

You don’t have to go far to have a good dive.

To get back into the diving season after a three-month hiatus, I decided to ease into it in a more leisurely way.

My recent visit to Pulau Tenggol was suitably laid-back. The shortest departure point from the mainland to this under-rated dive destination is via Tanjong Jara. Naturally, I factored Tanjong Jara Resort into my accommodation plans.

Thriving Tanjung Gemuk

After the short flight to Kuala Terengganu from the Klang Valley, I was picked up by the resort’s driver for a 40-minute jaunt south. Highlights included a little stopover to try authentic keropok lekor and other East Coast goodies. Then it was on to the resort itself.

An upmarket establishment, Tanjong Jara Resort is “Unmistakably Malay”. This is immediately apparent to guests. From the architecture inspired by ancient Malay palaces to the uniforms, food and service, everything about the place is unmistakably Malay.

I was surprised at the compactness of the resort’s dive centre. Clearly, the resort does not attempt to mass market its scuba diving activities like other resorts, nor does it need to do so for it is primary target is honeymooners.

But why let that get in the way of good diving?

Tenggol and the Highway

Our smallish dive boat departed from Tanjong Jara’s own beachfront as we made our way to Tenggol. The island was in our sights barely half an hour later.

Tenggol’s uniqueness lies in several sites that offer a wall-diving experience somewhat akin to Sipadan, but not quite on the same scale and not boasting as many sharks and turtles. This isn’t to say that Tenggol’s marine life is not up to scratch, though.

The Edge, our entry site, was a strange start. Reef life seemed non-existent at our descent point and continued that way for a minute or two. Coral life was a bit more promising, with plenty of soft and hard coral creating a mishmash of colour like a well-used palette.

Nudibranchs stood out every 10m or so. A lone titan triggerfish patrolled a coral bommie nearby, and we gave it a wider berth than the Queen Mary. The latter part of the dive produced small schools of damselfish and parrotfish.

I surfaced wondering whatever happened to the crowd or were they all just sleeping in after a late one?

Schools of sergeant majors darted past us like children at crowded zebra crossings. We even bumped into a bewildered green turtle snacking on his brunch of hard coral. Richard Smith, our resident instructor, was kind enough to terrify me with a casual point of a finger to my left as we wandered on. I looked, and there it was – an adult moray eel lurking out of its lair, mouth agape.

I gave it a wide berth too. Reef fish, batfish and numerous parrotfish; now this place was more like it. But if one came for walls, then Tanjong Gemuk had to be on the itinerary.

The traditionally Malay Tanjong Jara Resort.

My final trip of the day yielded the mini-Sipadan experience I had heard so much about. We started on the shallows and made our way along the rocks, whereupon the coral-filled slope straightened up vertically all of a sudden.

This dive site is not nicknamed “The Highway” for nothing as the currents can be quite strong. However, today we experienced a gentle current that made this a great drift dive.

Smith obliged us divers with interval surface visits to Tenggol’s main stretch of beach, as well as some smaller, secluded ones that were great for snorkelling and swimming. The ride back was definitely made with a bit of regret.

Rustic charm

My room stay was a highlight too. Tanjong Jara’s accommodation is luxurious but not opulent. The bathroom was generously sized and came with a bathtub-cum-Jacuzzi. Broadband and cable TV allowed connectivity to the world but the beachfront and spacious, clean gardens gave the place a heavenly feel.

Besides enjoying the leisurely dives, one can take advantage of some land-based activities too. I took up an offer to pedal through a Malay village with a guide. The locals are warm and inviting as you pedal past them and negotiate narrow lanes and shortcuts in between scenic lookouts.

I ended my trip with some roti canai minus utensils – apparently they’re alien in these parts of Malaysia!

Of the resort’s restaurants, Nelayan has a wonderful view of the beach but a rather limited menu. I found the name misleading, as no real seafood dishes were available.

Teratai is the place for a heartier meal and perhaps some steamboat, although you trade the ocean view with one of a swimming pool.

Di Atas Sungai is where breakfast is mainly served. The selections were decent, I thought, but the service and refreshing of food stations were a little too slow for my liking.

The real and only caveat is that Tanjong Jara is not cheap. Also, there is no huge dive centre from which to buy accessories nor is there a large dive boat on which you can catch a snooze when out exploring.

No, Tanjong’s Jara’s attraction is the leisurely diving experience you get while shaking off the rustiness built up over the off-season.

Tenggol’s dive sites are above average and travelling time to them by boat is also minimal. If you’re travelling as a couple, your trip could probably even double as a relaxing, romantic weekend.

Either way, the choices seem faultless.

> Feedback on scuba diving is welcome at michael@divemalaysia.com.my

Travel tip

GETTING THERE The road journey from KL to Tanjong Jara will take five hours. You could also fly into Kuala Terengganu and then hire a cab to the resort.

ACCOMMODATION A three-day/two-night stay at Tanjong Jara costs RM699 per person on twin-sharing basis. All meals, taxes and services charges have been included. A surcharge of RM200 per adult is applicable on Fridays, Saturdays, public holidays and during peak season.

DIVING A two-tank dive trip in Tenggol costs RM350 per person, with gear costing about RM60 per person.

RESERVATIONS Call Tanjong Jara Resort at Tel: (03) 27..., fax: (03) 2148 7397 or e-mail: travelcentre@ytlhotels.com.my

Venture Into Vientiane

Saturday March 22, 2008, Venture into Vientiane

By Joleen Lunjew

When you arrive at Vientiane, you will be amazed at how laidback the city is compared to the other capitals of South-East Asia.

Situated along the Mekong, Vientiane offers many temples as well as riverside stretches where visitors can relax in a restaurant as they watch the sun set over a nice meal.

Don't forget to wash your meal down with cold Lao Beer, the country’s national beer, which could very well be cheaper than mineral water.

Entertainment is limited in the city but there are a few good places if you look hard enough. Mekong Deck, a bistro and bar, is one of the newer establishments along the Mekong riverbank and a great place to chill out and relax with friends under the stars. Language isn’t a problem here, as the place is owned by Malaysians.

The grand Patuxai, Vientiane’s monument of independence.

We stayed not too far away at one of the two five-star hotels in Vientiane, Don Chan Palace, also Malaysian-owned. All the usual five-star amenities are offered here, but if you prefer something with more character and colour, you might want to check out the city’s boutique hotels.

Book yourself on a city tour, or if you are up to it, rent a bicycle and go out and enjoy the sights. It’s practical because the city is really not that big and the weather is just lovely.

There are plenty of temples, of course, with the oldest being Wat Si Saket, now signposted as Sisaket Museum. It is certainly worth a visit. Constructed Bangkok-style, the temple has interior walls that are riddled with small niches housing thousands of Buddha images large and small, made of wood, stone, silver and bronze.

In the centre of the courtyard is a hall that houses yet more Buddha niches and beautiful but fading murals depicting the Buddha’s past lives. The beautiful golden Pha That Luang (Great Sacred Stupa) is the most important national monument in Laos, and is a symbol of both the Buddhist religion and Lao sovereignty.

Legend has it that a reliquary was built here to enclose a piece of the Buddha's breastbone. There are many elderly ladies selling caged birds in the square. Releasing birds back into the wild is supposed to earn you merit, but I didn’t see the point in doing because as the birds will only be caught again in a vicious cycle of amusing the tourists.

For shopping, head to the stalls selling various local handicraft and souvenirs. Make sure to bargain here, as the goods can be cheaper than those sold at the more popular Morning Market.

Patuxai (Victory Gate), Vientiane’s local rendition of Paris’ Arc de Triomphe, commemorates Laotians who died in pre-revolutionary wars. It was built in 1969 with concrete the Americans had donated for a new airport, hence the term “vertical runway” for the structure.

You won't feel the climb to the top of this seven-storey building for a view of downtown Vientiane because there are many shops occupying each floor that are bound to make you stop and have a look.

View downtown Vientiane from the top of Patuxai.

Bargain hunters should not miss visiting Talat Sao or Morning Market, a two-storey labyrinth that sells Lao silk, handicraft, jewellery, electronics, clothing, watches, and pretty much anything you can think off. Although slightly more expensive compared than the stalls at other tourist sites, Talat Sao’s goods are still reasonably priced, especially if you bargain.

And the variety here is simply amazing. Don't be fooled by the name as the market opens till late in the evening.

There are many other attractions in and around the city, so be sure to spend a few days here to enjoy the relaxing atmosphere and take advantage of the ridiculously low-priced massages.

Yes, go ahead and soak up some history in Vientiane, one of South-East Asia's most laidback capital cities.

AirAsia Go Holiday, a subsidiary of AirAsia, offers holiday packages to Vientiane as well. Book your trip at http://goholiday.airasia.com.

Asean United

Saturday March 22, 2008, Asean united

By JOLEEN LUNJEW

After years of sparse connectivity, AirAsia has finally completed its service to Asean countries with direct KL – Vientiane flights.

FOR a decade after the financial crisis of 1998, travellers could not fly direct to Laos from KL, due to MAS scaling back the destinations it serviced. But now, flying direct to the Land of a Million Elephants is possible once more, with AirAsia stepping up to offer three KL-Vientiane flights a week.

Previously, travellers to Laos had to take a flight to Bangkok and hop on connecting flights on other airlines like Thai Airways or Lao Air. This was one of the main reason Malaysians preferred to visit other Indochinese countries instead – namely, Cambodia and Vietnam.

AirAsia’s new route to Laos is now expected to open a whole new destination for Malaysians to explore and, in the process, benefit both countries.

Thousands of Buddha images line the interior walls of Wat Si Saket.

At the launching of AirAsia’s KUL-VTE route in Vientiane, Asean secretary-general Dr Surin Pitsuwan said having been together for the last 40 years, Asean countries are finally beginning to reap the fruits of regional integration.

“The introduction of this route does not only mean success to AirAsia but success for Asean countries as a whole.

“We live so near each other but rarely travel across the border, as the lack of infrastructure has always been our main problem.

“Asean countries have so much to offer. Nowhere in this world can you have so many countries located near each other with an amazing market of attractions, cultures and people.

AirAsia is now taking the lead by connecting all Asean countries together through flights, and I hope other airlines will start doing the same for Asean to become a world destination.”

A collection of broken Buddha statues at Wat Si Saket were recovered after the war.

With the airline now connecting all the Asean cities through KL as their hub, AirAsia is setting its sights on becoming a true Asean airline.

“We have finally connected the 10th country in Asean and will continue to expand our routes within the region. Asean is the future, and in believing so, we will now be recruiting crew from all the Asean countries,” said AirAsia group chief executive officer Datuk Tony Fernandes.

Fernandes revealed that the airline initially planned to start daily flights within one year of the launch but the unexpected demand has made them decide to introduce daily flights to Vientiane earlier.

“The load factor was almost 90% in December last year, and in January, it was 65%, way above our expectations.

“We were planning to start our daily flights in December 2008, a year from our launch date, but looking at the fantastic response, we have decided to introduce daily flights in half that time (in May).”

Pha That Luang symbolises Buddhism and Lao sovereignty.

He added that AirAsia will fly to Luang Prabang, a popular tourist destination in Laos, when the airport runway is extended as the A320 is currently not able to land there.

Also present at the launching ceremony were Laos Public Works and Transportation Minister Sommat Pholsena, Loas ambassador to Malaysia Dr Bountheuang Mounlasy, Malaysian ambassador to Laos Zainal Abidin Ahmad, and AirAsia Chairman Datuk Pahamin Rajab.

AirAsia currently flies direct to Vientiane from Kuala Lumpur three times a week every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. For more information, visit www.airasia.com.my.

Clogged Up In Cu Chi

Saturday March 22, 2008, Clogged up in Cu Chi

yasmin@thestar.com.my

Until you’ve been trapped several feet underground with a fat behind stifling the air supply right in your face, you can’t possibly know hell.

A city’s a city, right? Lots of people, lots of noise, a bit more crime than you’d find in your average hill tribe village?

Wrong.

Ho Chi Minh was not just another city. It was an uber city, a metropolis, a massive seething ant farm of humanity with a good dose of inhumanity thrown in to boot. Lots of people? Try four million of them, all squashed at an average of 22,000 per sq km. Lots of noise?

“What? I screamed above the cacophony of the traffic to the motorbike driver for the eighth time. “I said you want marijuana? Very good, very sticky!” And that took care of a bit more crime.

District 1, the main tourist drag in downtown Saigon, was deranged with mayhem, and it wasn’t even nine in the morning yet. The streets were crammed to bursting with people of every persuasion: from touts selling everything from ivory opium pipes to hammocks, to little boys selling packets of Wrigleys Spearmint that had surely been in storage since the Vietnam War.

Into a labyrinth: Tourists walk down one of the Cu Chi tunnels.

Clinging to my daypack, I pushed my way tentatively past tailors and cramped art reproduction sweatshops in which dozens of young men painstakingly copied famous work. “So, what's next?” asked my travel buddy, Dini. I was just about to open my mouth and suggest anchoring ourselves with some Vietnamese coffee, when I spotted a sign that read “Tunnel Tours”. Given our aversion to group anything, Dini and I were doubtful. As far as we were concerned, a group excursion turned otherwise normal individuals into a collectively retarded clot of helpless fumbles who, for the duration of their junket, hand over their free will to hyper jerks with an overworked script.

But then again, I thought, maybe a day of acting like a docile infant instead of a trouble-seeking missile of an idiot would do no harm. Besides, we might actually see something neat.

“What’s the tour about?” I asked the lady at the information desk.

“Ah!” she shot back. “We go to the Cu Chi tunnels. It’s a 200km stretch of underground passageway built by Viet Cong guerillas during the war. You can crawl through a tunnel yourself.”

“Dini?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

Why not, indeed. Even if the sights turned out to bad, we would get to spend a few hours drowning in an air-conditioned bus with seats so plush they swallowed us. After three weeks of torturing our tailbones on wooden planks and seats so small, our bottoms felt as if they had been sharpened to point, this way was our little way of saying “Thank you” to our butts.

“Welcome to the Tunnel Tours. My name is ?” he made some kind of tuneful gulping noise, “but you can call me Billy,” said the guide.

Some Vietnam war veterans on the bus had been to the tunnels long before they became a sort of macabre tourist attraction, but they were paying in dong this time, not lives, and I’d be damned if they weren’t going in and facing their past like men.

The roadside jungle grew thicker and white stumps reading “Cu Chi’’ counted off kilometres to our destination. By the time we got to the tunnel complex and were seated in a room, our curiosities were aflame.

Underground city: Foreign tourists listen to a guide next to one of the gates leading to the tunnels at the site of Cu Chi tunnels

The surrounds looked innocent enough, just another scrubby jungle landscape dotted with fading signs in Vietnamese.

“Before you go to the tunnels, we have a movie for you to watch, which explains what happened here during the war,” Billy announced.

The television flickered and instantly the sounds of combat filled the room. On a screen tinged with a grey gloom of age, grainy jets pelted dense forest with bombs, as peasants went berserk, scrambling madly for cover and Viet Congs in their black pj's assembled dodgy-looking rifles.

“The tunnels at Cu Chi” a heavily accented narrator began. “The true story.”

As the soundtrack of gunfire and high-pitched shrieks gave way to something akin to the theme from Bambi, images of idyllic village life filled the screen. “Cu Chi, the land of many gardens,” said the narrator. “Peaceful all year round under shady trees. But then,” intoned the narrator, “everything changed. Mercilessly the American bombers decided to kill this gentle piece of countryside.”

Dini and I glanced at each other. I wondered if the Americans could see humour in it. Obviously not.

“Gentle?” cried a stocky American in fatigues, “Gentle my ass! What is this sh*t?” Immune to the heckling, the narrator droned on. “Like a crazy bunch of devils they fired into women and children...insane Yankee devils...”

“My buddy died down there you a**hole!” yelled someone from the back.

“We hoped you liked the movie. Maybe later, some of you would like to try shoot a real AK47 at our firing range,” said Billy, oblivious to the uproar. Now that’s bad timing.

Billy led us into a hut, evidently some kind of torture museum, boasting a galaxy of horror that made Psycho look like an episode of Little House On The Prairie.

Graphic murals on the walls showed cartoon American soldiers keeling over in pools of red paint. The exhibits consisted of dozens of nifty gizmos employed by the Viet Cong spelunkers to make the enemy's lives, or what remained of them complete – hell-spiked ankle trap, homemade spears and bombs. And more.

“Come now,” Billy called out to our increasingly nauseated group. “Time for the tunnels.”

I was the most claustrophobic person I knew, but burying myself in a tiny underground tunnel had to be better than this archive of agony. Along the walk, Billy expanded on what we had learned about their history. By his account, the tunnels were first constructed as a place for the impoverish peasant, the Viet Minh, to hide from and fight the French. But it wasn’t until 1960, with the uprising of the communist Viet Cong against the South Vietnamese government and later, the Yanks, that the tunnels reached their highest point, or to be literal – the lowest.

The tunnel system ran from Saigon to the Cambodian border, which would have made for a bloody long crawl.

Apart from using the sprawling network as a clever base from which to attack and to hide miniscule hospitals, kitchen and weapon factories, the guerillas actually lived down here for months at a time. When the US troops sent dogs to sniff out the tunnels, the Viet Cong used American-made soap to throw them off the scent. Billy steered us into a forest clearing.

“Does anyone see a good place to hide?” he quizzed. I looked around. Trees? Too obvious. Behind a nearby rock? Sure, if you’re three inches, tall but as far as I could tell the guerillas weren’t Smurfs. Booting me out of the way, Billy cleared a pile of compost that concealed a lid and swept his hand - voila! -a secret hiding hole.

As far as I could see, the narrow pit went straight down about two feet, leaving no room for a sniper to crouch once inside. Maybe they really were Smurfs. In one liquid motion, Billy slid in and all but disappeared except for his grinning face and arms, which stuck out like a jack-in-the-box.

“Now see how they hid!” he said, folding himself down into the pit, while dragging the covering lid over his head. Everyone dutifully oooh-ed and aah-ed, genuinely impressed. I shuddered at the thought of the American patrols in the jungles and the nasty surprise that awaited them.

Two seconds later, I got a pretty good idea. “Yaaaaah!” Billy shouted, leaping back out of the hole, sending the lid and not to mention me flying. “Bloody hell!” I screamed.

“Sorry,” I muttered sheepishly. “I got a bit carried way. This was precisely why I’d never played Dungeons & Dragons.

“The tunnels we will enter have been widened so that Western tourists can crawl through them,” Billy explained. “Now, go in and see what it’s like to be a real Cu Chi guerilla. But let me warn you, there is no light here and it is very narrow. Anyone who is pregnant or scared of the dark should not go in.”

I looked at Dini with trepidation, and she offered a half smile in return.

“If you get scared or feel panic, you can come out at any of the exits we have made every 50 feet along. Or for the brave,” he chuckled “ you can go the entire way.”

By the time I found myself on all fours, enveloped in dust, a large woman’s bottom had blocked what-ever visibility I may have otherwise had. “Fish,” I grumbled back to Dini. “I'll bet the Viet Cong never had to put up with this.”

I took stock of my surrounds. Fixating on the arse of a 50-year-old woman had been eerie enough, but crouched in the dark tunnel, I felt like I was being swallowed in a constricting oesophagus.

Dirt was getting into my lungs, nose, and mouth. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I realised there was nothing else to see – just dirt and darkness.

“Uh... Dini,” I said, trying in vain to turn my head around.

“I feel sort of sick.” What I actually felt was my gorge rising, along with a wave of anxiety and revulsion. I wanted to scream at the top of my clogged-up lungs, but that would only open the floodgates of panic.

Buoyed by the idea of busting out into the afternoon sunlight, I crawled forward at top speed, which wasn't very fast at all. “Ow!” the clogger cried, as I slammed straight into her bum. “Watch it!” “Whoops,” I mumbled, trying to dislodge my head.

“Is this line moving or what?”

“Someone’s having a panic attack,” she grunted back. “I think it's one of the old guys. He’s refusing to move.”

The air was getting damp from communal exhaling. Apart from an imminent panic attack, I was possessed with admiration for the determined guerillas who lived and died down here.

“We’re moving!” came a voice from somewhere in the distant dim. “Go lady, move it!”

I stifled at the urge to slap her on the buttocks and waited for an intolerable five seconds until we actually began worming our way forward again.

And it wasn’t until I clambered out of that heat tunnel, squinting in the late afternoon sunlight with forest air filling my lungs that I truly knew joy. Chocolate has nothing on oxygen, I tell you. I looked down at the dirt that had taken up permanent residence on my clothes. I’ve kept it that way, as a reminder of man’s brutality to their fellow man.

Wild Water Rafting

Saturday March 29, 2008, Wild water rafting

Our writer goes for a roll on the spitting fury that is the Padas River in Sabah.

By DAVID WILSON

FORGET upstream and downstream. The normal laws of physics do not apply in Padas where the river writhes, tosses and turns, sending rafters paddling furiously to stay afloat amid its churning white waters.

If you have no idea where Padas is, relax, you are not alone.

From my lodge in Kota Kinabalu, I had to first make a 90-minute minibus journey just to reach the transit station of Beaufort.

Action-packed journey: Screaming was part of the fun when careening down Padas River as these girls soon found out.

That's where I caught Borneo’s only train, which unfortunately runs on what my guide called “rubber time”, meaning it arrives when it chooses and not according to schedule. When it finally rolled in, a cabal of Koreans duly pushed bags through the open windows, reserving all the seats and forcing me to spend this second 90-minute journey standing up, which in hindsight proved to be good white-water rafting practice.

The train, which is just over 30 years old, set off with a sound like a thunderclap.

The journey consisted of juddering halts punctuated by clattering forward phases as we rumbled through the jungle. Unfortunately, this wasn't the verdant jungle inhabited by Tarzan in the movies. Instead of macaques, proboscis monkeys, orangutans, pygmy elephants, crocodiles, hornbills and snakes, only stray dogs, leggy cockerels and egrets deigned to make their presence known to the train passengers by strolling along the tracks.

It was a passage into the virtual unknown, but the river more than made up for the journey getting there.

Straight, yet warped, it entertains whirlpools, eddies and almost indescribable choppy bits that seem to pull in all directions, heaving, straining and kicking.

The sounds of the raging river rang loud as the train rattled through the stomping ground of the Murut (“hill people”). The Murut are, according to Wikipedia, the last of Sabah's ethnic groups to renounce headhunting. My final stop, Pangi Station, boiled down to two things: a straggle of track with some kind of thighbone lying on it and the pink Riverbug tour shack. Outside the shack, I fuelled up on bananas and signed away my right to sue before a safety briefing by Riverbug tour company chief guide Mos (short for “Mosquito”).

Smooth sailor: A kayak virtuoso riding the rapids of Padas River.

After donning the helmet and life jacket, I gave up my valuables to the dry bag, forgetting to remove the pen from my pocket, and hopped into my dinghy, one of 10 carrying 88 other thrill-seekers. All seemed to hail from Macau and, because it was the school holidays, be about 15. Instantly, they started pawing the water and soaking each other.

Unsure what to do, I joined in as the dinghies clashed, wobbled and drifted into the middle of the river. Gales of laughter followed. I was left wondering how we would handle the first rapid.

Not very well, it turned out. Rabidly foaming, it chewed us up and spat us out, shrieking, back into the flood that is Padas River. I wondered which rapid it was – Merry-Go-Round, Break Point or Scooby Doo – as Geoff, our instructor, rallied the troops.

“We are now coming to Cobra Rapid. You must paddle or you will all fall in,” he prosaically announced.

That’s what you call motivation. We started rowing as if in danger of falling into a black hole, and emerged screaming but without casualties. I liked the screaming. It added to the experience.

And, so screaming, we continued over Curve Rapid and Lambada Rapid. Or was it the other way round?

It was hard to hear much. When in doubt, which is most of the time, paddle forward furiously. That helps stop you falling out of your pod. Despite this, someone did fall out in the wake of a particularly vicious procession of cascades. He or she – I couldn’t tell – just seemed to give up and floated, waiting for help to arrive, which does in the guise of a pro who'd been paddling alongside in a kayak.

As the nine-kilometre journey unravelled, the mood turned to one that could easily rival Lord of the Flies. At one point, when we took an arranged collective dip, an Amazonian female crewmember in designer jeans plucked a rock from the riverbed and, with a glint in her eye, raised it high. Thankfully, she only waved it around a bit, before meekly replacing it in the mud.

With a lot of huffing and puffing, we heaved ourselves back into our dinghy. Geoff lent a hand, pulling on our lifejacket straps, as we tumbled gracelessly back into the pod. It seemed a pity when we broke the trip to slake our raging hunger, retrieve our gear and catch the train back. I checked on my pen that valiantly followed me down the river and found it worked better now. Mysteriously, there was also a tube of lipstick with it.

I think I would be quite happy to travel the river’s entire 200-kilometre span. Especially if we could have more spectacular spillages. Or even better – a proper capsize.

Visit www.traversetours.com/whitewater_rafting_padas.php, or e-mail sales@traversetours.com.

Making A Difference

Saturday March 1, 2008, Making a difference

Stories by LEONG SIOK HUI

In this era of responsible travel, a Vietnamese tour operator gives back to the communities and environment.

It used to be so simple. I would read up on a destination prior to my trip and sign up with a local tour operator based on a few factors – how quickly and efficiently they responded to enquiries, whether the tour was value for money and feedback from other travellers.

But on a recent holiday to northern Vietnam, I chose a tour operator for just two reasons.

(Above) Breathe in the fresh air as you take a cycling tour through Mai Chau Valley.

Firstly, it had snagged the Best Tour Operator award in Condé Nast Traveler magazine’s World Savers Awards 2007. Secondly, it was named one of the 158 Best Adventure Travel Companies in the World by National Geographic Adventure (NGA) magazine. The NGA selection takes into account education, sustainability, quality of service and spirit of adventure.

So what makes Hanoi-based Buffalo Tours (BT) shine?

The company offers off-the-beaten-path treks to secluded villages, volunteerism and homestays in its programmes. It hires locally and donates some of its profits to humanitarian causes. Its business also helps sustain several communities’ traditional crafts and agricultural practices.

Village tourism

I opted for a two-day/one-night stay in Mai Chau Valley, and a visit to a local orphanage near Hanoi with BT to find out what the fuss was all about.

A 3½-hour’s drive from chaotic Hanoi takes visitors to the lush, picturesque valley of Mai Chau with its quaint villages and padi fields that drape over the valley like a gigantic emerald-green carpet.

Mai Chau is located 135km southwest of Hanoi in the province of Hoa Binh. With a population of about 47,500, Mai Chau is a cornucopia of ethnic groups like White Thai, H’mong, Dao, Tay and Muong. The White Thais, the majority people, are said to be a distant relative of tribes in Thailand, Laos and China, and are renowned for their weaving skills.

Buffalo Tour's Mai Chau Lodge.

I checked into BT’s new property, the Mai Chau Lodge, a boutique hotel with 16 deluxe rooms overseeing padi fields framed by a mountain or lake. The lodge used to be a government-owned guesthouse until BT bought and refurbished the place.

After a scrumptious lunch, guide Nguyen Manh Cuong and I hopped on our mountain bikes and checked out the different villages.

Most visitors to Mai Chau come to escape the hustle and bustle of the city, savour the tranquillity and experience homestays in traditional stilt houses. Mai Chau is also the starting point for multi-day treks to remote villages.

Since we didn’t have time to trek, I was happy just to ride around the villages and catch a glimpse of the locals’ day-to-day lives.

Responsible tourism

Lac Village, a 10-minute bike ride from the Lodge, is where I saw firsthand how BT has benefited a local community through tourism. Nguyen and I dropped in at No. 6 Homestay and chatted with manager, Hà Thuong Mai.

Homestay visits started getting popular in Lac in 1996. Traditionally, the locals, who are White Thais, relied on rice cultivation, livestock, hunting and fishing for food for income.

“Our farmers couldn’t earn much. We get two rice crops a year with each family getting about $2mil dong (RM406) per harvest in a span of 10 months,” explained Hà, whose father owns the No. 6 house.

“If the weather is bad, our crops are affected,” she said.

A padi field in Van Village.

BT is one of the first companies that helped market Mai Chau as a tourist destination. The company brought in tourists and created a local economy and jobs. Locals churn out traditional handicrafts, provide transport, and serve as guides.

The homestays charge an average of $50,000 dong (RM10) per night and $60,000 dong (RM12) per meal. There are now 10 homestays in Lac Village alone.

“Villagers earn an average of US$1,200 (RM3,840) to US$1,500 (RM4,800) per month from tourism,” said Hà, 32. “Now, 90% of the income here is generated from tourism while 10% from farming.”

Naturally, the locals’ living conditions have also improved.

“Our old house has been renovated several times, and we can afford things like a television and motorbike,” said Hà. “There are also opportunities for cultural exchanges for the young with foreign visitors.”

Tourism has also revived traditional handicrafts and enabled outsiders to learn more about the White Thai’s culture, Hà added. The villagers formed dance troupes to entertain visitors and thus helped revive its performing arts.

But inevitably, the large influx of tourists has had an effect on locals’ lives.

“Young Vietnamese tourists (like student groups) have influenced our culture, like bringing in loud pop music and karaoke singing. And the busloads of travellers flocking into the village have changed the tranquil atmosphere,” admitted Hà.

“But these are not serious issues. Our local authorities are imposing some rules like no noise after 11pm. If the students want to party, they can choose a spot outside of the village for a bonfire.”

Personally, I thought the village was a tad commercialised. Most of the houses peddled souvenirs and trinkets. And tour vans kept rolling in and out. Lac looked more like a “cultural” village than a “real” hamlet where locals go about their business. I was glad the Lodge was set outside Lac, and that the other villages were still relatively untouched.

But the good far outweighed the bad, as Hà pointed out.

Over the years, BT has roped in volunteers to build classrooms, wells and provide healthcare to the people of Mai Chau Valley.

As Nguyen put it, “Kien (BT founder) is like Uncle Ho (Chi Min) for the Mai Chau people as far as education and health are concerned.”

o Rethink Travel is a series of monthly articles on responsible tourism in collaboration with Wild Asia, a Kuala Lumpur-based conservation group. Hopefully we can help promote sustainable practices in Asian travel destinations and challenge common perceptions and ideas on travel. Click on www.wildasia.net for resources on responsible travel.