The Last Embers of Summer

Whirlwind would be the only way to describe the final, final part of Jen moves back to London via the rest of the world. Within a span of, technically, a day and a half, I found myself in two countries and three different time zones.

Shanghai

I returned to Shanghai via Hanoi and with 48-hours left to go and my Dulwich friends having returned to work already, I had a love affair with all things Shangers. I had a massage, shopped at Madame Mao's Dowry, sat down and had two glasses of prosecco at Citizen, one of my favourite haunts. 

I also met friends for a final drink at Le Vin, the tiny, wonderful wine bar with the wonderful waiter and his wonderfully generous pours of wine.

And on my final morning, I rallied the troops to join me for a final epic Shanghai Sunday brunch. We gathered at Isola in the Super Brand Mall to toast two years gone too quickly. Two courses and bottomless prosecco later, the tears at bay, I bid farewell to my friends, hopped in a taxi back to Clare's, grabbed my bags and made for the airport one final time. I couldn't think of a more fitting conclusion to my time there.

California Interlude

My flight out of Shanghai took me back to Michigan via Los Angeles (and a six-hour layover), or LAX airport, to be more specific. Shanghai to LA is a 12-13 hour flight, depending on the jet stream. The time difference is roughly 15 hours. So let's do some maths. I left Shanghai at 6pm on Sunday and landed at something like 3pm on Sunday (technically going backwards in time) only to leave LAX at 9pm the same night and land in Michigan (a three hour time difference from California, 12 from Shanghai) at 5am on Monday morning. Do those numbers crunch? 

To make matters even more complex, my 6-hour stopover coincided with the end of my parents' trip to California to visit family. They finagled seats on my flight back so we could all fly the red eye together. I must have been delirious because I only remember the next few hours in dribs and drabs. I slept not a wink on the Shanghai to LA flight. So when my godfather and parents came to pick me up at the airport and whisk me away to a quick family reunion of sorts, I made noises that sounded like conversation. I remember what the pictures tell me:

 

Back to Michigan 
Once on the flight to Michigan, I conked out in my seat whilst we were still on the runway and woke up at wheels down five hours later. The jet lag, oh the jet lag. But it was my first trip back to Michigan during the summer in years and I revelled in backyard barbecues, cool August nights and, most importantly, reunions with family and friends.

All went well until Winston got skunked. Which is how Jaclyn and I found ourselves in rubber gloves on the front porch rubbing down a yellow dog in tomato juice. With four hands on him, Winston loved every minute of it:

The skunking was a brief distraction from niece watch 2016. Catey was due in early September but having early signs of labour. So as we waited for the newest Avila, I delighted in unpacking my entire backpack and sleeping in one bed for longer than two nights. And finally, on the 24th of August, I made my final flight of the summer: back to London, back to Paul, back to the reality of a new job. The feeling was bittersweet and looking back now, I can't believe how quickly China came and went, how ridiculous Summer 2016 was.

I'm grateful for it all.

Hanoi, part 2

As the week continued, I got increasingly brave and decided to put myself in a taxi to the Old Quarter. This is the Hanoi that's well known to tourists. It's a densely packed area chock full of streetside restaurants, bars, coffee shops and tiny shops selling anything and everything. It's heat and motorbike exhaust personified and is a fascinating place to wander.

Ancient mingles with modern and people watching becomes a wonderful game to play.

Every corner yields a different piece of architecture, from Catholic Cathedrals to bamboo ladders:

The Old Quarter was the Vietnam I'd experienced on a previous trip to the country. Sights, smells, fruits, vegetables, I loved it, if only briefly. The smells, sights and sounds became overwhelming after a while so I was grateful for the eventual reprieve back to Rosa's.

Next to the Old Quarter, Hoan Kiem Lake also provides a little greenery to the otherwise dusty environs.

And perhaps my most favourite agenda item was Rosa's recommendation. They took me a while to find but train tracks traverse the country from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh and back. Dubbed the 'Reunification Express', the train connects these two major cities, traversing nearly 3,000 kilometers of coastline in 34-hours. Service is once-daily. In Hanoi, the train is famous in that it closely skirts the houses of local residents. The train track community has becomes its own little working microcosm of the city:

 

On my final day in Hanoi, I hopped onto Rosa's motorbike one final time in order to attend a Vietnamese cooking class near her work. I prayed for the entire final journey, something I don't often do these days. When I dismounted for the last time, I felt an intense sense of relief. It was this relief that distracted me and I lost my balance, catching the muffler of the neighbouring motorbike with the back of my calf. The skin instantly sizzled and blistered; as I howled, Rosa ran in to the neighbouring coffee shop who had supplies ready for this kind of emergency. And this, my friends, is how I truly inaugurated myself into Hanoi living. Call it a Hanoi kiss, a Hanoi tattoo, a Hanoi big ass scar but it's a bit of a rite of passage. One I'd rather have lived without.

But onwards! Minutes later, I met up with Mai and Huan, the friendly family running the Basil Cooking Club out of their home. My cooking class included a guided tour of the market, a family house tour (including visit to the aaamazing bonsai garden) and even a trip to the pharmacy to obtain some cream for my newly appointed second degree burn.

Once back in the courtyard, I learned the finer points of making Vietnamese spring rolls, a tofu dish and some fried vegetables. I even learned the finer art of delicious dipping sauces. I've not tried to replicate these dishes since but this is no judgement on the class. It was an enlightening way to spend a few hours and I'd definitely recommend it.

And on my last evening, Rosa took me to tick something off her Hanoi bucket list, walk the Long Bien Bridge. Built in 1903 by French architects, the bridge spans the Red River and has become a symbol for the city's strength and resilience. Many attempts were made to bomb the bridge during the American War (aka the Vietnam War) but it remained a stalwart symbol.

Although there was a pedestrian pavement (see above, right), motorbikes took this as an opportunity to skirt around traffic. So as we dangled above the Red River dodging motorbikes and taking in the scenery below including workers processing fresh pineapples, amongst other delights:

  

Early the next morning, I bid Rosa an early farewell and made my way back to Shanghai for a final farewell of my 2014-2016 life. Tears to come.

Hanoi, part 1

My almost-final stop in the grand ten-week get back to London adventure took me to Hanoi, Rosa's home away from home. Whilst Rosa was at work I entertained myself during the days and she showed me the city by evening. It was an eventful five days; between heat stroke, motorbike mishaps and generally profuse sweating, I can attest that Hanoi is the crazy cousin you try to avoid but end up getting roped into a grand, ridiculous adventure with.  And it's hotter than an oven. 

Tay Ho

Largely considered the 'expat' area, this is where Rosa resides. At its centre, a large lake looms. Although it's a lake in name only; no one swims there, nor do they eat the fish. There was some apparent seafood scandal rocking the city that no one quite knew specific details about. That aside, this part of the city also boasted a wide range of Western restaurants, a brewery and cafes to sup strong, sugary Vietnamese coffee in. 

The more residential streets of Tay Ho are a bit more traditional and consist of winding little lanes where the occasional house and apartment block interrupt the path. Outside Rosa's block, a conglomeration of wires and telephone cables dangle haphazardly. On day two, men worked on the lines, cutting the power in the block. There's no better way to ensure people leave their abodes than by cutting off their access to cool. 

My favourite respite became Cong Caphe, a delight of a small Vietnamese coffee chain made particularly famous for their frozen coconut Vietnamese coffee. I frequented both the Tay Ho and Old City branches when the heat got to be too much, which was roughly after five minutes in baking heat and humidity.

I only learned to stop and take a heat break after my first afternoon in the city. Rosa and I walked around the lake to go get her bike fixed. I'm not certain if it was the direct beating rays of fire, the dehydration from flying or something else entirely, but I developed a particularly strange case of confusion and exhaustion. This turned into nausea and chills and it turns out these are the precise symptoms of heat stroke. Lying in a darkened, air-conditioned apartment for hours seemed to be the only resolution to the matter, which is how I found myself down for the count on Day 1. 

Journey Towards the Old Quarter 

On Day 2, I decided to take a decidedly less strenuous plan. Blogging, sitting, massage ensued. And when Rosa got home from work, I put on my big girl pants (as well as her spare helmet) and toured the city of five million motorbikes (this is not an exaggeration) on the back of Rosa's hog. I was terrified. I still am terrified thinking about it today. This is no slant on Rosa's driving. This is a slant on the apparent lack of road rules in Vietnam. The reality is that chaos reigns supreme in the way that no rules become rules; there is a strange beauty in the mass movement of motors.

As I screamed noiselessly into my helmet, Rosa weaved in and out of traffic towards Ba Dinh Square, the final resting place of Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam's great revolutionary leader. On the way, we paused at various temples and pagodas; I think this one is called Tran Quoc Pagoda but I could be wrong:

There was something illustrious about this particular structure. I want to say it was the oldest in the city and/or country but I might be making that up: 

At Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum, we felt the gravity and weight of history behind us. That, and the power of the Communist ideology. It was more than a little bit eerie.

Our final stop, the Melia Hanoi hotel, which boasted a fantastic rooftop view:

More madness to come!

Canggu Beach, Bali

Our final stop in Bali took us to Pineapple House, a yoga and surf retreat recommended by one of my Dulwich colleagues. The house boasted an unconventional retreat: not mandated times to go to various classes but a bevy of options of both yoga and surfing classes to take at points throughout the day. Yoga classes take place next door at the beautiful Desa Seni; you go when you want to, as often as you want. Whilst off-schedule, one had the luxury to sit in the living room, dip in the pool, have a massage or wander into town, a haven for vegan delicacies, and hang out on the beach.

Canggu Beach town itself is a drive away but a ten-minute walk away yields a little parade of cafes, restaurants and design shops that make for a perfectly pleasant wander.

And if that gets a little boring (which, for me, it did not), the beach in a further 15-minute walk. We made for the entrance through La Laguna, a beach bar and restaurant that was perfectly boho:

And the beach beyond did not disappoint. Apparently August is off-season for this little slice of paradise. The beautiful people confined themselves to the beach clubs and so we wandered, stopped for a Bintang whilst sitting in a beanbag and watching the sunset. 

On Rosa's last day, we made our way to Batu Bolong beach, just up the coast. I watched Rosa catch her final waves as I sat and sunned myself.

I stumbled on some surfer-favourite haunts such as Old Man's, a bar and restaurants serving the good people of greater Canggu for several years now.

We eventually made the slow way home, wandering a couple of kilometres up the beach and back to our accommodation. One of the temples on the way was celebrating some kind of ceremony and everyone there was kitted out in white. There was a lot of waiting around before the kids got restless and started running the beach. We never did find out what was going on but it was great to see a community come together in such a peaceful way for something they had a mutual belief for.

Rosa left early the next morning to return to Hanoi and work. I would join her in two day's time but in the meantime, I had more yoga and beach time to take advantage of. It would be my last beach as an Asian resident and I took that to heart. I still felt like I hadn't seen enough that Bali had to offer but the feeling only gave me more reason to plan another trip back.