Mixed Experiences and Feelings in Hanoi – 27th May 2008

Mixed Experiences and Feelings in Hanoi – 27^th May 2008

Leaving Hanoi early on the Saturday morning I felt the bittersweet sense of regret that is common when you know that there are still many things undiscovered in a city that you are unlikely to return to. Because I was working I did not have time to visit some of the places that I really wanted to see but I did get an opportunity to observe quite a bit of the city as I walked around or from the back of the motorbike taxis. Parts of the city have large gracious houses and public buildings that were apparently built during the French Colonial period. Many of the streets are lined with large trees.

There are lakes throughout the city many of which are surrounded by parks. I particularly enjoyed Lenin Park. There is a small entrance fee which is well worth paying because it means there are comparatively few people there. I really appreciated the contrast between this tranquil area and the crowded streets. The big trees and strident cicadas muffled the incessant traffic noise. Throughout the park there are many statues and a range of ramshackle, faded children’s play equipment including small roller coasters and merry-go-rounds. The lake was again surrounded with brilliant red flame trees interspersed with trees with bright purple flowers. Elderly fishermen with simple bamboo rods and young courting couples were the only other people enjoying the surroundings.

On Wednesday I had no meetings, so having consulted my Lonely Planet I decided to go to Van Phuc, a nearby “silk village”. When I was sitting in a park a lovely young woman wanted to practice her English so we talked about traveling in Vietnam. She explained how to take a local bus and gave me directions. One of the things that I have discovered is that most Vietnamese people cannot read maps. Trying to use these to get directions is usually pointless but between her instructions and my map I found (eventually) the station and for the equivalent of 20 cents got myself to a nearby town and took a motorbike taxi to the village from there. As I got on I thought that it might be slightly mad getting on the back of a motorbike, with an unknown rider on unknown roads, but I got there safely. In my experience so far, the people here will happily overcharge me for every service and commodity but they have been unerringly honest in taking me where I want to go and have been utterly respectful in there interactions. I feel safer here, even walking the streets at night, than I do in many part of New Zealand.

I had in my own mind created a vision of my destination as an idyllic rural village with people preparing and weaving silk. The reality was somewhat different. It was more like an extension of Hanoi and was entirely comprised of retail stores hawking all sorts of commercial silk products designed for the tourist market. I wandered in and out of the shops enjoying the gorgeous colors and textures of the silks. It is an amazing fabric. I did not make any major purchases but did buy a couple of scarves and a pashima. Some time during my year here I will, I am sure, have the opportunity to go to a real silk village.

After some deliberation I decided to go to see the water puppets and booked a ticket for Friday night. It seemed likely that they would be another commercialized enterprise but they are a traditional form of puppetry and, knowing the Anne Duncan had enjoyed them, I decided that I would like to see them. Unfortunately a meeting time was changed and I did not get to go so I will try again when I am in Ho Chi Minh.

I do not know where I “fit” here. I am certainly not a local but most of the time I also do not feel like a traveler or tourist. When I have been in other countries in the past it has only ever been for a short period. This year in Viet Nam has a different feel and rhythm to it. I do not feel compelled to cram in as many sights and experiences as quickly as possible. In some ways I feel that I stand outside of both the local cultures and the tourist cultures, observing both from a distance. At times is looks like a process of mutual exploitation. It seems that local operators knowingly take advantage of the desires of tourists who are here to soak up the “exotic” and the “picturesque” and to score bargains in the shops and markets.

Two aspects of western behavior here that I find disturbing are the men, for whom “middle-aged” could only be applied of they are destined to live well past a century, seen in the close company of young Vietnamese woman, and the western couples walking about with tiny Vietnamese babies strapped to their chests.

It is clear that most of the men are not examples of our finest physically or socially. It seems unlikely to me that many of them would be able to lure women with the looks and bodies of these young women into their lives. Here they seem to parade around in packs loudly making their boorish way through the streets and shops while the stiletto healed, tightly clad, young women cling on to their liver spotted arms and laugh prettily at their feeble jokes. It seems that some of these men are here recreating their glory days from the war and others seeking a wife who will obediently serve them in their declining years. I find some of their behaviors abhorrent but the women are not naïve, unknowing girls. They are from one perspective exercising an economic choice but, given the poverty experienced by many here, it feels as though there is considerably less power on their side of the bargain. I expect that this situation may often be reversed however for those who gain residency in their man’s homeland.

The couples with the babies are more of a mystery to me. In Hanoi I saw many well-dressed, possibly affluent, western couples walking around with very young, (almost new-born), babies who appear to be Vietnamese. In almost every instance the baby was strapped, in a brand-new baby-cocoon, onto the chest of the man. Sometimes I saw groups of three or four of these couples walking around together with the babies. I should not jump to conclusions but I have some uncomfortable feelings about this situation.

Work Meetings

Despite all of the problems I had experienced when trying to make the arrangements the meetings that I had throughout the week were excellent. I met people from

• NZAID,
• UNICEF,
• Primary Education for Disadvantaged Children (PEDC),
• the Ministry of Education Early Childhood Department,
• the Vietnam Development Information Centre (VDIC),
• Save the Children UK,
• Vietnam-Belgium Project for Improving Pre-and In-service Training of Primary and Lower Secondary Teachers in the Northern Highlands of Vietnam,
• the NGO Resource Center and
• the National Institute for Education Strategy and Curriculum Development (ECE).

During these visits, as well as finding out about the work of the various organizations, I sought advice about how I should proceed with my project. Almost all of the people were warm and generous with their time and knowledge. Fortunately most of the people I met were able to speak English and the embassy provided a translator for a meeting where this was not possible. I found listening carefully to these people, from Vietnam and many other countries, most of whom had strong accents, exhausting but truly rewarding. I had the opportunity to hear a wide range of perspectives and now feel that, although I still have a huge amount to learn, I have much more idea about the intentions, practice, philosophy and aspirations of early childhood education in Vietnam.

One aspect that I had not prepared for sufficiently and found difficult was describing early childhood education in New Zealand in a way that was meaningful for them. I need to put together a kit of resources that will explain an approach that, even though we use some similar language, is fundamentally very different from that used here. There are times when I wanted to exclaim “no it is not” when again and again people listened to my descriptions of our philosophy and practice and then declared that this is the same as what they do here. Any suggestions from my early childhood family, friends and colleagues would be greatly appreciated!

A Fish Out Of Water - May 22, 2008.

Note - "Executive Floor"

My views out the window

My new digs!

A Fish Out Of Water - May 22, 2008.

The change in my circumstances yesterday was so weird that I am still getting used to it. A fairy godmother came into my life and granted me three days of absolute luxury in the Hilton Opera House. (NB - I don't suppose, given the hisotric associations, they could call it the Hanoi Hilton - for you young ones that was the name of an infamous POW camp during the American war).

As blogs are public I won’t include her name and the international organization she works here. My meeting with this wonderful woman was fortuitous in a number of ways. I heard, in a chance conversation in a lift, that she was in Hanoi and cheekily sent a note asking if I could meet with her. It was great talking with her about the project I am working in. She had been involved in the original scoping and is aware of some of the critical issues, opportunities and problems. Talking with her was inspirational. She has an amazing ‘make-it-happen’ attitude and tremendous knowledge about how systems work internationally and specifically in Viet Nam. Every meeting that I have had this week has been really worthwhile – this discussion was particularly encouraging.

While we were talking I was laughing as I described the awfulness of the hotel that I was staying in. She generously announced that her room in the Hilton was free for the next three nights and that I could use it gratis. I could not believe the offer but take not take long to accept.

I am used to basic hotels – having a private room instead of a dorm in a backpackers is my idea of luxury but the Prince 79 Hotel is something else. I had a balcony room on the 3rd floor. Now what relationship this hotel may ever have had to princes and in what way this could be described as a balcony will forever remain a mystery. It was pretty grungy with broken furniture and fittings and a layer of grime over everything but I could cope with that. The electricity to my room was turned off sporadically, the narrow spiral stairwell was cluttered with junk and supplies, the TV only hissed out static most of the time and had no volume control apart from loud, the reading light did not work and the wall light had a bulb of about 20 watts, the fridge made noises like an emphysemic octogenarian fighting for his last breath, the shower base was broken and leaked all over the floor, the towel was literally the size of a hand towel ….. It did not thrill me that in five days and four nights I only had my room serviced once, and that was after I asked for it for two days. Eventually they deigned to give me a new mini-towel and to empty the rubbish bin.

All of that I could cope with but the real issue was the staff. Now that I have left there I can admit that the staff at the place frightened me. They were all very young and loud. They kept me, and I am sure most of the hotel’s guests, awake until the early hours of the morning with shouting, arguing and laughing. I should have left sooner but most mornings I had witnessed them harassing other departing guests with trumped up problems and I was certain that leaving sooner than my booking would end up with demands that I pay the entire account – and I was not at all confident, given the amount I am able to pay, and the reports that I had read about comparative hotels on the internet, that I would find anything that was better. The other issue was that because they were holding my passport they had a lot of power. Once I knew I was moving to the Hilton I planned my get away with the precision of a prison escapee.

I worked out the exact cost for the nights I had stayed and converted it to dong, extracted my passport from them by telling them my ATM card was not working and I needed to go to the bank, packed my bags and presented myself at the desk, fait-accompli. I gladly paid a 40,000 ‘surcharge’ (not recorded on the receipt) and, much relieved, raced out the door. A passing cyclo driver assured me that he could carry me and my heavy bags and knew where to go so, having clearly negotiated a price of 18,000 we set off. Immediately we started going in the wrong direction. At first I gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking maybe it was a problem with one-way streets but as he took turn after turn in the wrong direction I protested more and more loudly. I did not know if he was mistaken (presumably not many of his customers move from Prince 79 to the Hilton) or if I and my luggage were off for some unfortunate eventuality. I was rapidly planning how to launch myself and my bags off the cyclo when he slowed for a turn but he finally asked for directions.

A while later we pulled up in front of the palatial hotel where I assume that guests are much more likely to arrive with their matching luggage in a limo, or at least a taxi, than in a cyclo. Unfortunately my entrance was even further marred by three unfortunate occurrences. (i) trying to get out of the cyclo which, in my defense was tipped on a steep angle because of my heavy bag, I tripped and just about landed on my face, (ii) I had an unseemly argument with the cyclo driver – the price had mysteriously changed to 80,000. In my hurry to escape I had not done the usual written confirmation or displayed-money negotiation. The door man suggested that I just pay as that it was not much money. Given where I was being delivered to I could see it from their perspective and payed up. (iii) as I made my way, goggle eyed and open mouthed through the smoothly revolving doors I was so busy looking around that I nearly got squashed. Not an auspicious start to the rich life!

I am in this environment a fish out of water. The cultural difference between this and my normal life is immense. For those of you who are plebs like me I am conducting a research study on life amongst the rich.

What does this sort of money buy?

Staff – dozens of staff who glide when they walk and murmur as they enquire as to your desires. Staff who, having already made everything pristine early in the day, come again in the evening to turn down the bed, draw the curtains and to refold the toilet paper into a precise point incase you are offended by the sight of the straight edge you have torn. What is that all about?

Softness and comfort – gorgeous sheets, huge fluffy towels, feather duvets, piles of pillows, slippers, lovely robes and a bed an acre wide.

Silence – a room that it is quiet and serene. Even the air conditioner is nearly silent. I cannot hear the traffic, the neighbors or the morning announcements.

A big bathroom full of lovely treats, more than 20 TV channels, telephones in every room (including the toilet!), in-room broadband, a cavernous marble, mirrored and gold lobby with a string quartet or someone playing on the grand piano, swimming pools, exclusive shops, doormen who summon taxis and limos etc etc. Everything that you could want is available – at a price.

Given that my actual financial circumstances have not changed I am staying right away from the in-room snacks, the restaurant, the bar and room service. I left my study of the rich and snuck off a number of blocks down the road to find street food that I could afford. It was very nice too – and sitting on my plastic mini stool I had a stunning view of the lights twinkling on the lake. But – with my fairy godmother's hotel package breakfast in the executive lounge is on the house! What a breakfast. Anything that you can imagine anyone, from anywhere, wanting for breakfast was on a buffet. I was as happy as a pig in muck! So much to choose from. Suffice it to say I didn’t even think about eating again until I was on my way home at 6:00 pm.

So what doesn’t money buy?

Beauty. How come opulence has to be the antithesis of beauty? Why is it compulsory in these places to have dreadful carpets, gold and shiny surfaces everywhere, horrendous chandeliers and appalling art works?

Friendliness – nobody is chatting in these lifts. We travel up and down pretending that the other people around us don’t exist. It is not just because they can see that I am an interloper – they don’t talk with their own kind- I have watched! And the staff are unwaveringly polite but never for a moment are the lines between the server and the served blurred.

Reality – it seems to me that with sufficient money it is possible to visit another country without leaving your own culture. Sheltered within the walls of the hotels, restaurants, shops and vehicles, designed to maximize comfort while minimizing difficulties, the real life of the country may be something to be glimpsed and commented on between coffee and cocktails. This is almost certainly an unfair stereotype but, having in the name of research, eavesdropped on a number of conversations in the lobby, I can verify that it is true for many here.

Do I envy the people who stay here? Mostly not - however some of it, sometimes, would be bloody nice. But – I am a fish out of water here, I feel like a fraud. I keep expecting one of the managers to discreetly come up to me and ask me to leave. Anyway - even fairy godmothers have limited powers and, just like Cinderalla's pumpkin ,my level of hotel (no star) will return to my life on Saturday - but it will not be the Prince 79.

Besides all of this frivolity I am actually working. By the end of tomorrow I will have met with people from seven agencies and organizations involved in early childhood in Viet Nam. These meetings have been really valuable and interesting. The people I have met with have been generous with their time and knowledge. I will write more about this and some of the wonderful things I have seen later.

Images of Hanoi Old Quarter

Lost and Found in Hanoi - May 19, 2008

Lost and Found in Hanoi - May 19, 2008

I spent yesterday, Sunday, looking around parts of central Hanoi. It is a huge, jostling city but not as frantic as Ho Chi Minh. I started the day by following the Lonely Planet walking tour around the old quarter. This area is a maze of narrow streets and small lanes. The streets are named after nearly 60 traditional trades and retail types; Blacksmith St, Coffin St, Pickled Fish St, Mat St, Clam Worms St, Silversmiths St, Herbal Medicines St etc etc (but in Vietnamese of course). The original trades are still evident but, as the Lonely Planet says, this is somewhat outdated or many of them would be called Tourist Junk Street now!

As I followed (with quite a few missturns and backtracks) the directions, I passed through a street with shoes everywhere, makers of gravestones, jewelry and clothing streets, mat and rope streets, a working blacksmiths area, a very aromatic herb street, a tin box street, mirror shops, streets selling funeral items and silk shops. There are many other streets that I have not explored yet. I am not really shopping as, although the prices are cheap in NZ dollars, I am trying to manage on my volunteer’s allowance. I wish that I could get a big sticker to put on my forehead saying I am NOT a rich tourist. Like all poor areas where moneyed tourists visit, the locals are very skillful in separating us from our cash.

I spent a bit of time wandering around in some the markets. They are an incredible experience but are not for the weak-stomached or animal lovers. I did have a bit of a laugh as I watched a man trying to control a basket of big fish. They kept leaping out onto the wet tiles and as he chased after, and tried to grasp one slippery escapee, another would get away in a different direction.

Amongst the grime, rubbish and rubble the flower sellers are a real pleasure to look at. They have bicycles piled high with bunches of roses, chrysanthemums, lilies and many other flowers. The colors are vibrant and the perfume a pleasure. Initially I thought that it was interesting that so many people of limited financial resources put importance on adding the aesthetics of flowers to their homes but now I wonder if the main function is for adornment of the shrines that seem to be present in all homes and businesses.

In the afternoon I decided to get a motorbike taxi over to Ho Tay Lake. My pathetic bargaining skills meant that once again I agreed to pay well over the going rate. The LP says 10,000 VND but I ended up settling for 30,000. When we got there the guy refused to take a 50,000 note because it had a small mark on it. I gave him a 100,000 and in the change he gave me a 50,000 which has been torn and taped together. I have since found out that this is now completely worthless!

Anyway – the lake area was great. There are two lakes side by side. The flame trees were again stunning and some huge helium balloons and a temple were interesting to look at. I did not go for a ride in the swan boats but I could see they were popular. I walked around the smaller of the two lakes and stopped for awhile to watch some fishermen working. In this small, very polluted lake, (about a quarter of the size of Hamilton Lake) they were catching a multitude of fish. Standing chest deep in the grey water, and from small narrow boats, they bought together nets teaming with fish. As I watched for a considerable time these fish were being sorted. Hundreds and hundreds of fish were tossed through the air into a holding net. The fish were quite big (about 8 inches long) and very active. They threw themselves into the air is an effort to jump out of the net but few made an escape. It is amazing to me that they could thrive in these conditions. People from Asia must consider our resources such as Hamilton Lake to be totally under utilized. Considering the state of the water they came from I was not in the mood for fish for dinner last night! A Buddhist monk who was also watching came around looking for alms. He clearly considered my paltry offering of 500 dong beneath contempt and did not deign to even give me a ring on his bell.

I then made my way from this area down through parks to the Presidential Palace and the Ho Chi Minh museum. Hoards of tourist groups, (mostly Asian, predominantly Chinese, I think) were doing the same thing. I anticipated a long wait as people from dozens of buses made their way to the gate but this was not the case. Talk about tourism on the run. They had just enough time to trot past the main attractions, exclaim loudly, take a couple of photos with themselves in the foreground as the main feature, and then they were on their way. A huge number of people moved through the area in a very short space of time. It did give me the opportunity to think that while traveling on my own is not always great there are far worse ways to go.

I found the Ho Chi Minh Museum really interesting. It has traditional and contemporary exhibits in a modern building. Thankfully there were English explanations for a lot of the material. One aspect that I found particularly interesting was the linking of Ho Chi Minh’s ideas with the anti-fascist art of Picasso and Dali. Perhaps I have succumbed already to the propaganda but I was very impressed with a number of the quotes from Uncle Ho. Visiting here gave me some more insight into why he is still so revered by the Vietnamese people. I chose not to go to his mausoleum after this visit. I decided that, given the magnitude of the people’s feeling for Ho Chi Minh, that I would not venture there merely as a curious tourist.

I did stop to look at the One Pillar Pagoda which was a seriously underwhelming experience then caught another motorbike taxi back to the area of my hotel. This time, much savvier than the last, I was not going to be ripped off! I negotiated the price 25,000 (getting better) and ascertained that he had change he could give me. On arrival he took my 50,000 dong, waved happily, and disappeared into the distance with me calling out rude words after him. I am a slow learner but I have now figured out that unless I have the right money to give to a taxi driver I am not going to see my change. The problem is it is hard to keep hold of smaller notes as many people are reluctant to change the larger ones. Oh well – it is not much money really but it made me all sour faced and surly with all of the other touting taxi drivers as I walked the rest of the way home. Not a good look.

The day finished with a tremendous thunderstorm. Almost continuous mighty thunder claps and bright flashes of lightening were accompanied by torrents of rain. Fortunately I was safely tucked up in my grotty little hotel room and could enjoy the spectacle while staying dry. It was very reminiscent of a film set in Vietnam that I watched with Jenny and Michael before leaving.

Traveling to Hanoi. - Sunday, May 18, 2008.

Traveling to Hanoi. - Sunday, May 18, 2008.

Yesterday morning, because I needed to catch the bus from Phu Cat airport to fly to Hanoi at six in the morning Phuoc kindly volunteered to come and pick me up on his motorbike. With my big suitcase precariously balanced between his legs and my laptop and day bag slung over my back we made it to the bus stop Vietnamese style. This was my first experience on a Vietnamese bus – I was grateful that I was not sitting in a front seat with a good view. The buses are often the fastest vehicle on the road. This bus was not as mad as some that I have seen. Often continuous blasts on the horn and a conductor hanging right out the open door, holding on with one hand while waving the other arm enthusiastically, aid a wild ride through narrow roads and weaving traffic.

I had a three hour stopover in Da Nang. I was in two minds about what to do with the time. Feeling a bit apprehensive about managing on my own I thought that I might just stay at the airport but I decided not to be chicken and to make my way into Da Nang for a look around. The airport is only a couple of k from town. How come I get ripped off by taxi drivers in every city in the world I visit? The Lonely Planet suggests that 20,000VND is appropriate for the trip but when I got out there was only one taxi. Using my excellent negotiating skills (joke!) I managed to pay way way over the odds to a man who waited while I looked around. When we got back to the airport he insisted that I also pay an airport entry fee. I protested that this was not what we had negotiated but he moved a carefully placed ornament to reveal a sign stating this – I tried to argue with him but it started to get nasty so I decided to part with the cash and keep my bags! (I am feeling particularly bitter about taxi drivers at the moment because I have been ripped off by two motorbike taxi drivers today – more later)

Da Nang quite honestly was not worth the effort. The part that I saw was grim and grungy. I did have a fun conversation with a motorbike taxi driver who, once he realized that I really was not going to give him any business no matter how hard he tried, enjoyed chatting about his family and life in Vietnam.

I arrived in Hanoi uneventfully, had a small crisis of confidence as the plane landed, but arrived at my hotel without any of the common scams. The hotel is definitely a marker of the “you get what you pay for” maxim. I am not paying much ($18 US/night – cheap by current Hanoi standards) and I am not getting much. It is battered but central and cleanish so it will do.

I am in the old quarter near Hoan Kiem Lake. I do like these parts of cities. Narrow streets and lanes with jumbled together shops and markets. Half an hour after arriving I was out wandering around finding my bearings. The lake is quite small, and if you don’t look too closely at the filthy water, quite charming. It is a soft mossy green color. Walking along the encompassing path under colorful flame trees interspersed with others with flowers like jacarandas was a pleasure. An attractive but crowded red bridge led to a small temple built in honor of a scholar. Amongst the jostling tourists there were people who genuinely appeared to be trying to worship. I remain unsure of the appropriateness of visiting active places of worship as a tourist.

I sat and chatted for awhile with a young woman from the Halong Bay area who is studying at university. It was a very interesting conversation that gave me more insight into the changing lives of people here.

When it was dark I made my way back through a myriad of tourist trap stalls, persistent pestering cyclo drivers and hawkers of trash, to have an early night. I have been quite sheltered in Quy Nhon. It is a comparatively small city and the other VSA volunteers and staff are there. Here in Hanoi I am facing the reality of traveling on my own for the first time. Mostly it is fine but occasionally it is a bit overwhelming. Undoubtedly my confidence is growing as I manage each step fairly successfully.

Cham Towers and Quang Trung Museum. 15 May 2008.

Guess what is on the menu here? Actually they are pickled in jars rather than served for lunch.

There are all sort s of treats here

Some of the treats that I didn't try

Cham Towers

Cham Towers and Quang Trung Museum. 15 May 2008.

Within Quy Nhon and on some of the surrounding hill tops there are towers built by the Cham people in the 11th or 12th century. They are built from bricks and present a very impressive silhouette on the skyline. It is thought that they were likely to be a form of watchtower. We had the opportunity to visit one of these sites today as part of our orientation. Seemingly just in time, they are in the process of being restored which is undoubtedly very important but the resultant scaffolding and debris did detract somewhat from the aesthetics of the site.

After the towers we went to the Quang Trung Museum which celebrates the triumphs of three brothers who led a peasant revolution against the Chinese invaders in the late 18th century. The displays were fairly static and without much information in English but parts of it were really interesting. There was a huge drum made from elephant skin – I was tempted to give it a little try but managed to restrain myself. In a shrine there were impressive gold statues of the brothers and other people. The faces of the statues were very individual and conveyed an image of great strength and determination.

Outside there was a traditional house of one of the local ethnic peoples that had been moved on to the site. It is an extraordinary construction. Built long and narrow up on stilts it has a steeply pitched thatched roof running the length of the building. I would like to learn much more about the interesting decorative designs on the walls and a tall bamboo structure outside. It had tall poles with colorful triangular woven shapes suspended on each side. It was difficult to find out much about it but I think that it was used for tethering buffalo before ritual slaughter. Inside the building a helpful guide turned on an artificial fireplace that had billowing red fabric flames to add to the atmosphere – “fabulous”!

At the end of our tour we watched members of a local Bahnar ethnic group perform drum music, dances and martial arts. The drums were reminiscent of the Japanese drummers I have enjoyed on a numbers of occasions in Hamilton. I love the way the beat goes right through your body and could have listened to it for much longer. The rest of the performance was the usual packaged “cultural experience” but as this was my first opportunity to see anything of the traditions of these groups I enjoyed it anyway. The martial arts performance included stick fighting that was very similar to the use of taiaha. Since writing this part I have talked with Maris about the ethnic communities of the neighboring province. She says that they have an Austronesian based language and that there are some words like “ika” for fish that are the same as Te Reo Maori. Apparently when she was visiting in that area she could see strong connections between this culture and Pacific and Maori cultures. If the NZ ece programme moves into this region there could be a strong case for building links with pacific Island Language Nests or Kohanga Reo.

Overall I enjoyed these visits a lot but I do find the lack of depth of information available onsite in English in my Lonely Planet a bit frustrating. When I get a chance I will go and see if the museum in Quy Nhon has more information.