The next-to-last place you will ever find me is sitting in a glittery ballroom watching a Las Vegas-style review with a bunch of blue hairs. The last place you will ever find me is watching said review with blue hairs aboard a huge cruise ship.
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| A mythical guardian inside the gates of the Grand Palace. |
Yes, I’m a travel snob. I’ve done my time on large ships filled with mobs of international travelers making their way to the casino or having their pictures taken with the captain. I’ve had my fill of all-you-can-eat dessert buffets at midnight and schmaltzy Hungarian lounge singers. Dining at the same table and making small talk with strangers is not my idea of relaxation.
I’m sure that if I stripped off my blond highlights, the true color of my hair would push me toward the senior crowd, but my endless spirit for adventure rivals that of anyone half my age. Hiking in Africa? No problem. Sea kayaking in Alaska? Bring it on. Discovering the exotic ports in Southeast Asia and only having to unpack once? You betcha.
I suppose we all have our weak spots, and I discovered one of mine only minutes after boarding the Silver Shadow, Silversea’s luxurious 610-foot ship, which was setting sail from Bangkok to Singapore. The Silver Shadow, or any other in the Silversea fleet, is not a floating 17-story city. It’s a luxury liner that accommodates only 382 guests. The service staff numbers nearly 300.
For the first time in my life, I found joy in cruising. The experience was no different from unpacking in an elegant, grand hotel, sleeping in a cozy bed, and being coddled by personalized service. The only difference was that each morning I drank my coffee in a new exotic port, most of them unreachable by a huge ship.
Standing on the teak veranda of my suite overlooking the Gulf of Thailand, I held a glass of champagne in one hand and a toast point covered in caviar in the other. Earlier in the day we’d left the cruise line’s office at the Peninsula Hotel in Bangkok to board the ship. For the next eight days we’d be visiting ports in Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Malaysia, and Singapore—a trail of destinations that would take weeks by land and air.
My trip through Indochina began in Bangkok three days before the official departure of the Silver Shadow. I’d picked this itinerary not only because Southeast Asia was on my short list of must-do vacations, but I also wanted to learn more about the unique cuisines of the region. This particular itinerary included a Relais & Châteaux culinary series hosted by guest chef Joyce Jue, a native of San Francisco’s Chinatown who has written numerous cookbooks on Asian cuisine. I’d contacted Jue before the trip and planned to meet up with her and a small group of foodies she’d assembled for a side tour that included market tours in Bangkok and Vietnam, cooking lessons at the prestigious Oriental Hotel Thai Cooking School in Bangkok and the Top Hat Restaurant in Kuala Lumpur, plus trips to hole-in-the-wall eateries in every country.
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| Praying monk at Angkor Wat |
We met the group at the world-renowned Blue Elephant, housed in the century-old Thai Chine Building in Bangkok. We feasted on an 11-course dinner that combined modern Thai interpretations with traditional Royal Thai dishes created from recipes once reserved only for royal palates. As the food disappeared, Jue discussed the various spices and techniques used in Thai cooking. I even braved the local Malaga Blanc, a regional white wine produced on a floating vineyard. The gentle, sweet flavors paired perfectly with a smooth foie gras glazed with tamarind sauce.
The next morning we were up at dawn for a visit to the Bangrak Market, a traditional Asian “wet” market filled with stalls of fruit and vegetables, freshly prepared local dishes and desserts, fish, spices, and customized curry pastes. With our palates tingling with the tastes of Thailand, we headed to the Oriental Hotel Thai Cooking School (Jue was one of the founders) for a half-day, hands-on class taught in a 100-year-old house that sits on the shore of the Chao Phyra River, the main waterway (think Central Expressway) of Bangkok. After a hard day’s work over a brass wok, we walked next door to Thiptara, the lovely outdoor restaurant at the Peninsula Hotel. Sitting under a traditional Thai sala, a teakwood pavilion set in lush, tropical gardens, we feasted on spicy (like blow-your-head-off spicy) red curry with roasted duck, our senses cooled only by the live classic Khim music playing in the background.
The following day we feasted our eyes on the The Grand Palace. We splurged ($10 for two) on a tour guide, who led us through the crowds to the Royal Monastary of the Emerald Buddha, where a Buddha carved from one piece of jade, considered to be the holiest and most revered of religious objects in Thailand, is enshrined on a traditional throne made of gilded carved wood. We took off our shoes, burned incense, and felt the serenity of the sacred palace.
As the air-conditioned van rounded a dusty corner, a massive three-tiered pyramid crowned by five beehive-like towers more than 20 stories high rose before our eyes. The visual impact of Angkor Wat—the city that is a temple—is surreal. The temple ruins in the area just outside the city limits of Siem Reap, Cambodia, are remnants of the capital city of the Angkorian-era Khmer Empire. Close to a million people ruled by Khmer kings once lived within the walls of Angkor Wat, a sprawling archeological site with remnants of vast waterways and grand temples.
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| Girls selling trinkets outside of Angkor Wat |
No trip here is complete without trying to traverse the treacherous stairs of the Tower of Babel. (Don’t be discouraged by the legions of monks swathed in traditional gold robes who will pass you effortlessly.) The tower, built between the ninth and 13th centuries to honor the Hindu god Vishnu, was constructed by 800,000 laborers and 40,000 elephants. At the top you can spend hours exploring the tunnels lined with bas-reliefs and carvings depicting scenes from Hindu mythology. Many locals still climb the stairs to light incense and pray in front of the numerous Buddha images.
We’d prearranged the overnight shore excursion from the Silver Shadow before we left home. That’s part of the beauty of a Silverseas’ cruise: the ship docks overnight in many ports, a luxury that allows you to take full-day or overnight excursions. We jumped at the chance to discover inner Cambodia, a country emerging from a long history of woes. All I knew of Cambodia were the shocking newspaper images that chronicled the ruling Khmer Rouge party that killed close to 1.7 million people in the mid- to late 1970s—an impression reinforced by the film The Killing Fields.
What I saw was quite different. The people were the kindest, most respectful I’ve ever encountered. The roads were lined with lean-to houses, and there was still plenty of poverty—the average annual income is around $350—but children selling trinkets outside of the temples spoke fluent English. And, if you bought something, chances are when you returned to the van, you would find a hand-written thank you note.
The good news about Cambodia is that the country is rich with historic archeological sites, and tourism is beginning to bring in much-needed commerce. (Angelina Jolie’s adoption of a Cambodian orphan didn’t hurt, either.) Prosperity is returning to the country, particularly to the tourist-friendly historical areas around Siem Reap. Make plans to visit soon. Today the ruins of Angkor remain unspoiled, but Siem Reap is booming with the construction of luxury hotels and expensive restaurants. It won’t be long before this charming town, really still a cluster of small villages, will be hidden behind luxury chain hotels.
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| Monks climbing the stairs of the Tower of Babel. |
After two days of touring ruins—“Another pile of rocks,” quipped one tired soul—we were ready to get back to the luxury of the ship. Massages were scheduled; champagne and room service ordered. (Yes, it’s 24-hour.) For two full days we cruised the Gulf of Thailand toward Vietnam and busied ourselves with activities. Joyce Jue had plenty to teach us about the three G’s of Asian cooking—garlic, galangal, ginger—and we took a class by guest lecturer Dr. Henry Bradsher to brush up on the history of Indochina. Bradsher, a foreign AP bureau chief, diplomatic correspondent for the Washington Star, and a retired CIA senior analyst, reconstructed the long and violent history of Southeast Asia, bringing us up-to-date with the region’s current political and economic status.
When we awoke the following morning, the ship was slowly making its way up the Mekong River toward Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon). As the sun rose, many of the baby boomers on board stood on the bow of the ship and stared in amazement. After “living” through the turbulent Vietnam War, most of us never dreamed we would ever vacation in a country that we helped destroy. After witnessing the modernization of Ho Chi Minh City, several Vietnam vets on board expressed a sense of relief.
Moving up the river was a moving experience. Grass huts, fitted with TV antennas, lined our path; modern skyscrapers loomed on the horizon; hydrofoils filled with commuters zoomed down the river; and a seemingly endless line of cargo barges waited to drop their goods at port. Pulling into Ho Chi Minh City was like being swept into a swarming beehive. The city is buzzing with activity, 24 hours a day.
“Watch out for those little red peppers,” warned chef Jue as we sat at a roadside pho restaurant assembling our lunch. Like donuts in Canada, pho is available on every corner. It’s the national dish of Vietnam—a bowl of white rice noodles in broth with beef, chicken, or other mystery meat. (Do yourself a favor. Don’t ask.) The dish is served with a plate of garnishes, enabling you to create your own blend from green onions, coriander leaves, basil, lemon or lime, bean sprouts, ngo gai (saw leaf herb), mint, and the aforementioned chile peppers. You can also add sauces such as hoisin, fish sauce (do not spill it on your clothes!), or the ubiquitous red chile sauce. Vietnamese people eat pho for breakfast, lunch, or dinner—a concept that suited me just fine.
After a visit to the Museum of Vietnamese History, we jumped into a pedicab for our first (and last) ride through a maze of scooters, none of which seemed to be going in the same direction. It was like being in a video game; you’re in a chair on a bike, and hundreds of scooters are racing toward you. Only when you are tire-to-tire do they swirl around you without a honk or a swear word. Cars were rare, and many scooters carried families of four wearing traditional triangular hats and scarves across their faces to keep from breathing the smoke.
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| Child at candy factory on the Mekong River. |
So it was with a sense of victory that we actually made it to our scheduled van, which was taking us on a day cruise up the Mekong River. We boarded a traditional longboat and snaked in and out of mangrove-lined canals for a real peek at traditional Vietnamese rural life. The delta formed at the southern end of the river around Ho Chi Minh City is the lifeblood of southern Vietnam, nourishing the region’s rice paddies, vegetable plots, and fruit orchards. Most of the area’s commerce takes place at floating markets, where farmers selling pineapples hoist a couple up the mast to show off their wares. As you make your way into the market, the sky is filled with colorful hanging displays of fruit. We pulled over to buy a bunch of bananas, and after we handed a solemn-faced farmer a dollar bill, his down-turned mouth became an ear-to-ear smile.
Later that evening, we were all smiles as we sat down to an 18-course meal at Nam Phan Restaurant, Ho Chi Minh City’s snazziest—and, at $80 per person, its most expensive—Vietnamese eatery. Opened in February 2003, this two-story, 1920s French colonial villa is awash in raw silks and silver lacquer, its walls hung with reproductions of Cham-era bas-reliefs. Fresh frangipani blooms were placed like accent pieces on the stairs, walls—even in the toilet. The same attention to detail was evident in the classical Vietnamese food presentations: tiny slivers of carrots ringed a plate of crispy-fried soft-shell crabs all dressed up in a dainty tempura-like batter and served alongside deep-fried slivers of chestnut in a lemon mayonnaise. Three hours later we bowed to our waiter, said goodnight, and headed back to our cozy suite on the ship that was readying for a two-day cruise across the China Sea to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, and then on to our final stop, Singapore.
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| Dessert treats from the Oriental Hotel Thai Cooking School. |
We had plenty to do—there were massages and pedicures waiting—for the following evening was “formal night.” Usually I don’t like getting gussied up on vacation, but, inexplicably, I couldn’t wait to slip on my black dress, drink champagne, and toast Southeast Asia. It must have been something in those red chile peppers.
