Our Happy Place

Paradise is a word that's bandied around all too often. I admit to using it too many times in this blog. I retract all previous uses of the word paradise in order to use it one last time as we have most certainly (with great sadness) just left it.

You'll find paradise somewhere in the Visayas in the Philippines. It's a place that doesn't shove a souvenir t-shirt up your nose, where locals still greet the few tourists that visit with a smile, if you stay at the right place you'll be looked after like family, it's where you can snorkel off the shore and swim amongst beautiful hard and soft corals, turtles and a kaleidoscope of fish, (if you're lucky) you'll have encounters with a couple of the ocean's creatures that couldn't be any more pure even though they appear staged and you'll drink rhum, HEAPS of rhum, with a type of people that seem to have some common personality trait that draws them to the island to begin with and then allows you to become lifelong friends with ease.

Let me expand on a couple of the things that made this place one of our trip's true highlights. Firstly, let me set the scene.

We were staying in a tiny nipa hut just a few metres from the shore surrounded by friendly pooches and trumpeting roosters. Life was simple, life was good.

Dolphins

I find dolphins boring. I think most men find dolphins boring. They're definitely a woman's animal.

Enter the spinner dolphin. So named because of how it acrobatically spins as it leaps out of the water. Interested yet men? I'm not, they're still a bit boring.

However, take me out in a boat as the sun rises up over the ocean and surround it with more than a hundred spinner dolphins launching themselves around you and even through bleary eyes it's hard not to get a bit excited.

Throw in your hut's owner (also your dinghy's captain, Junior) still taking pleasure from seeing this spectacle of nature, despite seeing it every morning, and you're suddenly sold on dolphins. Unfortunately all other dolphins are now most certainly very boring in comparison.

I almost forgot the best thing about the tour - these hats!

Whale Sharks

At the right time of year you can head out in a small pam boat as the sun goes down and snorkel with whale sharks. 

When we arrived on the island a Dutch guy had been out seven nights straight looking for the whale sharks but they just weren't around yet. He left the day after we got there.

The night after that a fisherman had a spotted a couple and let Junior know which sent everyone into a frenzy pulling on bathers and grabbing snorkels before piling into the dinghy and flying out to find these creatures of the deep. We looked hard and checked with a couple of fishermen that were on the night shift but it was too late and too dark and we forlornly cruised back in. That disappointment was quashed by Junior's optimism proclaiming that this was a sign that the whale sharks had arrived and we'd see them the following night.

Talk the following day was all about the whale sharks, would we see them? How crazy would it be? Should I surf it?

Four thirty arrived and having dreamt about them during my afternoon nap I told Nix I was full of confidence, for some reason she had more faith in Junior's confidence. So about twenty of us were slowly paddled out in fifteen pam boats by increasingly desperate boat drivers (they'd been coming out for weeks and it's only pay day once you find them). This was a team effort on many levels.

We pushed out into the deep and my luck had come in as I'd landed the hardest working boatman on the island (or the one with most at stake back at his hut, if you know what I mean). After about 15 minutes one had been spotted in the distance by a motorboat and the race was on. I received my cues, "Snorkel ready!!?", "Snorkel on!", "Now!! Go! Go! In!!" and I was in, face to face with the ocean's biggest fish. My heart was racing as I dived in and pumped harder and harder as I tried to keep up with the immense animal but it eventually descended back into the depths. 

I jumped back in the boat, heart still racing and feeling pretty bloody blessed that I'd swum within touching distance of an animal that many would spend their entire lives dreaming to see.

It was getting late and the sun was beginning to fall beyond the horizon. I was starting to worry that not everyone was going to see one, in particular my non snorkeling wife.

We bobbed around for another twenty minutes and then out motored the local king of the ocean, part man part fish, Junior. It was then that a few huge fins appeared in the distance and the race was on again. What happened next, I don't think any of us expected.

My new best buds, plankton, were out in force, dancing across the surface of the sea and bringing with them an s load of whale sharks.

What would you say is a lot of whale sharks in one group? Five? Higher. Ten? Bit higher. Fifteen!? Higher still. TWENTY!? Yep, about twenty whale sharks had congregated to put on a show that your wildest dreams could not conjure up. Huge gaping mouths breaching the surface in all directions, massive fins intimidatingly cutting through the water and tourists sh*tting themselves wondering whether they really wanted to get in the ocean with what was a plankton blood bath on top of it.

The energy felt by the group was something else. We were all connected in the moment knowing that we were seeing something truly special, truly wild and nature at the absolute top of its game. 

We've seen some great things on this trip but think that that experience takes the cake.

Cockfighting

Cockfights are a Sunday event. We'd been in the Philippines for three other Sundays before finally deciding to head along - partly having not had the chance and partly because I think our mind was subconsciously asking, 'Do you really want to see that?'

Junior led us through the village and to the community's main weekly gathering. A couple of hundred people were milling around a large grassed area that's dotted with palms for shade from the sun where everyone's chowing down on chicken bits (what else?) and waiting for the fights to kick off.

Before two cocks face off in the cockpit their owners go through a long deliberation process in order to determine who they'll be happy to put their pride and joy up against. After a good three quarters of an hour they'd found a match up and we were off.

Us foreigners (about 9 of us) all huddled around a corner of the cockpit and after the formalities (like getting your rooster to bite the others wattle and strapping a blade onto its foot) we were away.

You're immediately transported back to a bygone era. The crowd goes nuts (kids, women and grandmas included) and it's brutal. When placed down to start the fight both roosters' instincts take over and they begin to peck around looking for one final meal. The crowd however wills them together and all of a sudden they look at each other and it's on. Feathers fly, blood is spilt and in an instant it's over with one rooster limply flopped on the floor - tomorrow's Chicken Adobo.

After that first fight I went holy shit, Nix went holy shit and people began to split realising it was far from their cup of tea. It shook us a bit but we got it. We understood the tradition and during the weeks before had seen the love for and connection with that men have with their roosters - this is blood sport but it's not brutality for the sake of it.

Us and a Dutch guy stuck around and we began to bet, began to sink rum and began to get those sideways glances from locals that said, 'Wow, they're actually enjoying it and hanging around.'

The end result was one hell of a cracking afternoon, getting right in amongst it and drinking way too much rhum and then even more back with the crew. Things got messy, we did Australia proud. 

The Peeps

But the glue that held all these great experiences together were the staff where we were staying that would provide three delicious meals a day (the best food we'd had in the Philippines) always with a smile on their faces and the guys that we spent our days and nights with.

Two Australians, Two Israelis, Two Danes, an Austrian and a German plus beers and four bottles of rhum are evidently a very lethal combination. This one night started off tamely enough but then the booze began to flow, as did the conversation with someone remarking at one point that they didn't know where to listen as everything sounded weird or interesting. 

The night culminated in a beach relay between the men explained in excruciating detail by one very merry Dane. Team Austrialia came through with the goods and I was smothered in a very ecstatic Austrian man. There's a photo. Trust me, you don't want to see that photo.

It was five nights filled with a lot of highs shared with some really great people. It really peaked on the final night when Boris (my Austrian comrade) proposed to Heike (his lovely German partner). "She said yes!!", he yelled from the beach to let us know he'd succeeded. As I said, a special place.

But the name of this special place? You'll have to figure that out for yourself...

The Turtle Sardine Sandwich of Moalboal and Apo Island*

We bussed down the length of Cebu Island to get to Moalboal. 

Moalboal is one of those places that makes you feel like you're venturing into the great unknown. You see no foreigners during the approach and the main strip is just a limestone track. That all changes once you pass as many dive shops as there are locals.

There's a reason why divers and snorkelers flock here - tens of thousands of sardines hang in massive schools just twenty metres off shore. Before I went in Nix asked me if they would make shapes like an arrow pointing out an incoming shark, they may not have been that creative but they were pretty immense.

Quite skittish, they'd move like one giant organism and whilst snorkeling above them was fun, diving in amongst them was quite special watching any disturbance send them into a lava lamp like swirl of glinting silver.

The other noteworthy event of Moalboal was saving a pup from possible death after finding her stuck in a hole devoid of energy following repeated attempts to get herself out. We brought her to our bungalow, gave her some water and removed a couple of ticks before marching her around trying to find her home. We had success and are hopeful that she's now OK.

Each evening was spent waiting for nonexistent sunsets, trying to spy the odd turt head and watching a thousand sparrows come home to roost on moustache boat.

Our next stop was Apo Island - one of the world's best diving sites.

Nix was a diving/snorkeling widow again as I fluffed around for hours in the water leaving no ledge unperved and constantly cursing 'sh*t I wish we had an underwater camera, why does f*cking everyone have a GOPRO'. Nix wasn't too sympathetic to my material wants.

The dive highlight was a night dive from shore where I spotted a school of baby cuttlefish, a smallscale scorpionfish hiding itself away in the sand, a painted cray, a velvety black Spanish Dancer, heaps of prawns and cleaner shrimps and got to muck around with fluorescent plankton and some strange jelly like vibrator thing that would light up when umm, given a bit of encouragement. A seriously good dive.

The accumulation of seeing things that I hadn't seen before or never knew existed is what made diving Apo so enjoyable. 

What made snorkeling Apo so enjoyable was the 100% guarantee that just 5-10 metres off shore you could swim with sometimes more than ten huge green sea turtles. Swimming with that many turtles was one of those times that you just knew nature was taking the p*ss. 

After Apo and still not done with the diving caper we dropped in to Dauin for a night before leaving the Negros region. Over the last month I've become obsessed with wanting to see a frogfish under the water and apparently Dauin was a good bet.

Among a heap of strange creatures living in the sand and enough ghost pipefish to last me a lifetime, I spotted my frogfish. He may have only been half the size of your pinky's fingernail but I've at least seen one now. The quest to see an adult has commenced.

It now might be time for me to spend a bit of time out of the water and with my wife. However given I'm now shrivelled up like an old man's ball sack Nix may be happier with her life as a lady of leisure.

*Please note that no turtles were harmed in the writing of this post

The Bantayan Diet

Sometimes a place is appreciated just that little bit more when getting there involves a life threatening leap from one boat to another in seas that are hardly fit for a big boat let alone the little vessel that came out to transfer us to the shore of 'main land' Cebu. 

I watched in horror from a couple of people deep as Nicola dangled over the edge of the big boat, hesitated and then jumped across to the small boat as it shifted out of reach. She hovered for an age between the boats and I think we both thought she was going for a swim. Sh*t Nix, the tablet's on your back for god's sake. She managed to walk on water and made it on.

I can confirm that she squealed. Naturally it was my fault as I wasn't there to offer any "words of wisdom". Apparently I have those.

Anyway, Bantayan, that death defying leap plus two other boat trips, a bus and a cyclo took us 40 kilometres as the crow flies to land on our next island paradise. This one even better than the last. 

But what about the Bantayan Diet I hear you ask?

Forget the Paleo diet, vegan, vego, Atkins, I Quit Sugar*, South Beach, whatever. No, no, no, this is no fad diet. The Bantayan Diet (as certified by myself, Dr Brimson) is the one for you. Coconuts, mangoes, roast pork and 1L San Mig's are the four cornerstones of my diet. 

Not only will you look great down the beach, it also tastes great and is scientifically proven to contain no calories, and is sugar, fat and alcohol free.

I mean look at the guy, don't you want to look like that?

When you do drag yourself away from your cottage's view, hanging out with Coconut Joe and really committing to that diet...

...you get to laze about on a blinding white beach like this (that's your exercise component).

Check out this endorsement from Nicola Brimson.

Another satisfied customer...

*take note Corinne, you've been doing it wrong

Leaving Vietnam, so Hanoi-ing

Hanoi is a love it or hate it kind of city. We met people along the way that couldn't think of anything worse than another minute in the place. It's fast paced, intimidating and doesn't wait for anyone. We fell in love at first bite (and first bia hoi).

Bia hoi. Oh my what a beverage. The direct translation to English is 'fresh beer' as it's beer that's brewed the night before and served fresh the following morning. During that time it reaches a strength of 3-4% and at just 45 cents for the branded bia hoi (you truly taste the difference from the cheap stuff sold in the tourist area) it's impossible to walk past a bia hoi joint and not stop for a couple, which in Hanoi is a bookable offence anyway. 

You don't even have to use the excuse 'it's five somewhere in the world' to have one with most places having a cluster of regulars draining the freshest kegs from early in the morning. We've visited many places with strong beer cultures but Hanoi's just about takes the cake. There's no pub squash or pre-mixes here it's beer all the way and you down it like there's no tomorrow. If you need an extra kick you call over the communal bamboo tobacco bong or order a bottle of Viet vodka.

Of course no post on Vietnam would be complete without a mouthwatering set of food photos.

There were these.

Bun Ca - crispy river fish soup

Bun Moc - a clean pork broth with pork balls

Duck Hotpot - shared with a sewer rat by our feet

Bun Bo Nam Bo - beef noodles in a sweet peanutty sauce

Hahn Cuon - super delicate rice flour wontons with pork

And then there were these.

Dau Phu - deep fried tofu that's beyond crispy on the outside and light and fluffy on the inside

Bun Cha - a classic Hanoi dish of pork served in a sweet oily broth that you then add your noodles and greens to and dunk your crispy spring rolls in

Pho Ga - served from a simple little street kitchen on Hang Dieu with more pots on the go than stools. This is the benchmark by which all chicken pho should be measured and all chicken soups, broths, anything for that matter. This pho was dinner three out of five nights in Hanoi

Tang Yuan - glutinous rice balls filled with black sesame or mung bean paste that swim in a potent sweet ginger soup. Only a hundred metres up from the pho ga lady, sat in a semi circle around the serving pot, you would get presented with the night's encore 

In between bia hoi, ca phe and food stops we'd just swan around the city taking in the sights and the smells, the weirdness and the intensity, and what is by far the best Asian city we've been to and possibly the best city we've been to period. 

Coffee, beer, food and weird. All four boxes get emphatically ticked. Most of all it's the people and their no bullsh*t approach to life that we love getting swept into. 

Normally we're ready to leave a city and country in search of the next adventure. However leaving Hanoi and Vietnam has us feeling very hollow. Nicola shed a couple of tears the night before we left, such is the love we have for Vietnam. And that's a first for a woman that's the dry eye in the house when there's not a dry eye left in the house.

When the Going Gets Weird, the Weird Turn Pro. in Hanoi

More on Hanoi soon but firstly let's get down to what makes its food scene truly unique - it gets weird, real weird.

Dog meat is a special occasion dish, cat is the healthy option, semi developed duck foetuses are a breakfast item and pigeon,

frog

and eel soup are comparatively quite normal.

Snail soup is a much loved breakfast choice.

And snails fished out of their shells, using a pointy little metal implement, get dunked in a fish sauce, kumquat, chilli, ginger and kaffir lime concoction for a tasty pre-dinner snack.

Even drinks get a bit weird. Take a raw egg, whip it and pour it over the top of your coffee for a ca phe trung - a speciality of Hanoi.

But that's not the half of it. Over a thousand years ago a man rescued the king's daughter from a king cobra and rejected the king's offer of half of his land instead requesting that his village be recognised as the snake village of Vietnam, given snakes were the village's bread and butter. To this day snakes are still the village's bread and butter with 80% of it still involved in the farming, capturing and serving of the reptilian delicacy.

After reading too many articles and watching episode upon episode about the experience that awaits you in Le Mat village it was the one key goal of our time in Hanoi. We arrived at The Hung Snake Restaurant for lunch and what ensued was one hell of a strange affair.

Thuy met us out the front of the restaurant and immediately pointed out the finger his dad had lost to a cobra bite. His dad then promptly fished out a cobra from one of their little hidey holes whilst Nicola did the calculations as to whether a dash up the stairs or just streaking down the road was her best method of escape.

Thuy then took us upstairs to watch our selected cobra meet it's fate. First the still beating heart was cut out, its blood poured into a cup and off came the head (still snapping and writhing around in the bucket). Then the stomach was expertly extracted and the bile drained into a bottle of rice wine. What was left of our little pal was then taken out into the kitchen.

WARNING: the video is a wee bit graphic (but that's why you should want to watch it)

It was then time for a couple of pre-lunch aperitifs. As the man, the still quivering heart was all mine. Make me strong.

Then it was a shot each of the blood mixed with rice wine and then about four shots of the bile with rice wine. Better than they sound but really that's not hard is it.

Then came course after course of snake-centric dishes.

In no particular order or preference was egg and snake soup, snake congee, boiled snake, grilled snake, sauteed snake, crushed snake bones with rice crackers, snake spring rolls, snake bits wrapped in la-lot leaves, snake offal with pineapple and sticky rice infused with snake fat. The bones and offal were the picks of the bunch.

Shots of rice wine aged with an entire king cobra (venom and all) and some sort of root kept the weirdness going.

After lunch we went down into the kitchen to play with a bamboo snake and marvel at how normal fishing a snake out of a bag of thirty was to Thuy. 

It was an experience for the ages and one the grand kids will be sure to hear about. Hopefully we'll be back for a king cobra one day. Until then we'll feast on some pretty bizarre, sort of twisted memories.

At least we didn't have dog meat hey mums...

For more videos check out our Instagram - @brimnix

I See a White Chicken and I Want It Painted Black - Sa Pa

Another overnight train and again it was worth it. 

We arrived in Sa Pa to 360 degree views of stunning emerald green rice terraces, went on a life changing trek through various hill tribes and soaked our weary bones in one of the region's famous herbal baths.

CORRECTION. We saw f all for four days due to persistent mist/clouds that you could literally watch roll past your window, rain a bit heavier than a drizzle fell for about 72 hours straight and it was cold. So f*cking cold. 

We're told there's a nice view there.

The temperature got up near 8°C a couple of times and we remarked on how much "warmer" it felt. Travelling with just a single pack we are not prepared for this kind of weather, we're hardly prepared for temperatures below 20 let alone close to zero. Oh yeah, and it snowed. In Vietnam it snowed. 

So the trek was off and we instead had to drink red wine and stay warm in our room. It was a challenging few days.

This was our view for five minutes.

And this is what we could see for the rest of our time in Sa Pa, minus five minutes.

There is, however, always one saving grace in Vietnam - food. We ventured away from the tourist zone (shock horror) and found a strip of simple restaurants roasting whole suckling pigs and a range of skewered meats and veggies. Most importantly, they had ga den on the menu - the elusive black chicken. Despite attempts by the waitress to point us in the direction of the normal chicken we were presented with this little baby.

Super moist and fatty, a little bit gamey and 100% delicious. The bird was all it's clucked up to be.

And finally, we may have inadvertently had dog sausage. We picked a sausage off the rack and what came out cost about four times what you'd expect to pay for a sausage, had a strange astringency to it and Nicola now howls at the moon before going to sleep... Woof woof.