The Art of Thai Cuisine

Since we first planned our trip, a cooking course in Chiang Mai was always going to be a highlight. We both love cooking, and thought we had a reasonable grasp of Thai cuisine, that was until we sampled the real thing. Our anglicised green curries, while very tasty in their own right, were completely inauthentic, and the kind of stir-fried noodle dishes we’d serve up as students barely shared a single ingredient with the real Thai version. Cookery schools in Chiang Mai are ubiquitous, but we wanted to find the absolute best. We had been recommended a particular cooking course by a fellow traveller: the teacher, Yui, had apparently taught Gordon Ramsey how to cook Thai!

Pad Thai
The course began with the modern Thai street food classic, Pad Thai. It was the Clare’s favourite Thai dish, and was our first authentic street food experience on the night we arrived in Bangkok. The ingredients are relatively simple, and the cooking procedure incredibly quick and easy. The key to a successful Pad Thai, like every dish in Thai cooking, lies in the balance of the four essential tastes. A sauce made of palm sugar, tamarind pulp and fish sauce/light soy sauce fulfilled the sweet, sharp and salty elements respectively, and a garnish of chilli added a kick. We mixed our sauce beforehand to Yui’s measurements, although she admitted that the quantities are never the same and the only way to be sure is to taste. When the right balance is struck, there is a kind of taste explosion, with all the elements bouncing off each other on the tongue. The Pad Thai sauce becomes so much more than the sum of its parts. Yui confessed to happily eating the sauce with anything, a bit like a Thai ketchup, and recommended making a big batch and freezing in ice cube trays for pad thai on demand. 

The other ingredients were finely diced fried tofu, preserved turnip, a garnish of Chinese chives, which look just like spring onion but have a distinctly different flavour, and peanuts. Aside from the balance of the sauce, the other key to a successful stir fry dish is to appropriately manage the heat of your wok and full preparation of all ingredients is essential, as the cooking process is fast and intense. The heat necessary to cook different ingredients is controlled not by adjusting the flame, but by moving ingredients to different parts of the pan (Noodles once cooked were pushed up the side to steam, whilst an egg was fried in the intensely hot oil centre) and adding more ingredients, the thinness of the steel means that its heat is very quickly reduced by the addition of a few ingredients or a splash of water. We devoured our plate of noodles, before moving onto another classic, Thai curry.

Green/Red Curry
I opted for green and Clare chose red curry, the difference being only the type of chilli used in the paste. This was probably the dish I had been most eagerly anticipating, having tried an amazing curry at a restaurant in Bangkok, declared by The Observer as the best place in the world to eat it. We used a paste of chilli, shallot, garlic, lemongrass, shrimp paste, coriander seed and cumin seed. To my initial surprise Yui confessed that she rarely made her own paste, but when there’s a woman at your local market who’s been making and selling fresh curry pastes for years it soon became clear why. The paste was very similar to the kind we used at home, perhaps a little more pungent, but this is where the similarities ended.

We started, not with frying the paste in oil, but by heating a cup of coconut cream. In Thailand, they have both coconut cream and coconut milk, the richer, fattier cream comes from the first pressing of the coconut flesh, and the milk the second. The cream was heated for around five minutes until it began to separate. The aim was to boil off the water content, releasing the coconut oils, in which we could fry the paste. The addition of kaffir lime leaves sent some wonderful aromas through the kitchen. Pea aubergines were next. Around the size of a large pea, they add texture and a subtle bitter flavour.

Then the chicken was thrown in along with Thai aubergines. Another useful lesson we learnt was in the fool proof use of chicken thigh as opposed to breast. The thigh, being made of many muscles, can be cooked for much longer without drying out unlike chicken breast. We simmered the curry until the chicken and aubergine were cooked through. The final ingredient, added right at the end, was the amazing Thai basil. Whilst similar in appearance to European basil, the flavour is very different, almost aniseed-like. It adds a wonderfully exotic flavour and aroma that we’d barely encountered before. We garnished our curries with fresh sliced red chilli.

Tom Yum Soup
Our notions of Thai cookery continued to be shattered with the Tom Yum soup. We did not use a chilli-rich oily paste, but made the stripped back purist version, much harder to perfect. A simple broth of smashed shallot, lemongrass, galangal, and prawn heads was simmered for around ten minutes. I remember thinking the soup was tasting quite bland, that was until the addition of tamarind and fish sauce. The umami-rich and salty Nam Pla, acted as an amplifier, boosting the flavours of the aromatic ingredients. The tamarind provided an acidic edge to cut through the saltiness. Again balance here was absolutely essential. The joy in a dish like Tom Yum is in the harmonious party of saltiness, sweetness, sharpness, with the background heat of chilli.

Pad Thai

Market Visit
A market visit in the middle of the day provided a welcome relief for our appetites from the onslaught of dishes. The array of produce was quite amazing. More than seven different types of aubergine alone. As well as the Thai equivalent of a ready meal – A collection of the essential ingredients in the correct quantities for a quick Tom Yum soup, tethered together like a bouquet-garni.

Other Dishes
We returned to the kitchen, our appetites rejuvenated, and began with the afternoon dishes. We cooked a delicious and simple stir fry dish of chicken with cashew nuts, fried spring rolls, and possibly Asia’s only good dessert, mango sticky rice. We had found that generally Asian deserts tended to be very sweet, odd in texture (think jelly, and cooked beans), and altogether random in content (shaved ice, green noodles, steamed pumpkin…). However, the simple combination of slightly sweet, just a little salty, sticky rice topped with coconut cream, and the succulent Thai mangos was hard to resist.

Thai Street Food

We expected Thai food to be good, but what we didn’t anticipate was just how much better the food in Thailand would be compared with the rest of SE Asia. Street food, and casual restaurants are ubiquitous, cheap and incredibly tasty. Regional specialities ensure that you’re always introduced to new dishes. From Pad Thai in Bangkok to Khao Soi in Chiang Mai, this is a list of our gastronomic highlights.

Pad Thai

This classic epitomises Thai street food. You find it all over Thailand, prepared to order in minutes. Traditionally, it’s cooked in a wok over charcoal. The vendor effortlessly manoeuvres the ingredients to different parts of the wok to ensure everything is cooked to perfection.  Pad Thai is made with thin rice noodles, preserved turnip, tamarind, fish sauce, palm sugar, firm tofu, egg, Chinese chive, and is served with peanuts, chilli powder and lime. This was our first taste of Thai street food on the night we arrived in Bangkok, and remained a firm favourite throughout our time in the country.

Pad Thai vendor

Pad Thai at Thip Samai, Bangkok

Yellow Curry

This was a gem of a stall we found in Chinatown, near Bangkok’s main train station. The queue was a strong indication that the food would be worth waiting for, and it certainly didn’t disappoint. The yellow curry was of the thick and creamy variety, rich with coconut and smooth in texture. It was served with a choice of caramelised pork ribs or chicken wings, both of which we devoured, and some fresh cucumber. As is typical of street food in Asia, we ate our curry on red plastic stools on the pavement. On this occasion, while we were eating the heavens opened but the tropical downpour did not deter the hungry customers. We all edged our stools back towards the wall to gain what little shelter we could from the building’s overhang. Once finished, we left the stall to shelter under the awning of a nearby shop. It was magical to stand back and watch the city’s relationship with the rain. As people rushed past, their heads covered with plastic bags, a tuk-tuk driver pulled up in front of us and whipped out a bottle of washing-up liquid. He then proceeded to give his vehicle a full car wash in the rain – so resourceful!

Where’s Wally?

Yellow curry stall, Bangkok

Yellow curry, Bangkok

Pork Knuckle

This dish was as surprising as it was tasty. The combination of slow-ccoked pork, and pickled mustard greens reminded us more of modern American/German cuisine than Thai, although the subtle Chinese five spice, chilli and rice ensured the dish was Asian at heart. Served with a soft boiled egg, and plenty of chilli, it was delicious. At a cost of around 50p it was impossible not to go back for a second helping!

Pork Knuckle, Chiang Mai

Accompaniments, Chiang Mai

Pork Knuckle stall, Chiang Mai

 

Khao Soi

This Burmese-influenced noodle curry-soup is made from coconut milk, earthy Massaman spices and topped with deep-fried crispy noodles. This is the iconic Chiang Mai dish, served with chilli, lime, shallots and pickled mustard greens. The variety we tried was made with beautifully tender chicken. The stall was so unassuming – located in a car park between two temples and complete with Winnie-the-Pooh table clothes. Had we not been led here by a blog we’d never have discovered it, but it was one of the best things we ate on our whole trip!

Khao Soi with chilli, lime, shallots and pickled mustard greens

Khao Soi, Chiang Mai

 

Crispy Pork Soi 38

Soi 38 in Bangkok is an amazing introduction to Thai street food. The bustling night market has to be one of the most easy and accessible to tourists with its English menus, but still has some amazing vendors. The dish we most enjoyed here was crispy fried pork belly and rice with a sweet and salty Chinese spiced sauce. Refreshing cucumber cut through the richness, and half a gooey egg was the icing on the cake. A very simple, cheap and satisfying dinner, it became easy to understand why a lot of modern Thai apartments don’t bother including a kitchen. 

Fried Chicken 

Colonel Sanders eat your heart out! Never mind Kentucky, the best fried chicken is found on the streets of Thailand. Ubiquitous in big cities, cheap and greasy, this fast food classic is done incredibly well. The chicken is often cooked in front of you; the combination of crisp, salty skin, and moist flesh is impossible to resist. Forget the bite-sized, boneless bullshit, you choose the bits you like from thighs, to wings, to drumsticks, to an entire chicken, as we saw at one market! Usually served with chilli sauce, what more is there to say?

Crispy Pork, Soi 38, Bangkok

Whole Fried Chicken, Chiang Mai

 

Isan food

Isan is a region in Thailand’s north-east, which is famous for its spicy and sour food. Isan food has much in common with Lao food, with popular dishes including green papaya salad, sticky rice and larb (meat salad). We didn’t spend much time in Isan but sampled some delicious Isan food in Bangkok. Thais, like most people in south-east Asia, eat meals communally, sharing a variety of dishes. The idea is to order a selection of dishes that will result in a well-balanced meal (some sour dishes, some meaty ones, some spicy, some mild). Each individual dish is nice, but the real beauty is in how they come together and complement one another. We ordered a seafood papaya salad for some heat and a citrus punch, tom yum soup for a sour yet creamy flavour, grilled pork salad for a smokey, meaty flavour, catfish larb and sticky rice – a total feast.

Seafood Papaya Salad, Bangkok

Isan meal, Bangkok

 

Snakehead fish with green mango salad

Admittedly not our find, Krua Apsara was introduced to us by the Hairy Bikers on their Tour of Asia programme. Their researchers were spot on in picking this popular restaurant. Full of locals is always a guaranteed sign of quality in Thailand. Our favourite dish was a huge steak of snakehead fish served with a delicious green mango salad. The mango is used underripe, much like in a papaya salad, to give more texture and acidity rather than sweetness. A great use, we thought, for those deceiving ripen-at-home mangos that never quite make it. The salad, was sharp, spicy, salty, and sweet, everything you want from Thai food. Finished off with peanuts, it paired beautifully with the fried fish. Some other dishes we enjoyed here were the green curry with fish balls, crab omelette, yellow bamboo curry with prawns, and crispy fried tofu.

 

Snakehead fish with green mango salad

Crab omelette

Crispy fried tofu

Fruit Shakes

In the Asian heat, and humidity there is nothing quite like a fruit shake to refresh and cool. The combination of delicious tropical fruit blended with ice became a frequent treat. During our first few months away it was peak mango season and we both found the sweetness and unctuous texture hard to resist. We also enjoyed the lime and sharp but sweet Thai oranges. On our last days in Bangkok passion fruits had just come into season. The huge yellow variety were really sharp and intensely perfumed, making for an amazing fruit shake.

Passion fruit, Soi 38, Bangkok

Clare enjoying a refreshing lime juice in Chiang Mai

Mango Sticky Rice 

Perhaps the only dessert we enjoyed in five months around Asia! Sweet but slighty salty sticky rice topped with coconut cream, and once again the amazing Thai mangos: this is an oasis in a dessert desert.

Mango Sticky Rice, Chiang Mai

Eagerly anticipating our mango sticky rice

The Loop

The Loop is a 500km, four day motorbike adventure through southern Laos. It starts in Tha Khek and travels the long way round to Kong Lo Cave, considered by many as one of Laos’ most impressive natural wonders. We had heard great things about The Loop from an Australian couple we met in Vietnam. Their tales of driving along empty roads surrounded by karst scenery, coupled with the thought of getting off the so-called “banana pancake trail”, made The Loop instantly appealing.

We took advice from a reputable German guy, named Mad Monkey, and hired a 100cc semiautomatic Honda Wave. The bike was in great condition and only had 13,000 km on the clock. We’d heard that The Loop really takes its toll on the bike so having a reliable Japanese model was definitely a good idea.

Our first day was by far the least challenging. It consisted of a mere 100km along good roads (by Lao standards!) We took it fairly easy with stops for drinks, a lunch of noodle soup and to explore an underwhelming temple cave. Our first guesthouse was near a Chinese-backed hydroelectric power project. In the construction, a huge area of land had been flooded, drowning thousands of trees and creating an eerie, lifeless post-apocalyptic landscape. The bungalow was clean and comfortable and priced at an incredibly cheap 50,000 kip (£4).

We slept well and set off early the next day for what we’d heard would be a difficult day’s riding along more than 50 km of unpaved road. The track, which at first consisted of large stones, was easy enough to ride on slowly, but a little unnerving as the occasional skid and bump was unavoidable. It continued to deteriorate with some extremely wet and muddy sections. 5km of the stretch is considered all but impassable in the rainy season. Given that the rainy season was only just beginning to phase in it was, luckily, passable but not without extreme caution. I enjoyed the challenge but felt sorry for Clare, as the ride was far from comfortable. After more than two hours of difficult riding (and very sore bums), we eventually reached a paved surface and felt proud that we had completed this section, incident free.

We had planned to get to Kong Lo village early in the afternoon in order to visit the cave, allowing us to potentially complete The Loop in three days. However, I was feeling very jaded on arrival to our bungalow. My hands had been exposed to the intense sun for several hours straight, and despite the factor 50 it felt as though they’d aged significantly. I blamed sun exposure and long periods of intense concentration for my weariness, however later that evening it became clear that I had joined the long list of travellers to have picked up a bug in Laos. I had a high fever, and no appetite. I lay in bed pondering the thought that I’d perhaps contracted dengue fever and wondered how many miles we were from anything like a hospital…

Fortunately, after a dozen hours or so of sleep, I was feeling a little better. We decided that we would have a day of little to no motorbiking to allow me to recharge for the long final stretch that lay ahead, so around noon we headed for the cave. For such an impressive geological site, it was incredibly quiet and empty. We crossed a bridge over the emerald-coloured Nam Hin Bun River, which flows through Kong Lo Cave, to arrive at the inconspicuous mouth. The chill felt upon entering the cool cave, enhanced by my fever, was a relief from the intense heat. Just inside, ten or so boats were moored, half sunken in the shallow water. Our two Lao guides proceeded to bale one of these out as we waited, thankful for the lifejackets that were provided!  The boat glided through the water, our head torches soon becoming the only light source as we escaped the last of the sun’s rays. The cave was immense both in length (7.5km) and height (300m in places). Once in the darkest depths of the cave, we were instructed to get out of the boat and walk into the blackness. Our guide switched on some dim lighting and we proceeded through an extra-terrestrial landscape of curious stalagmites and stalactites. The use of colourful neon lighting was perhaps not the most tasteful, but nevertheless it enhanced the supernatural experience. The remainder of the boat journey was an experience in itself. Low water levels meant the rickety boat regularly ran aground as our captain attempted to steer us up some fast flowing rapids. I was called upon to help as our scrawny Lao guides struggled to shift the vessel. Once on the move again, our driver appeared to lose concentration as we collided head-on with a cave wall. The dramatic crash left no lasting marks on the boat or our Lao guides who carried on as if nothing had happened. The haphazard nature of the tour added to the experience, and we came to admire the carefree nature of the Lao people.

I was feeling a lot better in the morning and so we decided to take a chunk out of the next day’s journey by riding 40km to the next town. Some dodgy food but a good night’s sleep later and we were on our way again. The final leg was over 200km with some steep and windy sections which slowed our 100cc bike to a snail’s pace. The scenery here was staggering and a stop at a viewpoint provided us with surely one of the most impressive landscapes we’re likely to see. However, in a twisted turn of events my illness took on a new, unexpected dimension… I was now unsurprisingly determined to get back to Tha Khek and check into a hotel. Luckily the next section of road was very straight and uninteresting so we could take it as fast as we dared. 75km/hr certainly feels pretty fast on a small motorbike. We were making such good progress and with only 45km to go our luck took another much more dangerous turn. We suddenly felt the back of the bike swerving from left to right and I had to be very tentative on the brakes to bring us safely to a stop.

Clare thought I’d fallen asleep at the wheel, but actually our back tyre was flat as a pancake, and my morale was much the same. It was a situation that felt so unfortunate that you couldn’t help but stay calm and laugh at the state of adversity we found ourselves in. The only option was to wheel the bike and hope that help found us. After several locals slowing down to laugh before zooming off past us, a kind motorcyclist thankfully stopped and gestured us to turn around and follow him. Without any better option we complied and felt at least a hint of hope. Eventually we reached a couple of roadside shacks, but knowing that we would need a new inner tube, I was not very hopeful. We wheeled the bike up towards a family with desperation in our eyes. Incredibly, without a word exchanged, they invited us to sit down and have a drink while they set to work. Three generations of the family crowded around the bike, banging away with their makeshift tools. A girl of no more than 15 disappeared on one of the family’s motorbikes and returned minutes later with a new inner tube. We anxiously counted our little remaning cash with no idea what it was going to cost. We were amazed when they asked us for 30,000 kip, about £2.20. We couldn’t help but feel that we owed them a far greater debt of gratitude.

Once back on the road, things were going smoothly and just as I was gaining confidence again the heavens opened. The rain was hot and came down in what felt more like buckets than drips. In the 30 or so seconds that it took us to find a decent tree for shelter, we were drenched. I was impatient to continue driving and we were already saturated so we continued our journey. Compared with the day’s earlier events, the mini monsoon seemed like a minor blip but we couldn’t help feeling like our luck had been abnormally bad. We reached our hotel, wet, tired, ill, but relieved.

Later that evening we reflected on the previous three days. Although we felt we’d had bad luck, we were proud to have completed the journey unscathed. The trip was worth it for the scenery alone. There were some memorable landscapes that we simply wouldn’t have been able to see without our motorbike.

The map

Dead trees

Distant karsts

Our wheels

The road to Kong Lo

Cow in the road

“Trippy” landscape

Hill tribe trekking

Sapa is breathtaking: a small city clinging to the mountainside with panoramic views of the surrounding steeply terraced slopes. Sapa, and the surrounding Lao Cai province, is home to many hill tribes and the best way to explore the region is by trekking with a local guide. Ours was an endearing 21-year-old guy from the Hmong minority, named Zhe.

With our 30-day visa running out, we commenced our trek straight off the night train from Hanoi. Though a little sleepy from the bumpy journey, we were soon enthralled by the scenery and energised from the mountain air! After meeting Zhe, we were guided through the town before descending out the other side into a vast valley with expansive views of rice terraces cascading down impossibly steep slopes. Mountains rose up and towered over us on either side; their height and formation almost gorge-like. Having bought sensible shoes in Hanoi, we’d unsensibly not had time to break them in and the steep descent took its toll on our feet. Laurence’s knock-off North Face shoes were also suspiciously small for a size 10 and he soon had blisters on his toes. Nevertheless, he soldiered on..!

Although Zhe was our main guide we swiftly picked up two elderly Hmong women in traditional dress on the road. At first we were wary they were trying to sell us souvenirs but we relaxed, as they stuck with us for a good three hours making friendly conversation without such a suggestion. Turns out we underestimated how dedicated these sales people were, as when we sat down for lunch they unloaded their bamboo backpacks of beautiful hand stitched purses, bags and cushion covers. Knowing we had to squeeze whatever we purchased into our bags and lug it around with us for a further four to five months, we were reluctant buyers. However, we were so impressed with their handiwork and persistence that we bought a couple of keepsakes.

We were grateful to have Zhe guiding us through the maze of rice terraces. We traversed the paddies to the backdrop of farmers planting rice, swamped knee-deep in mud. Buffalo bathed in the flooded fields, unresponsive to the children coercing them to work with sticks. The fragile, muddy ridges that bordered the terraces tested our balance and Laurence caused his feet further discomfort as one of his shoes became submerged on a slippery section. These well irrigated areas were often impassable and we regularly had to double back to find an alternative route. In between paddies, we joined more proper paths and followed animal tracks up steep inclines. We weren’t surprised to encounter several motorbikes en route. As we have learned: Where there are Vietnamese there will be motorbikes!

Zhe was a great guide and gave us insight into the Hmong way of life. He was very keen to tell us all about his “new wife” – she wasn’t actually his wife but his fiancée, although Zhe couldn’t quite get to grips with the French loanword. Interestingly all the Hmong women we encountered still wear traditional dress, which consists of indigo-black velvet culottes, leg wraps, a hand-embroidered tunic with sash, and lots of silver jewellery, but the men wear western clothes. Zhe sported a Real Madrid shirt and jeans. It was an interesting mix of traditional customs and the modern – the average age for marriage is about 17 and most women have children by the age of 19 or 20. They are animists and Zhe told us most villages have a shaman. The Hmong people traditionally farm – in Sapa rice – but are clearly diversifying into tourism, whether as a trekking guide or hosting homestays. Zhe rode a motorbike and, to our amusement, enjoyed watching Britain’s Got Talent on his smartphone. He had never heard of the London Underground and was absolutely fascinated at the concept of a train running underground. As we crossed a small river by stepping stones, Zhe asked if we had a river near our house, to which we answered the Thames. He then asked whether we liked to swim in it as he did in this one. We felt spoilt that we’d seen more of his country in the previous three weeks than he had in his whole life. The furthest he had ventured from home was while trekking to surrounding villages with tourists.

We stayed overnight in a Hmong lady’s house, named Mai. It was a memorable experience sitting by the kitchen hearth as Mai and Zhe cooked our dinner over fire. Considering they only had one pan they cooked up an amazing spread of five or six dishes. We felt a little embarrassed that they’d cooked all this food for us, as Zhe had told us earlier that Hmong people only eat plain rice, sometimes with some vegetables but rarely with meat. Still, they clearly enjoyed all the food so we were glad to have enabled them to feast. We shared some homemade potent rice wine and were amused when Mai and Zhe announced they were drunk after only a couple of shot glasses!

Luckily, the next morning Zhe wasn’t too hungover and we set off for our second day’s trek. This took us through a dense bamboo wood. The clusters of thick, sky-high stems were abundant with nature. As we rounded a curve in the path, we became surrounded by hundreds of giant orange butterflies, scattering as we approached. We emerged from this oasis to more uphill. In fact, day two’s ascents seemed to be even steeper, which was tough on our already burning calves, but the climbs were always worth it for the spectacular scenery. We felt like classic tourists getting our cameras out at every turn but then noticed that Zhe was doing the same. Apparently we were lucky with the clear skies as the tops of the mountains are usually obscured by cloud. This weather also made for sweltering trekking, so we were not too sad when we finished our expedition early. The journey back to altitude was a welcome relief and we had one more evening to admire the awe-inspiring views of the prodigious landscape from the misty Sapa city.

 

Cooking up a feast in Hoi An

Having eaten our way through south Vietnam we were keen to learn how to cook some of the delicious street food snacks we’d sampled. As the foodie capital, Hoi An was the place for us to do a cooking course. Ours started with a trip to the bustling local market. It was a sensory overload. Stacks of vibrantly coloured and exotically shaped fruits and vegetables obscured the short, pyjama-clad vendors. Their sales patter cut through the background hum of running engines, local chatter and clucks of caged chickens. Pleasant smells of fragrant herbs mingled with the pungency of fish and meat, warming in the morning heat. Whenever you stood still for more than ten seconds you’d be barged by an impatient market-goer or, worse, a motorbike pushing through what seemed to be impassable gaps. In our group were three American tourists (unfortunately doing nothing to abate their national stereotype), who hounded our guide with a stream of questions. They were astounded to learn that all the fruit and veg on sale were grown in Vietnam, let alone in the local area… clearly this was no Walmart.

We headed to the fish and seafood section to buy some prawns for the spring rolls we’d be making later – an altogether different experience from the British fishmonger. There were live crabs shackled with elastic bands and large fish, squirming in their overcrowded, shallow buckets of barely-oxygenated water, waiting to be put out of their misery. I was given the task of carrying the prawns and now and again I’d jump at the sudden jerky movements coming from the bag. What with this, and the squawks of live poultry, we were half expecting to see roaming pigs and cows when we went indoors to the meat area!

Once we’d stocked up on all the ingredients for the class, we hopped on a boat to the cookery school. Up first were fresh spring rolls, aka summer rolls. We encountered these all over Vietnam. The flavour and texture of each ingredient is much more discernable than in the deep fried variety. Rolling was a precise art – the order the ingredients are placed in the rice paper is important for the final aesthetic as you want to see the prawns aligned neatly through the translucent paper, their coral colour contrasting with the green lettuce beneath them. Mine were perfect (obviously), but in his impatience to eat something Laurence was scolded for being too hasty in his arrangement of the prawns. After proudly scoffing our creations, dipped in a peanut sauce, we moved on to our next dish.

Banh Xeo is a savoury pancake made from rice and coconut milk. Ours were filled with pork, prawns and beansprouts. Our cooking instructor was overly cautious with instructions for safe pancake flipping – ironic for a nation which seems to drive on both sides of the road! Once flipped, we filled our pancakes with herbs and lettuce and wrapped them in rice paper. To accompany this, we made a sweet-sour chilli dipping sauce.

Our third dish was probably our favourite: beef noodle salad, or Bun Bo Nam Bo. The salad was a well-balanced dish, full of contrasting flavours (lime, soy, chilli and beef), textures (roasted peanuts, crunchy vegetables, soft tender beef and noodles) and temparatures (cold noodles and vegetables with warm beef and dressing).

By this point we were pretty full but managed to squeeze in a bowl of warm pho – our final dish. Pho (noodle soup) is ubiquitous in Vietnam and we’d eaten plenty, but this one was Hanoi-style, which we had not yet tried. Laurence had great memories of one he’d tried in Berlin though. Pho Hanoi is gently warming with its background of smoked star anise and cinnamon – spices which we hadn’t seen much of on our travels so far.

We’ve got the recipe cards so everyone can look forward to a Vietnamese feast on our return!

 

Vibrant market produce

Sea creatures

Lack of refrigeration means fish has to be super fresh

Fresh spring roll

Banh Xeo

Beef noodle salad

Pho Hanoi

Laurence cooking

Caving in Vietnam

Our visit to the UNESCO World Heritage Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park was one of the highlights of our time in Vietnam. The area is famous for its dramatic karst scenery of extensive cave systems (including the world’s largest) and rugged mountainous peaks. Our journey there began with a gruelling four hour local bus journey from the historical city of Hue. We were packed like sardines, two to a seat, with some perched awkwardly on plastic stools in the aisle. The bus had air con, but the driver opted for natural ventilation instead; fine if you had a window seat, not so great if you are sandwiched between four Vietnamese, as I was. The typical Asian cargo load of mystery packages, squawking chickens and a motorbike were offloaded seemingly at random on rambling detours. The bus was equipped with a novelty horn, which the driver used enthusiastically and unnecessarily throughout the journey, much to our annoyance. Several passengers attempted to sit in the unoccupied front seat, but it soon became clear that this was exclusively reserved for Vietnamese babes, for whom we digressed further from our route to pick up and drop off along the way. After arriving, and once we’d restored the blood flow to our lower extremities, we walked a short distance to another pepper farm home stay, from where we explored the park the next day.

Son Doong Cave, discovered in 2009, is officially the world’s largest. It is apparently so big that an entire Manhattan street block, skyscrapers and all, could comfortably sit within it. The cave’s vast size and inaccessibility mean that access involves a $3000, five day expedition, so we settled for the more tourist-friendly options. Our first visit was to Paradise Cave, another fairly recent discovery, which is a staggering 31km long. Access required a walk through the jungle and 500+ sweaty steps up to the modestly sized entrance. As we approached we were greeted, to our delight, by a huge draught of cool air. It was like entering an enormous walk–in fridge – just what we needed after our sweltering climb. We descended down some steps into the cathedral-like atrium. Echoed voices and the reverberating drips of mineral rich water, together with the dim lighting, contributed to the mystical atmosphere. The cave impressed not only in scale but also in the peculiar formation of its immense stalagmites and stalactites.

The high point of the day had to be the adventurous and surreal experience we had at the ominously named Dark Cave. Upon arrival we were fitted with life jackets, head torches and hard hats before kayaking to the cave-mouth and entering, bare foot, over sand. Unlike Paradise Cave there was no artificial light and so we were quickly reliant on our torches to guide us. We were led through a labyrinth of narrowing passages, the cave walls gradually turning from hard rock to slippery wet clay. The tunnel became more challenging and we were soon clambering over what felt like lumps of soft butter, which squelched through our toes with each step. It was a constant battle for grip. At one point we had to climb up a steep slippery slope and many surrendered inevitably to painful-looking falls. Fortunately the soft clay surroundings were akin to a padded cell, making serious injury virtually impossible. After regaining our footing we reached the end of the trail, where we slid downwards into a huge mud bath. We sunk deep into the cool, oozing clay and switched off our torches. It was one of those rare occasions when you get to appreciate the unreal sensation of complete darkness. The playful European boys in our group spotted the opportunity to use the shield of darkness for some mischievous poking and groping of their bikini-clad friends. This progressed into a full on mud slinging fight, in which we caked each other from head to toe. It was like a kids party when someone shouts “FOOD FIGHT!” A swim in the cool cave river provided a welcome opportunity for some  mud scrubbing. I made a particularly poor effort of cleaning my face, much to everyone’s amusement as we exited the cave.

Our day ended with an hour or so of driving through the beautiful surroundings of the park. The spectacular karst formations against the evening sky made for a breathtaking landscape. The distant humps appearing as through they’d once spontaneously erupted from the earth below. We left the park excited that the same cave systems would bring us further adventures across the border in Laos.

Amazing landscape

Pepperhouse Homestay

Sheer karst

Stalagmite

Cathedral-like cave

A cool river we swam in

Jungle

Driving

Scenic road

Vietnamese Island Homestay

After crossing the Cambodian-Vietnamese border overland we travelled back on ourselves by boat to the island of Phu Quoc. The ownership of this archipelago, which we could see from Kampot, has long been contested by the two nations. Phu Quoc is bigger and more developed than Koh Rong, where we stayed in Cambodia, but once again we had an atypical experience as we stayed in the island’s undeveloped interior. We chose to do a homestay with a lady named Jenny and her family, providing an authentic introduction to Vietnam. The family’s main business was running a pepper farm, where we stayed in amongst the rows of tall conical plants.

Jenny had two incredibly cute children, three-year-old Tiger and seven-year-old An, who had an insatiable appetite for games. Upon our arrival An gave us a tour of the family’s farm and impressed us with her English when she pointed out pineapples, limes and lemongrass that were growing on the family’s land. It was interesting to see how these familiar ingredients actually grow. Our tour had barely finished before An covered both big brown eyes with her small hands and propositioned us with the words, “one, two, three?”, expectantly. We understood the universal language of Hide and Seek and Laurence began to count while I hid with Tiger and An. Tiger held my hand and tugged me down until I was crouching at his level. Each time we hid, he put a finger up to his mouth and ordered me to “shhhh”, excitably, whether I was making a noise or not. To him, it was an essential part of the game. We’d “hide” in the most visible places while Laurence pretended he couldn’t see us. When finally “found” Tiger giggled uncontrollably at the thrill before pointing at me or An, indicating it was our turn to count (it was never his). We played for what felt like hours. Laurence and I grew sweaty and our legs were beginning to ache from constantly crouching to please Tiger, but his and An’s enthusiasm never ceased. The announcement of dinner was our only saviour.

After mixed food in Cambodia, we were looking forward to the Vietnamese cuisine and were not disappointed as we were force-fed crab after crab, vast quantities of barbecued squid, and small deep-fried fish. All were served with plenty of rice, an amazing variety of fragrant herbs, and Jenny’s delicious homemade pepper and lime dip. Jenny’s husband demonstrated their custom of wrapping all of the ingredients in rice paper before dipping the parcel in the zingy sauce. As we chatted about the cultural differences between our countries, we were plied with sickly sweet homemade myrtle wine – so sweet that their children seemed to have developed a taste for it as well.

The pepper farm was remote and so our only way to explore was on the family’s brand new motorbike. It was quite a responsibility but Laurence soon got the hang of the island’s bumpy dirt tracks. We spent a day visiting the more remote beaches of the north, stopping to cool off in the sea and for refreshment breaks. It was here we had our first taste of the famous Vietnamese coffee. Although Laurence in particular was sceptical, the intense bitterness of the Robusta coffee made an altogether different drink when iced and accompanied with condensed milk. In fact,  he was not too sad to ditch his single origin Arabica in place of the ubiquitous and cheap iced coffee, which hence became part of our daily routine. The beaches were empty but their beauty was scarred by massive concrete construction sites as they begin to develop. When we mentioned this at dinner, Jenny lamented the privatisation of beaches for resorts like these and wondered whether, by the time Tiger had grown up, there’d be any public beach left for him and his friends to enjoy. As a tourist, the prospect of a private beach is always enticing so it was good to be reminded of the flip side of such a luxury.

The next day, Jenny took us snorkelling with Tiger while An was at school. This was homestay-style snorkelling. We arrived at the spot where a local fisherman had agreed to pick us up and take us out in his boat, only to find out that all the fisherman were drunk on rice wine (at 10 o’clock in morning!) We followed Jenny round the village as she asked acquaintances if anyone could step in. Luckily, a friend offered up their daughter who could row us to the coral. We were welcomed, stooping, into their rickety wooden house, which lay on stilts across the water. The girl waded out back to bring the boat in, while we sat in a hammock watching the lapping water through gaping cracks in the floorboards. Her mother was keen to protect my much envied white skin so gave me a traditional Vietnamese hat for the day. We were surprised to see how widely used they were in Vietnam, having assumed nowadays they’d just be worn for show. In the intense sun I understood how impossible a day’s work out in the rice paddies would be without one. It was like having a tree with me all day!

We set off at a snail’s pace in the ancient rocky boat, with improvised fishing-net oar hooks. When finally we reached the coral, Jenny invited us to jump in – harder than it sounds when the water is shallow and the boat is barely seaworthy. As Laurence braved the manoeuvre, Jenny shouted “mind the sea urchins!” a little too late… He got painfully spiked by five spines in one foot. We later saw Jenny instructing Tiger to wee all over her spiked foot but Laurence didn’t much fancy the alternative Vietnamese treatment! The snorkelling was ok but I think the mention of coral had conjured tropical images of brightly coloured angel and clown fish, stingrays and turtles in our minds. Unfortunately all were absent, as was the concept of responsible snorkelling. Rather than not touching the coral, we had to jump out the boat directly onto it, and instead of simply observing and taking nothing from the site, Jenny hacked sea urchins off the rocks and caught tropical fish! This highlighted the lack of education the locals have towards the fragile nature of the reefs here and, while we really enjoyed our day, we were left with a slightly guilty feeling that trips like ours were partly responsible for the lack of marine life we witnessed.

Foodies as we are, the most memorable experience was lunch. We had a barbecue on the beach of freshly caught squid and fish. Eating the unprepared squid was a messy operation, the ink blackening our hands and faces to the amusement of our Vietnamese hosts, who managed effortlessly. Then, Jenny and the skipper donned our snorkelling masks and caught some sea urchins for us to try. Any guilt we may have felt was eradicated by the pain in Laurence’s foot and we ate a stack of around fifteen with Jenny’s chilli-lime sauce to exact revenge! They were sweet and succulent with a hint of salt from the brine but also rich and creamy with a luxuriant texture, similar to that of scallop roe. Freshly plucked from the sea, it was a special way to experience a new food, especially being able to indulge in a limitless supply. I dread to think what fifteen of them would cost in the UK!

 

From Kampot to Kep

Kampot

Sad to leave the beaches of Sihanoukville and Koh Rong behind, but eager to press on towards Vietnam, Kampot and Kep were our final destinations in Cambodia. Nothing could compare to the paradise we’d left behind, but both towns had charm.  In Kampot we spent our time cycling around enjoying the town’s cafes or lounging by the riverside, with frequent dips for some respite from the searing heat. It was the hottest time of the year in Cambodia, and the lack of air con in our $5 room took its toll. We soon understood why the French set up a hill station in the nearby mountains.

Bokor National Park is Kampot’s main attraction, with its cooler temperatures, spectacular views over the Vietnamese island of Phu Quoc, and crumbling colonial buildings. The summit is over 1000 metres, so our only options for climbing the mountain were by tour bus or hiring our own wheels. Neither of us wanted the inflexibility and tackiness of an organised tour so we reached the inevitable dilemma that all backpackers in Asia must face: whether to hire a motorbike without any prior experience. After some umming and ahhing and YouTube instructional videos of how to ride an automatic scooter (Yeah, I realise now it’s not that complicated) we took the plunge.

Luckily I was a natural and before long we were flying around the mountain’s hairpin bends like Valentino (and Valentina?) Rossi, defying gravity by leaning at impossibly acute angles and clipping apexes perilously close to shear drops. That’s at least how it felt, and with a broken speedometer, we could have been going that fast…though the steady stream of overtaking vehicles perhaps suggested otherwise. The views were spectacular and the road must have been Cambodia’s best, making the drive the highlight of the day. At the summit Clare admitted that she felt safer on the back of my motorbike than when in the passenger seat of my car… probably a fair point.

There were supposedly some interesting sites scattered across the top of the mountain including a waterfall, a colonial era Catholic church, and an eerie sounding abandoned French casino. It being the end of the dry season the waterfall was almost waterless, I reckoned the primitive shower at our hostel provided a greater flow of water. Iguazu falls it certainly was not, however in the absence of gushing water, it was interesting to see the dramatically carved naked rock.

The old French casino was the most baffling site. We’d heard about it and thought that the colonial ruins sounded cool. However, due to structural issues, the Cambodians had questionably decided to cover the whole building in plaster, disguising much of its period charm, and making it superficially unimpressive. Once inside, however, the grandeur of the original games room with its high ceilings and tiled floors harked back to a bygone era.

Kep

A short bus ride from Kampot was the small coastal town of Kep, where we found ourselves relaxing in a sea view bungalow complete with pool…or not. Instead of spending our final days in Cambodia catching some rays, I made the questionable decision of taking us on an 8km hike through another national park. The heat was unrelenting and the inclines steep – I soon began to look like Rick Stein, wok-side, as the sweat patches on my linen shirt merged together like tributaries of the Mekong river. An icy lime juice cooled and quenched, while a banana, peanut and chocolate pancake was well-earned elevenses.

It had in fact been our appetite for good and interesting food that had brought us to Kep in the first place. The town’s main draw is its famous crab market, where several restaurants on stilts serve it just-caught with fresh green Kampot peppercorns. The milder heat and zing of the fresh pepper provided a great accompaniment to the sweet, succulent crab meat and we shamelessly sucked and chewed at every last leg and claw. Kampot province was once world-famous for the quality of its pepper and they say it used to be on every table in Paris. We ate to the backdrop of an incredibly colourful sunset and, as a storm set in, a power cut and the sound and spray of crashing waves made for an atmospheric evening. Still, we left Cambodia feeling like there was a lot more to see, and it was added to our now ridiculously long future holiday list.

View from the summit of Bokor National Park, Kampot

Waterless waterfall

Catholic church at Bokor National Park

The dilapidated interior of the Catholic church

Plastered remains of the old French casino

Kampot’s famous durian monument

Our bungalow in Kep

Kep National Park

Another generic Asian lager

Sea view at the crab market

Crab with green pepper

Lonely Beach

After a four hour boat ride through rough seas, complete with a sea-tornado and vomiting Australian, the aptly named Lonely Beach came into view. Seen from the now calm waters, the sweeping bay, fringed with palm trees, appeared uninhabited. With the afternoon sun falling on the golden sand the beach resembled a true postcard paradise. As we drew closer, a couple of simple wooden structures could be seen through the jungle, which was where we would be staying – a stark contrast to the opposite, developed side of the island with its party atmosphere. This was definitely back to basics, but in a really good way. Our accommodation was an open air dorm with only a mosquito net between us and the island’s wildlife. Each night we climbed inside our cocoons and were lulled to sleep by the jungle’s soothing song.

Our stay gave us an insight into the realities of island living. With the main pier at Koh Rong’s opposite side and no roads, Lonely Beach is completely cut off and accessible only by private boat. The island has electricity for a few hours a day, making amenities we take for granted, like refrigeration, tricky. Huge blocks of ice had to be imported by boat, big enough to keep goods cool until more was brought over the next day. Most food came from the mainland’s markets too. We were already used to cold showers, which aren’t at all unpleasant in the Asian heat, but here they were of the bucket variety and you had to summon up the courage to chuck cool rain water over yourself.

We shared this beautiful bay with no more than ten guests, giving us a good stretch of the beach to ourselves each day. We mostly spent our time relaxing in hammocks, reading, and swimming in the crystal clear waters, but one morning we ventured into the jungle to seek out a nearby fishing village. We passed coconut groves, cashew woods and the occasional mango tree, laden with ripe fruit which dropped onto our path as we walked. The hostel’s owner had advised us to “just follow the path”, which seemed pretty straightforward, so we weren’t expecting to encounter several forks along the way. Consequently, we were amazed to reach the village after an hour or so’s walking, somehow having made the right decision at each turning.

It was traditional, with huts for houses and a rickety wooden bridge that ran across the inlet. Ramshackle fishing vessels were moored along the water’s edge, their brightly coloured paint peeling to reveal a spectrum of former coats. We stopped at a villager’s home-come-shop for a much needed iced coffee (it was a sweltering day). As we were leaving we passed two young boys playing on the sandy ground in the shade of a coconut tree. Proudly grinning, they dangled a couple of geckos in front of us that they’d tethered with makeshift string leads. It reminded me of something out of Just William. Boys will be boys!

There was nothing better than submerging ourselves in the cool(ish) sea as we returned, sweating buckets, from our excursion. Our morning’s activity warranted yet more relaxation, which is how we spent the remainder of our stay on this Edenic part of Koh Rong. Sadly, we fear Lonely Beach may not be lonely forever as the Cambodian government is keen to develop the whole island with an airport and a ring road in the pipeline. The hostel owners told us they have no permanent rights to the land and could be ordered to demolish the buildings any day. It was clearly a special time to be there, which made our stay all the more magical.

Lonely Beach

1km of beach to share with ten people

Sunset over the bay

Hammock

Jungle dorm

Admiring the view

Fishing Village

Boys will be boys