The Fanxipan Express

I’ve been in Viet Nam for a week, taking in the sights and struggling with an enormous amount of history that I don’t think that I ever learned. I’ll get back to the sights of the first week later on. We left Hanoi last night on the overnight train, the Fanxipan Express, to Lao Cai, a small town on the China border. Hanoi was participating in a Save the Earth program and the lights were dimmed at 8:30pm. We were waiting by the railroad tracks; ready to board the train and it became apparent that there was a problem. Our car was missing. Wait long enough and magic happens: a car backs up and attaches itself to the train. We were good to go! There is nothing like riding in the caboose, with your fingers crossed, hoping that the mechanic hooked the last car up correctly!

I don’t know when I was last on an overnight train, if ever, but it was cozy and comfortable enough for a few hours sleep. Let me introduce my cabin mates. Penny Goldin is a childhood friend of mine; she and her friend, Jenny Wang are both members of the Moosewood collective in Ithaca, NY. Caroline Chauteau, a French woman living in Amsterdam, is a friend of Jenny’s dating back to a high school exchange program in France. Caroline has traveled often to Viet Nam and was the organizer of this great adventure. That is the cast of characters, in addition to our guide Phung (who was not sharing a cabin with us!)

The train rocked and rolled and chugged along climbing to over 4000ft in elevation during the 8 hour ride. Our arrival in Lao Cai seemed to be the morning alarm for the town. It came alive. A quick breakfast at a local restaurant and we were on our way to the BacHa Market. Although only 40 km away, the drive to BacHa over winding narrow roads with many switchbacks, that climbed another 1000 vertical feet, would take almost 2 hours!




The market, as promised was large and colorful. The Flower Hmong people predominate, and they are friendly, photogenic and persistent saleswoman.







This weekly market is a major gathering place and meals are prepared in addition to everything (fruits, vegetables, spices, tobacco), and anything (tools, wooden yokes for the water buffalo, brooms, and animals). We did our part to support the local economy.



Before leaving town, we stopped at the Hmong Kings House.


Built by the French colonists and Chinese in 1920, it is a beautiful saffron colored building that would fit right in with the mansions in Newport, RI.

The terra cotta roof is very distinctive. The house is vacant at this time, but plans are to develop a hotel at the site.





We stopped at a Hmong village and the children were thrilled that Phung had treats for them. They love having their pictures taken. The Flower Hmong people are best known for the colorful dress they wear. At this home, the grandmother was eager to join in the photo-op.


















We trekked across the rice fields visiting the remote villages of the Black Yao, Nung and Phu La tribes on the way.









The manicured fields and vistas were breathtaking; the shades of green were endless.



We crossed this small bamboo toll bridge, which kept us out of the river and feet dry. The young woman who built the bridge has no problem charging for her efforts.


Did I mention that there are a lot of water buffalo? Mr Bill could not believe the size of this “patty” on the path. I have to admit that it was bigger that any bison deposits that I ever saw in Yellowstone!




At the water’s edge, we took a boat ride down the Chay River.



There were more beautiful vistas and an interesting industry of reclaiming sand from the water for construction.



We backtracked on the same winding road to La Cai and then up a similar winding to SaPa. There was a stark contrast in the dress of the people as we climbed toward SaPa: the Black Hmong, with black skirts and tops and Red Yao, with red triangle scarves covering the women’s heads made up the majority.

We checked into the Bamboo Sappa Hotel; the climb to our 5th floor rooms was worth the view alone!

Unfortunately, the clouds descended from the mountaintop before we were able to enjoy the sunset.

Tomorrow – more trekking and an adventure that continues…

Home Sweet Home

There is nothing better than having your bags roll off the carousel timely and in one piece; even better is when you get to the train station at the airport and the train that pulls up, is the direct train to Jenkintown. All good! Let me add to the list: sleeping in my own bed with my own pillow…and having hundreds of pictures to entertain myself if the memories start to fade. Those are the highlights.

The lowlight is the “back to reality” thing. Worse, however, is rejection. I was actually shocked when I learned that my services were NOT needed at Yellowstone National Park this summer. Adding insult to injury, the WXPN Humanitarian Mission to Cuba (of which I was scheduled to attend) had been cancelled. Bummer!

I wasn’t even settled in at home, and I was restless. I had spoken with a friend, Penny before I left for Israel and we talked about travel plans. She was surprised that I was staying less than 6 weeks in Israel (she thought it was 3 months), and I was a bit envious that she was planning a Viet Nam trip for 3 weeks at the end of March.

I called and floated the idea of joining her in Viet Nam and a plan was hatched. I was able to buy a ticket the next day, and with a flurry of emails and the help of her friend who planned the trip, I would obtain a “visa upon arrival” in Ho Chi Minh City, fly to Danang, and meet them in Hoi Ann.



It felt a bit hectic reorganizing, but there was one highlight that I perceived to be my good luck omen. It involves my little friend Mr Bill, who has been traveling with me for almost a year now. Last June, when I was packing the car for my annual pilgrimage to RI, Mr Bill had a photo op riding on my bike that was on the roof rack. When I got to RI, I absolutely could not find him. Of course I figured he had an “oh noooooo..” moment under the tires of an 18-wheeler on the PA or NJ Turnpike. And I mourned his passing. I eventually found a new Mr Bill. Long story short, as I was driving out of my driveway one day when I was home, there was a very dirty Mr Bill sitting on the fence. He’d been in the yard for almost a year. Very dirty, but no worse for wear, he had the opportunity to meet his brother. Mr Bill #1 is looking a bit like Pigpen from the Peanuts strip, but still as photogenic as ever.

I transitioned nicely in East Coast time and within 8 days of returning home I was packed for yet another chapter of the great adventure (with Mr Bill #2 in my bag).

The Packer Cousins Tour –The Last Hurrah

My sister, Gail and I had a couple of days to explore the city and check off everything on our “wish lists”. The group was slowly disbanding. We had kept a hectic pace over the past week and some down time was sorely needed.

My Sar-El friend Scott was still at the Adiv when we returned. We had an opportunity over dinner to rehash the highlights and lowlights of his Israel experience.

Gail and I decided that our remaining time in Israel would be a combination of R&R, culture and retail therapy. We planned our time accordingly. The sun was shining the next morning and the Mediterranean was calling to Gail. Since I had never taken a full plunge myself, I thought this was the golden opportunity.



The Rubin Museum, in the former residence of the Israeli painter Reuven Rubin, was on our short list for culture. Although many of the permanent Rubin pieces were in storage for a temporary exhibit, the Van Gogh exhibit was a reasonable substitute.



Rubin graduated in 1912 from the famous Bezalel School of Arts and Crafts. For the next few years, his travels took him to Paris, Italy and finally back to him homeland of Romania. He crossed the Atlantic in 1920 and his paintings were noticed enough to have a one man show in New York City later that year.The video and photographs of Reuven Rubin captured his colorful life.
















In 1922 he opened his own studio in Tel Aviv. During his career, his works included woodcuts, paintings (often described as having a naïve style), and eventually designing sets for Tel Aviv theatres. Early on he was the chairman of the association for painters/sculptors. Rubin’s paintings primarily depicted the landscapes and life of Palestine. A collage of his works graced one of the downstairs ceilings.

A walking tour of Neve Tzedek was the default activity as we roamed the tiny streets looking for the Ayala Bar gallery/store. It is very much an artists’ community and many buildings become the actual canvas!



We past by an interesting ceramic studio, only to find out that the artist had a vessel in the Biennial Ceramics Exhibit at the Eretz Israel.



This was the piece in the show. Our sense of direction was working and we covered a large area on foot.

Since I was still in search of the best hummus, we had lunch at a small hummus spot in the north end of the city.



Yes your geography is correct, Neve Tzedek is in the southern end of the city and we crossed town to the river’s edge for a bowl of smashed chickpeas!




The city was getting ready for Purim. It was the full moon and children and adults alike were donning their costumes.



Only in Israel is the holiday celebrated as such. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do…” we found ourselves back at the synagogue on Bograshav to hear the reading of the Megillah. It was standing room only and Haman’s name brought a roar from the congregation. It was a toss-up for the best costumes: adults or children! The best part of the evening was that Gail was able to cross the last item on her wish list – dancing the horah in Israel. A Klezmer band started playing after the service was over.










We stopped to eat at a neighborhood café; the flatbread pizza was great.



Look closely at the sign; if you have any knowledge of the Hebrew letters, you have easily spot the "peh" and "zed". That's contemporary Hebrew! It was a shame we were too full for one last frozen yogurt at our favorite corner store. So the story goes - if you everything on your first trip, there is no reason to come back!

We had a 4am taxi to the airport. While we waited, Mr Bill had one last Kodak moment with Raviv the night desk clerk.



We had one good laugh as we were leaving; we could hear the “Oh Nooooooo……” coming from the computer in the office as Raviv checking out the story of Mr Bill.

And the adventure continues…

The Packer Cousins Tour – Back to the Negev

Saturday was another early checkout and departure. We were heading back to the Negev: this time to Masada and Ein Gedi National Park. The Packer Cousin’s Tour would officially be ending in Tel Aviv later in the day.

Our route from Jerusalem was the north-south highway near the West Bank. The security fence was intermittently visible. (This is where it might be helpful to say that the West Bank is an area in the eastern part of Israel along the western banks of the Jordan River.) We passed by the caves of Qumran, where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found.

The distinctive silhouette of Masada, situated atop an isolated rock cliff at the western end of the Judean Desert, is identifiable from miles away. The view of the Dead Sea is amazing.



It is a place majestic beauty. It was a big day for the cousins! As it turned out, this would be our only opportunity for the official group picture.



Joan had gotten us “family” t-shirts and we were looking our best! We smiled for many cameras in support of the theory that “more is better”.

Snake Path is the footpath on the eastern face that winds its way from the tourist center to top. The able-bodied were walking and remainder would take the cable car to the summit.



It was a “take-your breath away” hike; but one of my dreams come true. When I came last year, the tour company would not allow us to walk, and my year old disappointment would be resolved today! Mr Bill was along for the hike.



Years ago, the heroic story of Masada and its dramatic end attracted many explorers to the Judean desert in attempts to locate the remains of the fortress. The site was identified in 1842, but intensive excavations did not take place until the early 1960’s. This was with the help of hundreds of enthusiastic volunteers from around the world. To Israelis, Masada symbolizes the determination of the Jewish people to be free in its own land.

Its colorful history is best told by Josephus Flavius, a young Jew who became a Roman citizen and respected historian. (Many who would have been happy to see him killed also considered him a traitor.) During the 30’s BCE, the Roman overlords crowned an Idumean, named Herod, King of Judea. His Jewish subjects apparently hated him. As a master builder, Herod indulged every need and whim in the construction of Masada.

Some 75 years after Herod’s death, (66 CE) the Great Jewish Rebellion was successful in overcoming the Roman garrison of Masada. In turn, the Romans established camps at the base of Masada, laid siege to it and constructed a rampart using thousands of tons of stones and earth against the western approaches of the fortress. By 70 CE, with the fall of Jerusalem, the Zealots joined forces in Masada. For the next two years, they raided and harassed the Romans. In the spring of 74 CE, a battering ramp was able to breach the wall of the fortress.

Rather than be taken alive, Eleazar ben Ya’ir and a group of Zealot defenders, almost one thousand men, women and children, decided to burn the fortress and take their own lives. The Zealots cast lots; ten men were chosen to kill the remainder, and among themselves, chose the last Jew who would kill himself. Because Jewish law strictly forbids suicide, this decision sounds more shocking today than it probably did at the time. This, of course, is an abbreviated version; I trust my editing has not substantially changed the course of events.

Two thousand years have passed since the fall of Masada. The climate of the region and the remote location has helped to preserve its remains to an extraordinary degree. Masada was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2001.

There is an interesting tale that I heard while volunteering on the army base. Years ago, when Moshe Dayan was Chief of Staff of the Israel Defense Forces (IDF), he initiated a custom of holding the swearing-in ceremony of new soldiers on the top of Masada. After the soldiers completed their basic training, they climbed Snake Path at night and were sworn in under the light of torches. The ceremony ends with the declaration: "Masada shall not fall again."

Our next stop was Nachal David, one of two spring fed streams and waterfalls in the National Park. Ein Gedi National Park was founded in 1972 and is one of the most important reserves in Israel. The park is situated on the eastern border of the Judean Desert and covers an area of 6,250 acres. The park is a sanctuary for many types of plant, bird and animal species. As a migratory path, an additional 200 species join the resident birds in the spring and fall. Ibex and hyrax are two mammal species that are often seen.














The combination of an unusually warm day and Shabbat brought out the crowds. It was literally “teaming with humanity”. Many streams fed into the pool under the waterfall and it was amazing that the temperatures varied from warm to “take your breath away” cold. I know that someone has a picture, but unfortunately, it is not on my memory card. It was a quick dip; we still had places to go.

It's called the Dead Sea because nothing lives in it. It is some of the saltiest water anywhere in the world, almost six times as salty as the ocean! There are no fish, moving creatures, no seaweed, or any living plants of any kind in the Dead Sea. Actually, the only thing you'll see on the shores of the Sea is the covering of a hard white crust, which are crystals of salt. The crust covers everything: it has razor sharp edges and easily slice your skin.

Don’t be confused, as this is not ordinary table salt. The salts found in the Dead Sea are mineral salts, just like you find in the oceans of the world, only in extreme concentrations. Because of these concentrations, the body is more buoyant in the Dead Sea; buoyant enough to bob like a cork. It makes swimming difficult, so people tend to float and enjoy the experience! Gail found her zen moment.









The Dead Sea experience is usually followed by the black mud application. It’s dirty and fun and always worth a few laughs. We dragged Lynda into the Hear no evil, See no evil, and Speak no evil threesome!










Needless to say, showers followed and we were heading north again.

We made a pit stop at a junction along the way and decided it was the perfect opportunity to share our feelings about the Cousins’ Tour with Julian. It was a kumbaya moment!














And of course one picture of the sisters in our "team" t-shirts.












As the sun set this day our heroines/heroes were speeding back to Tel Aviv for a bit of R & R at the Hotel Adiv after a fabulous 8-day tour of the motherland.

And the adventure continues…

The Packer Cousins Tour – Jerusalem

Our early morning departure for Yad Vashem, the Holocaust History Museum, allowed us some quiet time on the grounds before the crowds arrived. We walked on a path to the entrance that is lined with carob trees, symbolic of supporting life.
Many of the sculptures that grace the grounds integrate the number six,



representing the six million Jews who perished at the hands of the Nazis, into their designs.


The Garden of the Righteous pays tribute to the courageous non-Jews; Oscar Shindler is one, who risked their lives to save Jews from certain death.


These rescuers are awarded the title of Righteous Among the Nations and given a certificate and a medal with the Talmudic inscription “Whoever saves a single soul, it is as if he had saved the entire world.” Trees have been planted on the walkway, marked by a plaque bearing the name and nationality of the Righteous Person. 22,000 helpers have been remembered and honored with planted trees and plaques.

Particularly moving is the Children's Memorial. In a completely dark underground room are glass walls reflecting the flames of five memorial candles, a customary Jewish tradition to remember the dead, and creating the effect of countless flames, each symbolizing the soul of a child. In the background can be heard a woman's voice giving the names of the children, their age and their place of birth. This memorial is a tribute to the approximately one and a half million Jewish children who perished during the Holocaust.

This relatively new museum presents the story of the Shoah from a unique Jewish perspective, emphasizing the experiences of the individual victims through original artifacts, survivor testimonies and personal possessions. Yad Vashem has been entrusted with documenting the history of the Jewish people during the Holocaust period, preserving the memory and the story of each of the six million victims, and imparting the legacy of the Holocaust for generations to come through exhibits and educational programs at this multi-faceted complex.

In the spacious windowless interior, the events of the pogroms and death camps are told in a myriad of ways; recollections of the survivors bring tears to your eyes. One of the last rooms, a healing room for me, tells the story of the marriages of some of the survivors – 7 couples. The nurses provided the brides with gauze for their veils. Of the seven couples that married, each woman gave birth to a baby nine months later.


Upon exiting the museum, the bright daylight and panoramic view of Jerusalem are a stark contrast to the darkness of the interior. The air smells sweet, but the grim events resonate. I find it ironic that it is one spot where capturing peoples faces with the amazing vista of Jerusalem as a backdrop is difficult to accomplish. For me the experience is indelibly etched.

Situated on Ha HaZikkaron, the Hill of Remembrance, Yad Vashem is just west of Mt Herzl. Mt Herzl is a hilltop and national cemetery dedicated to the founder of political Zionism, Theodor Herzl, whose tomb is at the summit of the mountain. As we sat in front Herzl’s marker, our moment of silence was broken by the voices of a school group singing HaTikvah. We joined in.

Mt. Herzl is the burial place of Israel's former prime ministers Golda Meir and Levi Eshkol. Since his tragic murder in 1995, Yitzhak Rabin's grave has also become a magnet for tourists.


He is buried beside his wife, Leah. Israeli presidents and other prominent Jewish and Zionist leaders are also buried on Mt. Herzl.

Since 1951, the northern slope of Mt. Herzl has served as Israel's principal military cemetery, comparable to Arlington National Cemetery. Soldiers, living in the Jerusalem area, who have fallen in the line of duty, are buried there. Mt. Herzl is the venue for many commemorative events and national celebrations.

For those who have never been to a Jewish cemetery, flowers are not placed at the graves; instead, it is traditional for visitors to place small stones on the tombstones. This holds true throughout most of the cemetery. Noticeably different is a section of Mt Herzl when fallen soldiers of the second Lebanon War are interred. These headstones are covered with mementos and remembrances. There are also plastic stools nearby; it is a frequent sight to see family and friends sitting together around the graves sharing stories and memories.



We headed to the Israel museum to see the model of Jerusalem at the period of the Second Temple. Having been here just a few weeks earlier, I listened to Julian’s historical review, and when the kids needed a bit of space,



I headed to the Children’s Museum and Sculpture Garden with Michelle, Jacob and Sarah. I sent Gail to see the Dead Sea Scrolls, knowing we would be passing the cave near where they were found the following day. Boundless energy best describes the young ones! How opportune for a sand box and jungle gym of sorts.









Last stop of the day was a tour of Kibbutz Tzorah, Julian’s home. This is a modern day kibbutz with most of the members working outside the kibbutz. As a community, they have been creative in re-inventing most of the available space to generate income and add financial stability. A winery has met its 10-year goal in under that time frame and produces a success boutique wine;










a Guest House allows tourists to experience life on the kibbutz firsthand; the early education program draws children from nearby communities; and like many kibbutzim, dairy cows are thriving.



Julian’s wife is a mosaic artist and assisted a young group in decorating a bomb shelter as one of their mitzvah projects. We said shabbat shalom to Julian and returned to Jerusalem.

Shabbat was approaching and we discussed many options for observance. The cousins would gather for Shabbat dinner at the Prima Kings Hotel. As the sun set on my last Friday in Israel, I heard the call to go to synagogue. Gail, Buddy and I went to Kabbalah Shabbat at Kol Haneshama, a reform synagogue in the German Colony. It was a lovely, melodious service and my spirit was renewed.

Dinner at the hotel was an experience. The dining room was full to capacity with young, old, ultra-orthodox and the not so observant. There were women in magnificent hats and men, rather slovenly dressed. It was an experience! The buffet was an endless feast of soups, salads, breads and entrees; and, of course, desserts! It was downhill to Beit Shmuel; and we rolled home that night.

And the adventure continues…