Broome: The undiscovered pearl of Australia

About Broome

Broome, located in the north of Western Australia has a population of 17,500, which doubles during the winter months of June and July. The word winter can be used lightly as it means it is not as hot and humid as the tropical summer months of December and January, meaning that it is ideal for travellers, with average highs of 32 degrees.

Until 20 years ago there was no tourism industry in Broome, having only been developed after the first hotel was built a couple of decades ago. Broome was once known for its pearls and oysters, and its industry is still based on that, but tourism is now growing as is the presence of the Oil & Gas companies. Hopefully these two latter developments will not jeopardise the town’s authenticity and beauty.

The Asian Communities

During Broome’s pearl industry boom the town was once home to a large Japanese and Chinese community, who worked there as oyster divers and workers. Though the industry has declined in recent years the Asian communities’ imprint on the town is still visible. For such a small town, there is a large Chinatown. Asian architecture dots the town such as bus stops, painted in red and with the design of a Pagoda. And the high school has painted their version of Hokusai’s ‘Great Wave of Kanagawa’ on the playground wall.

Several streets have Asian names, such as Sam Su Lane, and there is even a Sayonara Road; the latter of which is quite melancholic since ‘sayonara’ is Japanese for goodbye. Broome has a large Japanese and Chinese cemetery, as it was dangerous work being an oyster diver. Roughly one in four divers died due to their heavy metal uniforms or were swept away by strong currents.

Tides

The town’s beautiful azure waters and endless beaches of sand are misleading since the waters are tidal. Within a space of a few hours, sea level can rise dramatically. Twice annually the town experiences a king tide, where waters exceed 10 metres and cover not only beaches but also tall rocks and small hills along the beach. Many people park their cars on the beach and go fishing only to return to find the wide expanse of sand submerged in water and their cars taken away by currents.

 

Camels and Crocodiles

Camels are not indigenous to Australia. They were transported there to work since they were accustomed to the desert. When they were not needed they were released into the desert but being accustomed to it they thrived and multiplied. In Broome camels were used to transport pearls and oyster shells from the farms to the market. Today the camels are no longer beasts of burden but are used to carry tourists on a sunset journey stroll across Cable Beach. Crocodiles are also common in the area to the point that beaches are shut down if one is sighted. Oh… and don’t forget the jellyfish too…

Sunsets

Some say the sunset in Broome is the most beautiful in the world, rivalling that of Santorini. Visit both and then decide, but it cannot be denied that the Western Australian sunsets as seen from Broome are spectacular. The best place to see the sunset is with a cocktail from the Sunset Bar & Grill on Cable Beach.

What to see and do in Broome

Make sure you check out the Saturday market on the park next to the courthouse. Stroll through Chinatown. Try mango beer. If pearls exceed your budget then a large oyster shell is a great souvenir (roughly AU$20 or EUR12). Oyster shells are exotic, light and flat so easily fit in your luggage.

Sun Pictures is an outdoors cinema established over 100 years ago.  Not to be missed is a pearl farm, approximately 30km north of Broome and a bird sanctuary with various nature trails roughly 30km south of Broome. Hey, Australia is a large country, so 30km is nothing!

If you want to take any trips further afield then the best sites are north of Broome along the Dampier Peninsula.

The Coral Church (Distance from Broome: 118km)

Located at Beagle Bay, the Coral Church is referred to as a piece of Germany in the Australian outback. It was established in 1918, exactly 100 years ago by German Lutherans. When World War I broke out in 1914, all Germans in the area were interned at Beagle Bay and so they decided to build a Church that would withstand the elements since the previous wooden ones were razed or destroyed by cyclones, fires and even white ants!

Modelled on a Church in Germany, once The Sacred Heart was completed, Aboriginal women decorated the interior with mother of pearl, olive snail shells and other natural elements. The Church is a marriage of German and Aboriginal architectural fusing Christian symbols with Aboriginal ones such as dingos, emus, spears and snakes.

Kooljaman (Distance from Broome: 188km)

The western side of Kooljaman, also known as Cape Leveque, is a beach of soft red-rock that creates what seems to be a red mountain of beautiful, pointed formations. Though it is interesting to the visitor it is also a place of historical and cultural importance to the Bardi people, so parts of it, quite rightly are off-limits, but can be enjoyed by walking along the white sands of the beach.

Horizontal Falls

Accessible only after a 189km car ride from Broome to One Arm Point and then a 30-minute flight by sea plane, the Horizontal Falls have been described by David Attenborough as one of the greatest wonders of the natural world. Boatloads of tourists speed through it, as long as the gaps between the falls are not too deep, and from there, the waters lead into the inland sea of Talbot Bay.

A Week in north Vietnam - Part II

Part II - Sapa

After a day of walking through the streets of Hanoi we boarded the night train for Sa Pả. The train would take us from the capital to Lào Cai, a town on the Vietnamese-Chinese border and from there it would be a 30km bus drive to Sa Pả. 

We walked briskly in between the trains of Hanoi station. The wagons were painted in blue, white and red and had a vintage feel to them. The wagons, divided into cabins, had flowery curtains that were tidily bunched at the sides and a small light topped with a pleated lampshade. Though it was April some of the cabin windows had Christmas decorations on them or a Santa Claus sprayed on in fake snow. We could see people settling into their cabin, either with a book, snuggling up in the fluffy duvet or uncorking a bottle of wine to enjoy during their journey. 

Think of night trains and invariably you think of Harry Potter on a draughty train to Hogwarts hiding from Dementors, or Agatha Christie’s ‘Murder of the Orient Express’. But there was no murder on the train, although the person who kept snoring came close to being. There were no Dementors either but the lights flickering through the paper shades of the doors gave the train a spooky effect. Lying on my bunk, wrapped up under the duvets, I woke up several times to shadows floating by the paper shades. I thought it was someone going to the bathroom but I saw no feet walk by when I when I looked at the gap between the floor and the door. That could only mean one thing: Ghosts! After speaking to other passengers the following day I was not the only one think that. Our nocturnal hauntings were not ghosts but rather lights flickering from outside the train. Or perhaps I was wrong and we were travelling with spirits…

The train left Hanoi just after 9pm and arrived at Lào Cai just before 6am. Everyone stumbled out of the train, half asleep and slightly groggy. Men were unshaven and ladies’ hair, untied and messy was fluttering in the wind like candy floss, but everyone was in the mood for an adventure. 

That afternoon we joined a tour group of Australian and British tourist for a visit to a traditional H’Mong village. There are around nine million H’Mong people worldwide of which roughly one million live in Vietnam and are considered are a minority group. Our guides came from the Black H’Mong group so named because of their indigo dye. Sa Pả is also home to the Flower H’Mong who take their name from the floral patterns and bright colours of their clothes. 

We would be entering Giàng Tả Chải, a remote and traditional H’Mong village with a population of 1,500. It was not a place where tourists just wandered into so we needed our guide called Nhu (pronounced ‘new’). It felt like social voyeurism and I felt uncomfortable; a little like being caught snooping through someone’s medicine cabinet.  

We followed Nhu as we strolled through the village, greeting people and waving at the young kids who giggled when they said hello. Nhu took us to the local kindergarten where the kids were playing on the climbing frames. We walked past fences made of bamboo with cobwebs so thick they looked like cotton wool. Pigs lay in the mud sleeping, the little ones nuzzling against each other. Roosters hopped from tin roof to tin roof. 

Eventually we found ourselves in the far end of the village in front of someone’s garden. 

‘Come in please’ said Nhu. We followed her into a courtyard and were then stepping into a family’s home.

‘Is this allowed?’ I asked Nhu.

‘Yes. Of course. This is part of your tour’ she laughed as if going into someone’s house was completely normal. The house was made of planks of wood nailed together. Gaps between the wooden beams allowed rays of light to shine through and small holes made sunlight looked like twinkling stars. The ground was flattened earth, which had been made hard by the countless footsteps. The kitchen was an area with a lit fire, the red fire gently glowing, and next to that was a small room next which belonged to the grandparents. A mezzanine of wood above the kitchen was the sleeping area of the parents while the children slept in the middle of the house where we were standing.

‘There is a toilet outside but no running water’ explained Nhu ‘so they boil water for their baths.’

‘How do they arrange it?’ I asked. ‘Is it one day men and the next day women?’

Nhu did her best to explain although my question may have been too direct and though I did not understand I dropped the subject. 

We spoke to the grandmother who held her grandson, a toddler, lovingly. Being uncomfortable with people in his home he began to tear up. By western standards the home was poor but it did not feel that way. There was an elegance and deep sense of pride emitted by the grandmother and newly-weds whose house we were in.

I asked Nhu where she learnt English. She told me that she learnt it by herself by downloading an app on her phone and repeating the words. Another guide learnt English by watching TV and YouTube. Nhu’s motivation to learn English was to become a guide, which paid better than other jobs, and provide for her three-year old son. We left the village feeling a little awestruck by Nhu’s discipline and motivation. With whatever resources she had she was determined to create a better future for herself and her family. 

*****

The following morning we walked through Sa Pả. Strolling through a street selling tourist knick-knacks and souvenirs we discovered a park. Not knowing where we were or where we were going we paid, entered and walked around aimlessly passing what looked like a garden designed by a mad landscape designer. It had rows of small fluorescent plants and trees of large mossy leaves. On one unused pond sat a statue of a large frog. There were willow-y trees, its rope-like branches swaying in the breeze just above wooden stools. It felt like we had stepped into the feudal kingdom of vengeful faeries ruled by a leprechaun. The whole place had an eerie feel and the fog only made it seem more atmospheric. 

We made our way through the park to discover a number of oddities. There was a statue of a snake wearing a red cowboy hat, a two-metre statue of Tom from ‘Tom and Jerry’ and my personal favourite, a statue of a dragon that was reclining on an island in waterless pond, which was easily over four metres in length. It was kitsch to the core and I could not help but love the place. We walked through the park, amid mossy rocks and small crevices to reach the summit, which had stunning views of Sa Pả. The weather was temperamental so the lush green hills that was covered in sunshine were shrouded in mist in the space of 15 minutes. The park is called Ham Rong Mountain, meaning Dragon Jaw, and within Sa Pả town was the best thing we experienced. Interestingly it was not mentioned in our (well-known English-language) guidebook. So readers of Rey Magazine, you heard it here first.

***** 

Wanting to see more of the area we signed up for a walking tour of Sa Pả’s rice paddies and later that afternoon we were greeted by our new guide, Chị, her name meaning elder sister. She was to guide us to the village of Cat Cat and then to the rice paddies. 

Chi explained that the word for Cat Cat came from the French word for waterfall: cascade. A number of words in Vietnamese came from French such as ‘ga’ Vietnamese for station, which came from the French gare. ‘Ga tô’ came from the French work for cake, gateaux, and ‘xa lát’ means salad. However it was the English language that lent Vietnamese the most necessary word of all for tourists: ‘bia’. It is pronounced as it is read and if you have not figured it out by now, ‘bia’ means beer.  

We began our tour through Cat Cat, whose main point of interest was a waterfall. Along the river were bamboo walkways and windmills made of corn. From there we walked along a wide road flanked by large bamboo trees growing to the height of a five-storey building. Bamboo can live to a decent 60 or 70 years. As the road narrowed we found ourselves walking amid the rice paddies, climbing over the dried earth and jumping from rock to rock. It was the beginning April and the soil had not yet been prepared for planting meaning we were not destroying any crops.

North Vietnam and the Sa Pả region has two seasons a year meaning that farmers can grow rice twice annually. By contrast, south Vietnam, which has all seasons allows farmers to collect rice at least three times a year meaning that they make more money. Having fewer seasons to grow rice means that farmers in north Vietnam need to find other revenue streams, so they work as farmers during the rice-harvesting season and find other employment when it comes to an end. Tourism is one option, for which Sa Pả is currently experiencing a boom, in terms of jobs in tourism and in construction. Seven years ago there were seven hotels in the town. Today there are over 300 hotels being built. At times the town felt like a big construction site with some odd architectural choices. One building, with a domed entrance whose external walls were painted in yellow, resembled something that could be found in Almaty and not amid a rural Vietnamese town surrounded by rice paddies. 

By late afternoon we were high up in the hills and deep among the paddies. The sun’s rays jutted gently from behind the green mountains. We stopped for a moment to take in the view only to be disturbed by an odd squelching sound. It sounded like someone walking slowly in mud. Up ahead we spotted four water buffaloes grazing.

‘Water buffaloes are intelligent animals’ Chị explained.  ‘They understand instruction and recognise your voice.’

We watched them graze but avoided them. One Australian man on the tour, who sensed our hesitation, told us that ‘water buffaloes have always been around humans, I doubt they would pay any attention to you.’ He made a fair point. They did ignore us as they masticated calmly on the plants and placidly plodded through the mud. Still, we kept our distance. 

As we neared the end of our tour Chi pointed to what seemed to be a small mound of earth on a rice paddy. ‘This is a grave’ she announced and explained that the H’Mong did not have cemeteries and chose where they wanted to be buried, such as in a peaceful place in a rice field. There was no sign indicating it was a grave. The H’Mong people knew that it was, and that’s what mattered, but to anyone else it could have been anything. I wanted to ask how the system worked but it was getting late, people were tired and I was covered in mud from photographing the water buffaloes. 

Suddenly we were surrounded by small children, some as little of five or six, who were making their way home from school, having walked an hour each way. Though they were strangers to Chi, she spoke to them as if she knew them. Familiarity and a strong sense of community were common among the H’Mong people. 

As we approached the bus for our return some boys were climbing up the side of the mountain. It was as steep as it was beautiful. An old lady walked up the hill carrying a basket on her back. She wore colourful clothes and light green boots that protected her feet from the mud. One girl rushed to us selling us woven bracelets of H’Mong patterns for ₫500 each, the equivalent of US$0.20. We all bought one. How could we not? 

The bus slowly made its way back to Sa Pả rattling along the road and was effortlessly overtaken by a young lady on a motorbike. She wore a helmet and her red dress fluttered in the wind as she zoomed by. She waved at us through her helmet and smiled. To me she was a symbol of Vietnamese resilience and hospitality and was, without a doubt, the coolest lady in Vietnam.

*****

Gold Stars

The food. Phở is a classic and make sure to try Bun Ca.

Temples. Make sure to read up about them to know the context. 

Historical sites. Such as the Citadel, the Temple of Literature.

Rice paddies at sunset and water buffaloes.

The people. Always helpful, honest and welcoming.

Black Holes

Traffic. It can be tiresome hearing the honking.

Pollution. At times I could feel the pollution in my throat.

Tourists. Some are like ostriches running amok. 

Vietnam in popular culture

Films: (Overwhelmingly on the Vietnam war). Good Morning Vietnam. Apocalypse Now. Platoon. Indochine. Heaven and Earth. Full Metal Jacket.

Books: ‘The Sympathiser’ by Viet Thanh Nguyen (2016 Pulitzer Prize Winner). ‘The Best We Could Do’ by Thi Bui (graphic novel). 

End

A Week in North Vietnam - Part I

I initially submitted this piece of travel writing for publication but due to it's length I had toe greatly shorten it in order to be accepted for publication. Since it was not published in the magazine I am submitting it here in its entirety. 

Part I - Hanoi

The first thing that comes to mind when people think of when they hear Vietnam is the war with the US; but today Vietnam’s many charms, its culture, hospitality and cuisine, are becoming increasingly recognised thanks to Vietnam’s Communist government operating a system of Doi Moi; economic reforms with the intention of creating a socialist-orientated economy. This had led to foreign business operating in Vietnam as well as an ever-growing number of visitors discovering the country.

I chose to visit Vietnam for a week in April focusing on northern Vietnam. Travelling with my partner our itinerary began in Hanoi, from where we would take a night train to the Vietnamese-Chines border in order to reach Sa Pả. From there it would be one night in Ha Long Bay, before returning back home to Australia.

We made our journey into town from the airport and were greeted by a city shrouded in clouds.  Until we reached the densely populated city centre, neighbourhoods in the outskirts of town were surrounded by patches of green fields. The buildings were tall, multi-storey houses, (imagine narrow Dutch buildings), with ornate Vietnamese awnings, and the occasional few with Greek columns in the entrance.  They seemed fragile and hastily built as if a breeze could topple them. They reminded me of Lego. And then of Jenga.

Hanoi, or Hà Nội, as it is written in Vietnamese, means inside the river. I was not sure what to expect of Hanoi. Being the capital of a Southeast Asian country I thought it might be a mini-Bangkok. But nothing could be further from that image. Whereas Ho Chi Minh City is the economic capital of Vietnam, Hanoi is very much the spiritual heart of Vietnam. It was an authentic, bustling capital of a nation that had been through so much.

A little on Vietnam’s recent history: during the French colonisation of Vietnam, the Vietnamese fought to expel the French. The final battle was in the north and the French were successfully expelled. A Communist party emerged in the north while the south of the country was more capitalist. The north of Vietnam bore on the south and the US backed the south during the war. The US was defeated and Vietnam became Communist. To the Americans the war was their longest war. To the Vietnamese it was their shortest war, having fought the Chinese for longer periods throughout their history. All Vietnamese heroes became so for defeating the Chinese. And more recently, the Americans.

Hanoi is divided into various sections; there are modern suburbs, the a French quarter with neo-classical buildings and the Old Quarter with narrow streets and small restaurants and bars, which stands out from the more modern sections of the city. There are fewer international brands when compared to the West and other Asian countries. I noticed one KFC but no McDonald’s. There was a Lacoste, one H&M and one Zara. There was even… wait for it… a Prada. One shop in the French Quarter, opposite the Opera House was called Giovanni. It had the feel of an Italianate designer store, with sleek marble floors and bright spotlights.

For a Communist country I was surprised of the amount of expensive cars zooming boisterously through the city, and though there were many men and women on bicycles selling fruit or snacks, precariously perched on the back of their bikes, the majority of people commuted on motorbikes, honking at people and other motorcyclist as they weaved through the traffic and narrow city lanes.

It was while I was running across the road to avoid the oncoming traffic that I was kindly chastised by Minh, our Vietnamese guide. ‘You need to walk slowly across the street. The drivers will not see you if you run and you could be hurt.’ His comments were duly noted but that did not mean crossing the street was not a complicated process. I was told to ‘just cross the street and the traffic will avoid you, like water around a rock’.

‘Like water around a rock’ would become my mantra. I chanted it each time I stepped into the road with the intention of getting to the other side. By the time I left Vietnam, I was certain that if I crossed the road with my eyes closed I would still have made it safely across the street. If you visit Hanoi, try that. I dare you.

*****

On our first evening in Hanoi I met up with friends from Sydney at the Twilight Bar, a rooftop bar in the Old Quarter. We sipped cocktails while surveying Hanoi’s budding skyline and Hoàn Kiếm Lake. At night the Turtle Tower, an island in the middle of the lake, is lit up, and its golden reflection shimmer in the water. Cocktails consumed, it was a 10-minute walk to H20 Bar, a club on the top floor of an apartment building where, for a momentary high, you could inhale balloons of helium. We chose to abstain from inhaling anything dubious and stuck to drinks. Some of us discovered a little late in the night, and a little embarrassingly, that the men’s bathroom had a one-way mirror, allowing people in the lift a clear view into the bathroom.  

Though not as wild as Bangkok, Hanoi gives permission for bouts of nocturnal spontaneity. In Ha Long Bay I met Ross and Lala from New Yorker, and on our return to Hanoi we met up for dinner. Within the space of five hours, after returning to the city, I had typed up my notes for this piece and relaxed at the hotel while Ross had researched the best tattooist in Hanoi and decided to get a tattoo of the đồng, (the currency of Vietnam) on his shoulder; the joke being that he had a dong on his shoulder. His act of body-art inspired me to get a tattoo as well, of what I was not sure, but my intentions remained unfulfilled as the tattooist had already closed for the night.

On our second day in Hanoi the first stop on our tour was the Temple of Literature built in 1070 by the Emperor, and is home to the Temple of Confucius. It was a busy day and the area was overflowing with sweaty tourists who were dealing badly with the heat. More delightfully however were the groups of schoolkids who were there on a school trip. Kids walked with their arms around the shoulders of the best friends, smiling and laughing and needing no instructions from their teacher, who trusted that they would be well behaved.

Though the Temples and architecture were wonderful, the focus of my attention were the university students, who wearing their graduation robes, posed for their graduation photo (and by default also posed for the groups of tourists who amassed around them). Counting backwards from three, the new graduates threw up their hats in the air in celebration. It was my favourite moment of the day and like everyone there, I wished them all, all the best on their new adventure ahead.

The Temple of Literature was a stone-throw away from the Fine Arts Museum, which was in an affluent central neighbourhood of Hanoi; home to restaurants, cultural centres and embassies, one of which flew the flag we had mostly seen on the news but rarely anywhere else. It was the flag of North Korea and we were standing opposite its embassy. The shutters of the embassy were all closed and on the roof loomed a large antenna.

Across the road from the embassy was the UN office where parked outside and on the pavement were, not one, but two Rolls Royces. On the same street was the Goethe Institute, Germany’s cultural centre. In the entrance of the Institute was a food cart of Döner Kebabs that was made by a Vietnamese man. It was either the perfect case of integration; Turkish food now having become part of German cuisine; or it was a case of cultural appropriation.

We went inside for lunch. In the men’s restrooms was a large map of the German Bundesland. Returning to my table I ordered Vietnamese Phở (instead of Bratwurst) from the young Vietnamese waiter who wore Louboutin-inspired shoes; sneakers of silver plastic, adorned with silver spikes. ‘I love your shoes’ I said as we both admired them for a moment.

Wherever I travel I enjoy observing what people wear. Tourists could be spotted a mile off and you can tell who comes from where by what they wear.  Australians wear flip-flops, shorts and vests no matter the weather. North Europeans wear hiking boots, no matter the terrain. South Europeans also seem to wear trendy jeans and sunglasses, no matter how uncomfortable long trousers may be in the humidity. Chinese tourists wear anoraks.  American men wear baggy trousers, no matter the occasion.

Though Vietnam is a Communist country, there is a high level of individuality with young people are pushing for their own style. In Loading Café, Vietnamese hipsters sat sipping Egg Coffee (try it!) wearing clothes of prints on couches with prints, their wrists adorned with delicate bangles of their horoscope’s element. Others wore designer knock-offs, with designs that were too funny not to appreciate and could be bought in stores called Trendy Man or Tram Beauty.

In Sa Pả three old ladies wearing traditionally colourful clothes adorned with beads sat weaving and chatting while less than 100 metres away two teenage girls, seated on a motorbike, were wearing jeans and t-shirts and were taking selfies. One of the girls’ t-shirts was a designer copy of two interconnecting Gs surrounded by blue and green stripes. Below that was the face of a cat made of sequins.

In one H’Mong village, the men there wore leather jackets as they rode their bikes or played pool. One man was dressed completely in red; red trousers and a red vest and wore a gold chain. Others patriotically wore a red t-shirt with the yellow five-pointed star of the Vietnamese flag. And for roughly US$5 you could too.

Regardless the country, whether Capitalist or Communist, young people are the same everywhere. Young Vietnamese flirted by text, posed for selfies or created their own mini-fashion shoots for their social media accounts, which in turn would be used to flirt on social media, thereby coming full circle.

After lunch we walked to a park with a large statue of Lenin as teenage boys skateboarded right in front of him. Across the road was the Flag Tower, which was next to the Military Museum. There, the Vietnamese displayed the destroyed American aircrafts and exhibited their own military artillery. We circled the site along with school groups and tourists before walking up a long, leafy avenue called Điện Biên Phủ, passing the Romanian and German embassies and the Foreign Ministry, painted boldly and rather beautifully in yellow. It is located opposite Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum. In the mornings you have the chance to see his embalmed body and for certain months of the year it is flown from Vietnam to Russia for maintenance. As it was afternoon we bought tickets for the lush grounds of the Presidential Palace and saw the One Pillar Pagoda and a Buddhist Temple.

Other notable sites in Hanoi include Tran Quoc Pagoda, located by the lake, which was beautiful in the sun’s diminishing light. Not to be missed is the Citadel as well as Hanoi’s many museums. But two sites stand out in my memory more so for being unique off-the-beaten-track places to visit.

Our guide Minh took us to the rail tracks of Long Bien Bridge. It was a rattly old bridge that traversed the Red River. We walked from plank to plank as the Hanoi traffic zoomed below us. By sidestepping through the large metal frame we walked on the footpath opposite as motorbikes sped towards us. Their roar and speed was intimidating and as it was raining heavily we left and made out way to a Taoist Temple, Đền Quán Thánh, meaning Restaurant of the Gods. Minh explained the four Taoist pillars and the animals that represent them. The Azure Dragon represents the east; the Vermillion Bird, the south; the White Tiger, the west; and the Black Turtle and Serpent represent the north. At the altar in the north of the Temple was a large statue of Trấn Vũ, the god of water and guardian of the north.

After seeing the Temple, Minh took us for lunch to what seemed like someone’s storeroom but was in fact a small family-run restaurant.

‘They close at 2pm’ said Minh.

‘That early?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Because they run out of food’ he explained.

They served us Bun Ca, fried fish soup. After removing out the prawns from my soup, I devoured it. It was the perfect meal for a cold day. The restaurant is frequented by locals, which meant that it was delicious. It was no coincidence that it was on the street named after the Temple: Restaurant of the Gods.

The future of young Cypriots in a Starbucks coffee cup

My article published on Cafe Babel. 

Unfortunately the link is broken and I am re-posting the article in its entirety below.

Superstitions and Traditions in Cyprus

Cyprus is known for its summers, its gastronomy and the political division the splits the island in two. What is not so well-known is that it is an island rich in folklore, tales of kings and queens, crusaders and goblins and various superstitions. These stories have been woven into the oral history of the island. Despite the political division, and in spite of the religious and linguistic differences of the two communities, both Greek and Turkish-speaking Cypriots share many of the same traditions and superstitious beliefs.

In 1974 following a right-wing group that attempted to overthrow the Cypriot government and unite the island with Greece, Turkey invaded, stating it was needed for protection of the Turkish Cypriots and occupied the northern third of the island. Since then the island has been unhappily divided into two parts. Despite progress being made with the two sides inching closer to a solution the island still remains divided.

In 2003 the Green Line dividing the island was opened up meaning that Cypriots from both communities could visit parts the island that was cut off to them, visit the homes they fled, but also rediscover ‘the others’ and allowing them to realise that ‘they are just like us’. Though politics divides, folklore and stories passed down from generations, like family heirlooms, bring people together. In Cyprus this was no exception.

Some Cypriots, feeling more modern and worldly, brush such tales aside and say that superstitious people are living in the past. What they do not realise is that stories and superstitions were ways people interpreted the world, in a time not so long ago when people had no electricity let alone Google; when there were no libraries and even when people could not read. Rules, rites and regulations were forged through anecdotes and stories that become superstitions and traditions.

Michael, a Cypriot living in London, gave me an example of this. ‘People used to believe in tree gods; such gods lived in trees. Today people touch wood for protection. This tradition came from then and has survived from the ancient times to the modern.’

Another example is when older Cypriots burn olive leaves to smoke out evil spirits. Young Cypriots still do this today… but instead of smoking out spirits they do it to clear the air of negative energy. The intention is the same but it’s the words that have changed. Superstitions, like habits, are hard to break and so they come back in the form traditions with a more modern flavour.

Traditions are important because they hold a mirror to the past and show what people used to believe it. Even as society modernises and people’s world is no longer confined to their village but to the whole planet, superstitions still make their way even into the most modern of devices. Michael told me about how he downloaded an app onto his iPhone which was the amulet for protection against the evil eye. The apps developers had taken an old superstition and modernised it. ‘I don’t particularly believe in it’ Michael explained ‘but I have it anyway’.

When I asked if he had the actual blue-glass amulet against the evil eye anywhere else, other than on his phone, he answered vaguely and took a moment to think about it. ‘Maybe I do… under my bed, but I need to check.’ What he meant was under his mattress. Under the bed people find other things. And I don’t mean dust bunnies!

The blue glass amulet is sold everywhere on the island for a Euro or less or as an expensive jewel. Both Greek and Turkish Cypriots wear the amulet as bracelet or necklace, pin it on babies, or in hang up in their homes to protect against jealousy.

I talked to Paul, a Cypriot living in London, about how he felt about superstitions. ‘I don’t believe in any of it really’ he admitted. But then as if remembering something he added ‘but come to think of it… I do have one blue talisman in my living room. And even one smaller one my car.’ Paul does not have a definitive belief in superstitions but goes along with it ‘because everyone else does and so do I’ he said. When I asked him why he has two amulets if he does not believe in the eye he said that ‘it reduces the cost of home insurance!’

Nikki, a teacher living in Barcelona, gave a similar response to Paul. ‘I have an ammatopetra (amulet). Someone gave it to me as a gift. I wear it occasionally. But I don’t believe in it. I have just one friend in Cyprus who is superstitious. Very superstitious. But that’s it’.

Stephanos feels that superstitions run deeper. ‘In Cyprus you have large social circles with varying degrees of friendship rather than the smaller closer-knit friendship groups, the type you find in northern Europe’ he explains. ‘Because of these close and distant friendships, with many people coming and going from the friendship circle there can certainly be a level of jealousy. So I think there is something to the evil eye.’

When I asked him if this was the same for both Greek and Turkish Cypriots he admitted that he was not sure. ‘Because of the division we have not been exposed to each other. I cannot say.’

Mike, a Cypriot living in Cardiff, admitted that he is very superstitious. ‘I wouldn’t say that many of my Cypriot friends in the UK are superstitious, but my friends in Cyprus, both Greek and Turkish are more superstitious than those abroad’.

The blue talisman against the evil eye is common throughout both of Cyprus’ communities, as is Tasseography, better known as coffee reading, which is practiced by both Turkish and Greek Cypriots who want to know what their future will hold.

It is usually an older lady who reads the coffee. She does this by having the coffee drinker turn the coffee cup upside down, allowing the mud-like coffee substance to fall onto the saucer. She reads the symbols in the cup, which form shapes such as people, animals or objects.

When I asked Michael about coffee reading he said that this practice is no longer that common with young people. ‘I do not know anyone who does this anymore’ he said giving me an add look. ‘Maybe people do it for fun. Anyway, people in Cyprus drink coffee from Starbucks now. There is not much you can read with a Pumpkin Spice Latte!’

‘What about the Turkish Cypriot community?’ I asked.

‘I think they like Pumpkin Spice lattes too!’ Michael laughed.

However Mike had a different perspective on coffee reading. ‘I believe in it and I can read it. My yiayia (grandmother) taught me how’ he said. Moments later my phone beeped. Mike had text me some pictures of a coffee cup with a perfectly shaped heart in the coffee. I loved the image so much I was tempted to believe it came out that way. And why not! Not all superstition is bad.

‘I do not think there is a difference between the two communities’ said Mike. ‘Superstitions came from generations before the war’ and so why would they change now?

Nese in Famagusta echoed the same sentiment as Mike. ‘We have similar superstitions as well as other ones that are exactly the same. We lived together for a long time.’ She then gave examples of phrases of Turkish origin both Greek and Turkish Cypriots say when asking for a blessing or protection: Mashallah meaning ‘May God bless you’ and Ishallah meaning ‘if only’. And when they want to prove a point and say ‘just like this’ Cypriots would say ‘işte böyle’. There are also common swear words but those are for another occasion and not for this article!

‘Superstitions are something we learnt from our parents and grandparents’ said Novber. Even though she is not superstitious, she alluded to people who were but was not specific as to how. Maria, a painter from Nicosia made the same point. She is not superstitious ‘in contrast to everybody else in Cyprus’.

In speaking to people about superstitions two trends emerged. The first trend is that Cypriots, and specifically the young generation swing from one extreme to the other: they are either not superstitious at all or very superstitious. There is no middle ground. And if people are superstitious or believe in the traditions then they are the minority. But even this minority seemed elusive, Novber, Maria and Nikki, though not superstitious knew of people who were but were not specific as to how precisely. To them superstitions was a passing cloud, something they may notice.

The second trend amplifies a portion of the first; that Cypriots living abroad, such as Michael in London and Nikki in Barcelona, have no leaning towards any superstitions or traditions at all. Coffee reading? What coffee reading? The only coffee reading they know of is an interesting book while sipping latte.

The division on how Cypriots interpret superstitions is not between Turkish and Greek-speaking Cypriots but rather between Cypriots living in Cyprus who may dip into it occasionally in comparison with Cypriots living abroad.

To the Cypriots living in Cyprus it appears that belief in folklore and superstitions are so common that they are no longer noticeable. All Cypriots said that they owned an amulet against the evil eye even if they were vague on how they used it or where the kept it. Even if Cypriots could not agree on the way to solve the division they all agreed that the traditions and tales where the same for both communities long before the division, so why would they change and why would they divide the people now?

Wine, Sand Dunes and Bicycles in Bordeaux’s Wine Region

It was a Friday afternoon in July and I was sitting with two friends in the middle of a vineyard sipping wine. I could feel the breeze of the wind and polite conversation from other diners. All around us were endless rows of vines like soldiers in formation. Initially I hadn’t wanted to visit Bordeaux and its wine region. But I’m glad I did. And here’s why…

Cheese and no whining. We arrived at Bordeaux just before lunch after an early morning flight from Geneva. Our plan was to see the city before making our way to Bordeaux’s Atlantic coast. Bordeaux’s city center was a 40-minute drive from the airport. We were in town by 1pm. It was perfect timing for a quick meal. Our lunch, under the gaze of a Church, was tapas-like bites of French cheeses, pickles, bread with olive spread and wine. After lunch, having fueled up on French food we made our way for an afternoon stroll through the city.

Water Mirrors. Our first stop on our itinerary of Bordeaux was the ornate square of Palace de la Bourse with the large fountain in its center. Just opposite the square is the Garonne River which leads from the city and widens until it reaches the Atlantic. If it wasn’t for the river you wouldn’t be blamed for mistaking the square for Paris. And steps away from the river is Le Miroir d’Eau (Water Mirror). This is a low-level reflective pool made of granite slabs. It is perfect for young kids to run around in as well as the ideal place to make a splash with selfies for Instagram.

Antiques and Sugary Treats. From the Le Miroir d’Eau it is less than a 15-minute walk to Rue Notre Dame, named after the Cathedral on the street with two tall spires. This street is filled with antique shops, newsagents with walls of candy and fashion magazines, concept stores and coffee shops selling tasty cakes. For under 10 euros we had three cappuccinos and a large piece of cake to share! It is an unmissable street where, even if you do not buy anything, is such a pleasure to experience and stroll through.

Green Parks and Gold Light. We walked back to our hotel through the tree-lined Allée de Chartres then through the Jardin Public. It was late afternoon and the light was at its softest making the stone buildings seem as if they were dipped in gold. The park was full of soccer Moms taking the dogs for a walk, fashionable accountants going out for an aperitif, men working out and teenagers lazing in the sunshine. It was Thursday evening and everyone was in a good mood; if they squinted they could see the weekend.

The City of Wine. The next day we set off for the vineyards of Bordeaux… but not before stopping at the City of Wine (aka the Wine Museum). It is a huge building at the end of the quays of the city that has regenerated the area. The museum’s twisting shape resembled a decanter. At 20 euros (per person) you could learn all about the history of wine. And if you choose not to see the museum at least visit the gift shop. It must be the only gift shop filled with from floor to ceiling. Talk about a hangover!

Sand Dunes. On our second day we made our way to the Atlantic coast to see the tallest sand dune in Europe. The Dune of Pilat is just 60km south of Bordeaux in the Arcachon Bay area. As we approached the dune by car we could see people standing on the dunes’ peak. Initially I was disappointed. The last thing I wanted was the dune to be overrun with tourists. How wrong I was. The dune was a massive collection on sand-hills. There was no way they could have been full of people. Most tourists remained at the area accessible by stairs and closest to the hotels. Rather than take the easy route we accessed the dunes from the beach and scaled them. It was not as easy as it looked. Harder still for me, as I kept rolling down the dune and having to climb up. I was dizzy and tired and got sand everywhere. But I loved it. Some tips: 1) Have a bag for your shoes. They will instantly sink and fill up with sand and carrying them is a hassle. 2) Sand gets hot. Better go when the sun is setting. 3) Take a bottle of water and a camera. The photo opportunities are endless. So are your chances of dehydration!

A Boat trip across the bay. The following day we decided to discover the other side of the bay and visit the small town of Cap Ferret. Driving around the bay from the dunes takes an hour and a half. Rather than lose all this time we jumped on a boat at Le Moulleau for the 20-minute journey to the cape. The cost of a return-trip for one adult is around 13 euros. The boat had to navigate around the elevations of sand in the bay that resembled small, sunken islands. Upon arrival we disembarked and were greeted by teenage boys doing back-flips into the water.

On your bike! We rented a bike for half a day (20 euros per person) and made our way to the tip of the cape for lunch but on our way there we were caught up in sudden rain shower. I always hated being cold, but the rain, lasting less than 10 minutes, was warm and added to our sense of adventure. I had a big smile on my face as I rode, still wet, through the leafy streets and bungalows. There was a languid, relaxed feel to the place, as if it was cut off from the rest of the world. In the town Dads made barbecue in the gardens, moms and daughters were at the market, and boys fished or played sports. It could easily have been mistaken for the Hamptons. The people looked like they had jumped out of a Tommy Hilfiger advert. We got to the lighthouse that was now converted to a museum (6 euros per adult) which has views of the whole bay; of the dunes bathed in golden sunlight, the lush gardens and tree-lined streets and of the vast Atlantic Ocean. After taking in the view we got on our bikes and made our way to lunch where we had seafood, wine or champagne. It was the ideal mini-break filled of adventure, new experiences and delicious food in a part of the world I did not even know offered so much in such a small space.

Best bit of the trip... was getting photobombed by a dog while sipping cocktails by the hotel pool...