Lantau, Hong Kong

On Lantau Island at the mouth of the Pearl River, the buffalo come to sleep. Twilight drifts over the neon lights, the gleaming spires and the synthetic shopping malls elsewhere in Hong Kong. But in this part, at least, twilight signals a change of pace.

A string of fairy lights sums up the illumination on the beach, where wild buffalo scuff the sand and settle down as the light fades for a snooze with an oceanfront view.

And when that view looks like this, you can hardly blame them, can you?

The Dragon Route

This post forms part of The Dragon Route, a trip around China, Vietnam and Burma/Myanmar It’s sponsored by Cathay Pacific UK, my artistic patrons so to speak! Check out their flights to Hong Kong and go searching for buffalo yourself…

The Beach with the Buffalo, Hong Kong first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there to read more about the world.

But as I said. That criss-cross of energy. That’s around the corner.

Another Hanoi

Around another few corners lies a different Hanoi again. Chic, cool, colonial. A lazy, leafy avenue where Graham Greene holed up to write The Quiet American at the now legendary Sofitel Metropole Hotel. There’s an ice cream bar and fluorescent shopping centre with an homage to Apple hero Steve Jobs. There’s also the Keep Calm & Carry On slogan designed for the London Underground should Hitler’s invasion prove successful during the blitz of World War Two.

A few more corners after that lie the ruins from the Vietnam War (known as the American war in these parts) and the queues upon quiet queues waiting to see the body of Uncle Ho, still lying in state.

But right now I’m not on those corners. I’m here, within eyesight of a communist workers’ sculpture and a globe held high by two red hands to the sky as a gesture of peace.

I’m at the edge of Hoan Kiem Lake.

The City of the Soaring Dragon

Hanoi, as it turns out, is a city of lakes and the word Ha noi  even translates to mean the city between two rivers (though one of its earliest names was Soaring Dragon, which, let’s face it sounds much cooler and would have made my Dragon Route project much easier.)

Eighteen or so lakes grace the urban sprawl of 1000-year-old Hanoi, with names that bring the map alive, like lake of the White Bamboo or Martial Art Training.

Then there is Hoan Kiem: the lake of the restored sabre. The lake that I’m looking at now.

Hoan Kiem: The Lake Of the Restored Sabre

Scooters still roar around the outskirts beneath ribbons of paper lanterns. A woman sits near the low railings, sizzling sausages on a portable stove. A couple holds hands. Friends play Frisbee. A man prays.

Apparently the water looks different here. Greener. Clearer. Shinier. I haven’t seen enough of Hanoi yet to be sure that the water looks different here. But the peaceful pace of community life seems to make it calmly popular.

At the Red River end of the lake, a scarlet bridge arches onto Jade Island where the Ngoc Son temple lives. The bridge goes by the name of Huc, which means morning sunlight, and which shows up the lack of poetry in the name of the London Bridge back home.

So it’s at the junction between morning sunlight bridge and  Jade Island  that I learn the story of the turtle…and the legend of the restored sword. Or sabre. The details are not that clear.

The Legend

Years ago (back in the 15^th century it would seem, when the Vietnamese were trying to drive the Chinese out of the country) a lowly fisherman was hauling in his catch for the night when an iron bar became caught in his net. Frustrated at this blade without a handle, he threw it away and went home hungry. The next night he went to a different section of the river. The same occurred again. Then came the third night and as the cock crowed he found the iron bar again. He lit a fire to better inspect this mysterious object and realised that instead of being a useless lump of metal, it appeared to be a sword.

Clasping it in his hand, he realised that this must be a sign from god to join the commanders in the fight to save his country. He abandoned his home and joined Le Loi’s army.

Later, as moonlit drifted over the weary soldiers, Le Loi himself noticed something glinting in the tents as he completed his night patrol. The fisherman showed him the sword.

“This is magic sword blade,” Le Loi replied. “It only lacks a magic hilt to match.”

The Magic

The Vietnamese weren’t having much luck against the Chinese. Defeat after defeat they retreated further into the forest. Resting on the branch of an old Banyan Tree, with who knows what running through his mind, Le Loi saw something bright: the glow of a phosphorescent centipede (a fantastic legendary creature, but, alas for me, not a dragon.)

Curiosity (and possibly slight psychosis induced by sleep deprivation and recurrent military defeats) prompted Le Loi to take a closer look. This was no day-glo invertebrate but instead the jewel-encrusted hilt of a sword!

He raced to see the fisherman, grasped the blade between his hands and thrust it into the hilt. It was a perfect match.

With god’s sword by his side, Le Loi battled valiantly against the Chinese, forcing them to surrender and leave Vietnam. Peace was restored and everyone lived happily ever after. Well, for a little while at least.

The Turtle

Le Loi took a break from soldiering and started boating on Hoan Kiem lake instead (called Luc Thuy or Green Water at the time, since its water was, ahem, green.) One beautiful autumn day as lotus flowers studded the surface, one of the lake’s great turtles rose out of the water and addressed the king:

“Now that peace has been restored to the nation, please return the sword to our master, the Dragon King.”

With great humility and respect, King Le Loi lowered the sword onto the back of the turtle who disappeared, leaving only the sparkle of the sword behind. The lake was renamed Hoan Kiem… and I, at last, had found my dragon.

The Lake At Sunset

A scent of petrol-laced blossom filled the air as I joined the other tourists to take photos of the temple. Across the lake, the water stirred and at the edges locals strolled and sighed.

I was surprised to find so many similarities to other stories from around the world. Three chances before the cock crowed. A magical sword to save a nation, plunged into or out of a lake. St Peter and King Arthur stood next to Le Loi as the light ran away from the day.

I, however, didn’t run. I walked as slowly as I could along the edge of Hoan Kiem and its gentle outdoor pace. Soon I would reach the corner and leave this part of Hanoi behind.

For all the different legends that drifted through the air, they all offered a sense of belonging and they all promised a sense of peace.

I took a deep breath of quietness. And then I turned the corner.

This article is part of a series called the DragonRoute sponsored by Cathay Pacific UK. Find out more about the #DragonRoute here.

Book flights to Hanoi with Cathay Pacific over here.

Disclosure – I paid a reduced rate to stay at the Sofitel Legend Metropole hotel for review purposes. More about that later…there’s plenty more history than just Graham Greene, not to mention a great set of cocktails.

However, as usual, as always, I remain free to write about whatever I like on this site. That’s the way I like it and that’s the way it’ll always be. Otherwise…what’s the point?

What’s the most interesting part of the legend for you?

The Legend of the Lake, Hanoi first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there to read more about the world.

As hotels go, the Cour des Loges didn’t need a “something extra” to help it stand out. The open courtyard with renaissance-style arches made a suitably resplendent first impression. So, too, did the cryptic entrance corridor from the cobbled corners of old town Vieux Lyon, the rooftop garden, velvet furnishings, Michelin-starred restaurant and the curious skeleton in the closet of a past history as training ground for Jesuit priests.

But then it had Gerard Ravet, a man with a see-it-to-believe-it twirly moustache and a talent for drawing sketches of himself. A concierge extraordinaire, in fact.

It was he who told me, as he should, about the world famous paintings stored in the Musée des Beaux-Arts. The Roman amphitheatre that sloped along the hill and the Basilica de Notre Dame de Fourvière that stood at its peak and looked out across France’s third largest city.

And then he mentioned the secret doorways.

The Secret Doorways of Lyon

Numbers 54, 27, 6, 9, 17, 10 and 2, scribbled between the lanes of Rue Saint Jean, Romain Rolland and Rue Juiverie.

“In the morning, if you open the door, you can walk in,” Ravet said.

And so I walked, on a damp November morning, along the quiet, narrow streets of Vieux Lyon, wondering what I would find. Guignol puppet dolls stared silently from shop windows and leaves spilled softly over balconies and hung watchful in the air. The street seemed residential. The numbered doorway doubly so.

No sign. No doorbell.

I looked around. A cat swished its tail at me, although perhaps I imagined it.

I pushed open the door. And walked in.

Shadowy corridor after shadowy corridor connected square spiralling courtyards painted in peach, ochre and tan. Dimly lit and eerily quiet, they magnified my footsteps and my sense of solitude as I ducked in and out of  the heart of Lyon’s Old Town.

As it turns out, this labyrinth was built at some point during the 15^th and 16^th centuries when spice merchants and the Lord of Burgundy enjoyed a flavour of Italy before the Jesuits moved in. The French Revolution tore out all remnants of the bourgeouise and the church and the buildings meandered on throughout the years, housing shops and pharmacies before their greatest role during the Second World War.

During the Nazi Occupation, Lyon became the hub of the French Resistance and from ground level in these corridors, it’s easy to see why. In an era when meetings were monitored, politics forbidden and critics shot, the ability to move freely was probably the first in a fraught step to freedom.

These doorways and hidden passageways made secret meetings possible. The Nazis could watch one man enter a building and stand guard until he came out, with no clue of the clandestine conspiracies he’d been involved in several blocks away.

And thus, Lyon’s secret corridors helped defeat the Nazis. One unmarked doorway at a time.

The Cour Des Loges Hotel Review – The Traditional Kind

The Cour des Loges hotel in the heart of Old Lyon is a sumptuous treat of five star excellence. Each of the 61 rooms has its own eclectic decor rich in tapestries, wrought ironwork and stately paintings. Service is warm, welcoming and keen on detail.The food at the Cafe Epicerie lives up to Lyon’s reputation as a capital of gastronomy.

Every room is different

Les Loges is the restaurant that grabs the headlines, with chef Anthony Bonnet ushering in award after award and the first Michelin star. However, that was closed on the day I was in town (Monday) and so I had the pleasure of discovering that the Cafe Epicerie excels too. Expect Lyonnaise staples such as andouillette and sliced rosettes followed by succulent dishes of roast beef, pork and lamb.

The Pure Altitude Spa makes for a relaxing spot to freshen up, although the pool is too small to swim in. The rooftop gardens provide a perfect escape from the urban congestion of France’s third largest city.

What I Loved

The dramatic decor and rich history

Fantastic location in the centre of the Old Town

Flawless service

Things To Know

Not every room has a shower

The pool is too small to swim in

Restaurant Les Loges are closed on Sunday & Monday

Les Cours des Loges Hotel Review – Specs

61 rooms, wireless internet throughout plus access to spa and rooftop gardens.

A member of Small Luxury Hotels of the World & Sibuet Maisons & Hotels

Rooms start at 200 Euros/night

Disclosure: I paid a reduced rate to stay at the Cour des Loges for review purposes. As ever, as always, I’m free to write whatever I think about my experiences. Good and bad. Check out the exciting disclosure policy to find out more.

How Lyon’s Secrets Defeated the Nazis first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there to read more about the world.

The #DragonRoute ends – and the write-up begins

Images and whispers dance through my mind, my ears buzz from caffeine and my hard drive huffs and puffs at me as I force it through the photo backup marathon.

The #dragonroute is over, the laundry write-up begins.

Sleepless, and disoriented, I’m still at the stage where dreams are laced with memories and the less said about the pile of paperwork on my desk the better.

Jet lag and time zones. After all these years, you still get the better of me.

So, out of respect for you all, I’m going to step away from the keyboard until coherence wanders a little more in my direction.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the iPhone snapshots I took while on the road.

I’ll be back with some juicier words and photos once my circadian rhythms reset.

Until then, sleep well. Oh, and let me know what you want me to cover first. China, Vietnam or Burma/Myanmar? Or a mix of all three? The history, the people, the places? The food? Customs? Legends? Luxury?

Let me know in the comments…Cheers!

Photos On The Road on Instagram

Love instagram? Me too! Find me at @insidetravellab

Disclosure: The #DragonRoute project comes about thanks to Cathay Pacific UK, my “artistic sponsor” if you will. They fly to Vietnam, Burma/Myanmar, Hong Kong and mainland China.

What should I write-up first?

Photos From The Road – The #DragonRoute Collection first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there to read more about the world.

It was just before midnight. Our slow procession blinked past the checkpoint, wisps of hair clinging to my cheek, the only blonde ponytail in a sea of brown-black. London, where my passport finally found the visa for this country, lay beyond the reach of reality’s memory.

We shuffled forwards.

Burma – or Myanmar as the current government prefers it to be known – breathes an air of mystery. Rudyard Kipling once wrote that it was “quite unlike any place you know about.” That was more than 100 years ago and it’s still the quote that runs on the Lonely Planet book spine, white letters on baby blue, cloaking photocopied pages from a dusty street stall in Hanoi.

It’s certainly the idea I arrived with, packaged up in mental brown paper and tied up with travel dream string. That Lonely Planet guidebook was all I could find in print, with more recent information whisked from blogs across the internet onto the Pocket device on my phone.

Wherever I looked, either on screen or off, I kept coming to one or two phrases.

“Closed off from the world,” was the first.
“Stepping back in time,” was the second.

Crossing Into the Mysterious

In the early hours of the morning, I reached the desk. I handed over my passport, the Latin-quoting lion on the cover long since gone, the unicorn galloping after it.

My visa, though, shone dutifully and with a glint of that stamped silver rosette, I was in.

Quietly, but definitely, in.

Airport arrival stories rarely make the news. They’re either sterile and interchangeable or else so fetid and rancorous, so filled with pressing crowds, with yelling and pushing and spitting and cheating that the words never see the light of screen. Probably because the writer at the centre of the lawless scrum wants to forget the whole thing.

Or perhaps that’s just me.

In any case, neither situation applied to Burma. Nor to Myanmar. A sweetness filled the nightas scented flowers swayed in the air. But there were more surprises in store.

For one thing, there was a cash machine. For another, taxi drivers spoke English.

Groundbreaking, I know. You can see why Kipling was so inspired and why his quote rings on and on.

Yet bear with me just a moment. Press the pause button on the sarcasm.

Leave aside the language and the revelation that it’s easier for foreigners to get a taxi in Yangon than it is in Paris or Rome.

Finding the Facts Aren’t Always Factual

I want to highlight the cash machine (or ATM, confused American readers.)

Every source. Every single newspaper cutting, book, blog, archive and google search had said that no such thing existed in this country. At least not for foreign cards.

You had to bring cash, they said. In dollars, they added. Pristine, fresh and flat and not besmirched by a single crease, crumb or corner fold.

I believed them (and when it came to the countryside, such prophesies turned out to be true.)

But here, in the former capital of Rangoon that now went by the name of Yangon, things had changed.

Embossed plastic in. Paper glided out.

I ran the kyat notes through my fingers, the paper cool and crisp in the fluorescent-lit darkness. An elephant stared back at me from one, surrounded by pink-purple swirls. A white elephant. A symbol for a gift that’s more trouble than it’s worth. At least that’s the version at home. Here, apparently, it represents good fortune and authority.

I tucked the fresh kyat snug against the pristine versions of Washington and Lincoln. It was time to leave the airport and to speed into the night.

Clouds, stars and a blush-shadowed moon swept overhead in this surreal bright sky. Treetops scrambled past the clouds and then dropped into darkness.

And then the most surprising thing appeared.

A dream, a sheen, the ghost of a spire. The golden, glinting concentric circles and sharp needle outline of the Shwedagon Pagoda.
Shining, looming, glowing in the darkness. It was, I could truly say, unlike anything I had ever known.

I’d had less than an hour in this country. But already the message was clear.

What little it seems you think you know, prepare to sweep it away.

Burma. Myanmar. Whichever name you want to apply, we are quite unlike anything you know.

To be continued…

Disclosure: The #DragonRoute project comes about thanks to Cathay Pacific UK, my “artistic sponsor” if you will. They fly to Vietnam, Burma/Myanmar, Hong Kong and mainland China.

First Impressions of Burma / Myanmar first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there to read more about the world.

So, naturally, I thought it was my mistake, after Vietnam. Basic processes lost as my synapses surrendered to a world deliciously new to me.

It turned out to be more mundane. Or so I thought at first…

I was following Jakub around the super cool Mira Hotel in Hong Kong. We walked toward the staircase from the 12th floor and climbed a single flight to arrive at the 15th.

Confusing.

“Oh, there’s no 14th floor,” Jakub said. “It’s considered unlucky. There’s no 4th floor either, as in China, the symbol for four also means death.”

Pity, then, the Chinese who read UK cookbooks. For a variety of reasons. But at least one of which is that nearly every recipe known to the British Isles comes with a list of ingredients for four.

The sums didn’t add up.

Jakub read my mind. “And there’s no 13th floor because that’s an unlucky number in our culture.”

Jakub comes from Poland.

“And Hong Kong,” he shrugged. “It’s a cosmopolitan place.”

That it most certainly is. It’s my second super short stop on this trip and my third overall. It’s been great so far but the numbers don’t bode well for my next visit.

Right now I’m in the Hong Kong International Airport, a cosmopolitan world unto itself. Where Hong Kong, the city, plays around with numbers, its airport throws in space and time for a giggle too, splaying walkways, levels and shuttle trains around with merry abandon to the extent that I’ll probably need an iPhone app to get from one end to the other.

Provided I manage such a feat, the next stop is Burma. Or Myanmar as the government would prefer it to be known.

The Road to Mandalay

Myanmar has been closed to tourists for years. So when it comes to what “my” culture knows about it, the majority comes from folklore, legends and superstition. If it comes at all. I’ve already had trouble arranging my vaccinations and checking in for the flight as people haven’t known where or what it is.

It’s been over 120 years since Rudyard Kipling first published his poem that contained the line “The Road to Mandalay.” Yet still that’s what most people say to me when they learn of my plans (well, that or “enjoy India” or “isn’t that in the Middle East?”)

I didn’t know the poem when I started but I knew the line well. The mystery. The romance. The relatively new discovery that Robbie Williams had covered a song with the same name and thus punctured, somewhat, the bubble.

Anyhow.

Mandalay and the road to it is the whisper of my culture on theirs in the wind. Without, I believe, reference to any of the aforementioned works.

It seems a little churlish, therefore, for me to give it a miss.

That’s right, I won’t be on the road to Mandalay. I won’t even fly there, as I hear most people do these days. I also hear that it’s a disappointment. A let down. A smoggy, smoky place.

But who am I to label it so without having been there? No-one.

But it is a new legend, a new superstition that I will cling to. It makes me feel better. It makes my choices more meaningful. It validates my choice not to go there. And to go somewhere else instead.

I hope you’ll follow where I do go.

For if it’s not on the road to, it is at least in the same country as, that dreamy vision of Mandalay…

And I’ll keep a note of the legends and realities I find there, but I won’t keep count.

Numbers, Hong Kong tells me, are too treacherous to be trusted.

Disclosure: this whole project comes about thanks to Cathay Pacific UK, my “artistic sponsor” if you will. They fly to Vietnam, Burma/Myanmar, Hong Kong and mainland China. They don’t yet, alas, fly to Wales…

What is the #DragonRoute? Find out here…

I’ve heard that internet is scarce on the ground in Burma/Myanmar. So things may be quiet here for a while…

Disclosure – I paid a reduced rate to stay at the Mira Hotel for review purposes. As ever, editorial control remains mine all mine.

The Road Sort Of A Little Bit Toward Mandalay first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there to read more about the world.

Well, now I am here. In Vietnam. And, as you might expect, that one word has already blossomed into hundreds and thousands of different things. Scooters, rice paddies, blue-lit trendy bars. Smiles, frowns, queues, taxi meters, noodles, spicy soup and soft-sweet beer. Smells of lemongrass, scenes of puppets, scarlet lanterns and a chilled, embalmed body (no that’s not clumsy typing, that’s the body of Ho Chi Minh.)

Tonight I’m in Hanoi. It’s hot. It’s humid. I’m jet-lagged.

I’m also thrilled to be here.

Stay posted. There’s so much more to come. After all, I’ve only just rolled down the window and said good morning to Vietnam.

Good Morning Vietnam is part of the #DragonRoute

Internet permitting, I’ll be posting updates and photos as I travel across all my social media networks (see the flasks top right for an intro.) I’ll write the odd blog post as I go along and then delve into the in-depth stuff once I get back home.

Words & Pictures On The Go

The Inside the Travel Lab Facebook Page

@insidetravellab on Twitter - use the #DragonRoute hashtag to filter out the chat

Pictures On The Go

Instagram – profile @insidetravellab

Pinterest – profile @insidetravellab – “Where I am right now” board

The “On The Road” section of this blog…

How To Win £200 worth of Cathay Flights

Check back here for all the details after the trip. (Hint – you can subscribe by email to find out when that will be!)

Disclosure: this whole project comes about thanks to Cathay Pacific UK, my “artistic sponsor” if you will. They fly to Vietnam, Burma/Myanmar, Hong Kong and mainland China. They don’t yet, alas, fly to Wales…

What is the #DragonRoute? Find out here…

Good Morning, Vietnam first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there to read more about the world.

Tomorrow it will be too late to plan and too late to pack.

Tomorrow, the dragon route begins.

Travel

My passport doesn’t look like this…

Through hard work and a healthy sprinkling of good luck, I get to travel a lot. More than a lot as my family would say, not to mention the various visa centres I’ve traipsed through as fingers and thumbs have searched for the last few empty pages in my passport. A passport that lost its gilded unicorn on the front page a long time ago.

“So you’ve seen everything now and you’re going back twice,” someone said as I returned to old friends Toronto, Morocco and Mexico last year.

Well, hardly. The world is still so big. And despite my fondness for cupcakes, I am still small.

Yet, this time something feels different. This time, the day before tomorrow comes and I can’t sit still. I’m restless. Distracted. Drinking far too many cups of tea.

Could it be that I’m excited? Or perhaps there’s something else.

There’s a chance that I feel nervous. A sliver of a shiver as I step into the unknown.

I’m not sure if it’s an old friend but I certainly remember it well.

I’m not sure if it’s an old friend but I certainly remember it well

I suspect that you do too.

I was young once…

It’s the feeling, that feeling, before your first journey overseas. It’s the pulsing in your fingers and slight buzzing in your ears. It’s not quite panic and it’s not quite joy. It’s a cocktail of expectation laced with an undercurrent of fear.

It’s the bubble of half-heard myths all jumbled together, the photos, the films, the stories and the bureaucratic language of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. It’s the recent sting of vaccines, the dashed scribbles on the to-do list and the omnipresent “finger cross” that you’ll get to the airport on time.

It’s knowing that it all could go wrong, yet hoping for something to blaze into your life. Hoping for something wonderful.

It’s the start of a new adventure. And it’s finding, after all these years, that there still is adventure to be found.

Time may have wiped the unicorn from my passport. But that doesn’t stop me searching for dragons.

Wish me luck – and follow me – as I head out on the Dragon Route.

How To Follow Along

Internet permitting, I’ll be posting updates and photos as I travel on all my various social media networks (see the flasks top right for an intro.) I’ll write the odd blog post as I go along and then delve into the in-depth stuff once I get back home.

Words & Pictures On The Go

The Inside the Travel Lab Facebook Page

@insidetravellab on Twitter - use the #DragonRoute hashtag to filter out the chat

Pictures On The Go

Instagram – profile @insidetravellab

Pinterest – profile @insidetravellab – “Where I am right now” board

The “On The Road” section of this blog…

How To Win £200 worth of Cathay Flights

Check back here for all the details after the trip. (Hint – you can subscribe by email to find out when that will be!)

Disclosure: this whole project comes about thanks to Cathay Pacific UK, my “artistic sponsor” if you will. They fly to Vietnam, Burma/Myanmar, Hong Kong and mainland China. They don’t yet, alas, fly to Wales…

What is the #DragonRoute? Find out here…

That Feeling You Get The Night Before Tomorrow first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there to read more about the world.

That’s my first mental image of Mayan culture, the museum-soaked memories from my first trip to Mexico when I read that the young and the beautiful lost their lives atop those magnificent steep-staired ruins you see.

It unsettled me, therefore, when he asked me to close my eyes and prepare myself for the Mayan experience.

The Mayan Experience

The air was hot and humid, the chatter of a nearby waterfall mixed with the buzzing in my ears from dehydration and jet lag.

I cheated a little and just looked down.

This, I realised through squinted glances involving damp trainers and palm leaves, was the official welcome to the Viceroy Riviera Maya hotel. He draped perfumed smoke across our (clothed and standing) bodies in the small clearing in the jungle.

There wasn’t a knife in sight.

The Knife

In fact, I had just begun to let my guard down as I reached my room when the senorita showing me the way pulled a blade from her side the moment she closed the door.

“Soap,” she said and I swayed on my heels.

I had, it appeared, failed in the quest to cling on to sanity.

She wouldn’t give in. “Lemongrass. Oatmeal. Rich deep chocolate?”

It turned out to be another ritual: soap served slippery fresh and sliced on the threshold of your room. It also smelled better than the smoke.

I chose lemongrass, inhaled, and felt some clarity return. I also remembered that the sacrificial victims that the Mayans used to slice were, on a point of principle, extremely young and beautiful.  I could afford to relax.

Soap, sliced on your doorstep

I skipped the tequila samplers and strolled along the beach. Dark clouds rolled past with an almost malevolent majesty and heavy birds glided along the horizon.

And then it was time for my “true” Mayan experience: a massage and signature treatment at the hotel’s Wayak spa.

A Mayan Massage at the Viceroy Riviera Maya

A sense of unease returned as I was led away from the steam room and jacuzzi and tracked along leaf-lined pathways past a dug-out canoe. I am, my mind begins to realise, coming closer to the sounds of that waterfall I heard on arrival.

This time I am not clothed. And this time I am lying down. I’m no younger nor (let’s face it) more beautiful but but the vulnerability factor most definitely has gone up.

So, too has the curiosity factor, as the scented smoke is followed by a thorough brushing with a broom of herbs and a rub down with an egg. For a brief, panicky moment, I fear I’ve wandered semi-naked into the local Mayan cooking class.

But condiments aside, the massage when it gets going is one of the best ones around. Kneaded, stretched, smoothed and released, my muscles end up with that delicious calm feeling of being back where they properly belong.

There’s still one Mayan trick up the sleeve, though. The towel rub section of the signature dish (which goes by the name of a manteada.) This involves wrapping me up like a tortilla and rocking me from side to side in a peculiarly loosening experience.

And then it is over – herbs, eggs and smoke all gone – and I’m lying by a waterfall wondering how to make sense of it all. Except, I realise, as the sunshine filters through the palms into the space the smoke has left, that doesn’t really matter.

My muscles feel softer, my body relaxed. And though my heart’s still beating, it’s definitely still in my chest. And that, let’s face it, is always something to be thankful for.

Cookery class?

Hotel Riviera Maya – the Traditional Review

This beautiful, eco-conscious beach and jungle retreat is a real treat for the senses. It has 41 villas yet manages to give the impression that only ten guests ever stay here at once. There’s an atmospheric open-air bar and library area, an outdoor restaurant called the Coral Bar & Grill and an upstairs restaurant called La Marea.

You’ll find a lagoon shaped pool but you can easily walk onto the beach or stride along the walkway to dive off at the end. The hotel has a great range of activities – from yoga classes to cooking classes, trips to Tulum and various cenotes, picnics on Playa Maya, and a deep heat Mayan temazcal treatment in some kind of igloo closer to home.

The food is fiery and local, drawing on the passions of head chef Jetzabel Rojas (although staple options of fruit, cereal and plain toast are also available if the spicy jalapeno peppers are not to your taste.) You’ll need a car or some other transport to leave the resort, which is only an hour or so from key sites Tulum and Coba and a fascinating turquoise cenote I’ve yet to write about.

What I Loved

The juice collection at breakfast. Check out the coral smoothies – yoghurt, honey, guava and strawberry.

The handmade, hand-sliced soap

The hammock in my secluded jungle garden

The tequila tasting session – there’s more to this drink than you might imagine

The cooking lesson – more to follow on that

The private nature of the jungle “Royal villa”

The ceviche. And the enfrijoladas. Oh, I just love, love, love this kind of food…

Things To Know

The ocean view rooms also allow other guests to see into your villa

Specs

• Swimming pool – outdoor
• Spa services on site
• Concierge services
• Complimentary newspapers in lobby
• Room service
• Valet parking (surcharge)
• Safe-deposit box
• Security guard
• Currency exchange
• Dry cleaning service
• Patio
• Video library
• Poolside bar
• Spa tub
• Bar/lounge
• Restaurant(s) in hotel
• Limo or Town Car service available
• Multilingual staff
• Gift shop
• Tour assistance
• Library
• Gym
• Wi fi
• Airport transportation (surcharge)

Disclosure. I visited the Hotel Riviera Maya on a complimentary basis for review purposes. I was free, as ever, to write whatever I thought about the experience. Browse around my other reviews to get a general feel for what I write. I’m praising this place because I loved it and because it deserved it. Heaven has a stake in Mexico – at the Hotel Riviera Maya.

Yoga at the Viceroy Riviera Maya

What do you think? Would you give the Mayan massage a try?

Holy Smoke. A Mayan Massage in Mexico first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there to read more about the world.

Oh, all right. I’ll give you some information about the cutesy things.

Tulips in Amsterdam

Not only do tulips feature in the warbly 20th century song but they actually played a prominent role in creating a financial bubble, long before the housing market, the dotcom crisis or the South Sea Bubble came along.

Back in 1637, a single tulip bulb could sell for more than ten times the annual income of a skilled craftsman in the Netherlands.

Why? How?

Well,  the short version says that when tulips arrived in the low countries from the outposts of the Ottoman Empire, they were the boldest, brightest flower that Europe had seen and they soon became a luxury item. Desire was high and supply was scarce, with Dutch merchants setting up futures markets in taverns and inns across the country. Bulbs changed hands up to ten times  a day (on paper at least, ) with those with narrow coloured stripes seizing the highest prices of all (We now know that those stripes come about thanks to an infection from a virus, which rather strips some of the glamour away from the affair but there you go. Diamonds come from squashed lumps of coal after all and that didn’t stop Nicole Kidman and Marilyn Monroe cosying up to them and making them their new best friends.)

Amsterdam & Tulips. A love affair that endures…

And then “tulip mania” came to an end, possibly as a consequence of an outbreak of bubonic plague in Haarlem. Prices collapsed, fortunes were lost and tulip bulbs were left to grow mouldy. The only good thing to come out of the affair was a curious title for a book called Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds written by a chap called Mackay and published in the 19th century.

And the song, I suppose. Which, in part, leads to the tourist fascination with the flowers – and the appearance of these fine petals in 21st century Amsterdam.

Happy Photo Friday everyone.

Disclosure: I travelled to Amsterdam thanks to InterRail and stayed as a guest at the Moevenpick Hotel in the city. I don’t think that either company had anything to do with the tulip bubble. Or the song. 

Would you seek out tulips in Amsterdam? Or are you too cool for such things?

Tulips in Amsterdam first appeared on Inside the Travel Lab. Head over there to read more about the world.