I'm (on) the Train They Call the City of Ho Chi Minh...

30 August 2009

Tragically required to leave Jungle Beach after our three-night stay, and hopped a 30-seater bus for the hour-and-a-half down to Nha Trang to catch the train for Saigon. Nha Trang is meant to be a beach city, but is more urban than bliss--I'm told the beach is very built-up and last year's group had some issues with access and theft. We only saw enough of the place to get lunch and hop the train, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Doc Let and Jungle Beach is the better option...this last leg of the trip is nearly all hotels and no camping, which means it's one town after another. I'm sure Nha Trang has it's delights, but the peace of Doc Let was wonderful--nice to have the breaks in touristing that we'd become accustomed to the last four months.

Vietnamese trains are...functional. It was fine, we had air con and seats and all, but through some miscommunication and tantrums thrown by other people, I got a seat that had the broken back reclined almost flat for 8 hours, and David wedged in behind me. Vietnamese seats, unsurprisingly, are not designed for 6-foot tall white guys. Toilet was a squat (which you might think I would be used to by now, and truly I don't even blink at them anymore...when they're stationary) and I can tell you from experience, peeing in flipflops on a moving train in a metal squat toilet is not the most graceful way to pass the time. More entertaining was the snack shop on the platform in Nha Trang--every kind of dried salt fish a girl could ask for. Mmm-mm good. Especially nice given the direct sunlight and 80% humidity...now, I love Vietnam. But. Dried fish roll ups? Really? It's August, people.

Anyhow, rolled into Ho Chi Minh City at 8 that night--still called Saigon by pretty much everyone except the American guy who reads the arrival announcement on the train and is adamant that it is HCMC. He also read the word 'quay' phonetically, so we'll just ignore him, shall we? Three minivans waiting to take us to the lovely Madam Cuc's hotels in District 1. There are three, all close to one another, and we're scattered between Hotel 84 and Hotel 127. Free juice in the lobby, wifi, and they keep cold Diet Coke in the fridge for 10,000 dong. Also, there is a winch for carrying bags up the stairs. My sort of place. Popped off to find some place with $2 steaks that David read about--and promptly spent an hour in a taxi with a very lost driver circling the Reunification Palace. So...dinner at KFC it is. They bring you soda in glass cups at KFC in Saigon, though, so ace for the class factor.

Spent yesterday sort-of doing a walking tour with four rather unappreciative audience members. Mostly we ate and shopped and they politely ignored my instructive lectures. Custom-mixed cranberry frozen yogurt in a wifi cafe next to an Aussie version of Starbucks...this is possibly not what Uncle Ho had in mind. Lots of vivid and strident red banners though, and if you're going to keep only the fun bits of communism, then the decorative propaganda is the bit to go for, I say. Shopping: Lack of regulation is very nice--any Lonely Planet you like is available here, all photocopied for your reading pleasure at $4. Are also now proud owners of a hammock that cost all of $1.75. Useful and difficult to pack--it has it all.

We did do the War Remnants Museum--which used to be called something like 'Museum of American and French Evil Imperialist Atrocities Perpetrated on Innocent and Patriotic Vietnamese Victims.' But they decided that wasn't very tourist-friendly. In all seriousness, it's a harrowing place, with the most explicit images of dead bodies, Agent Orange-linked deformities, and the various nasty things people do to one another that I've ever seen. Very Apocalypse Now-esque helicopter outside, along with planes, tanks, swiftboats, etc., (all with disconcertingly brand new and occasionally mis-spelt ID stickers on the 40-year old metal frames), and a reconstruction of the tiger cages that the South Vietnamese kept North Vietnamese in.

It's obviously very much from the POV of the North Vietnamese, and includes some horrific images of American soldiers doing unspeakable things, without mentioning the reverse. Hard to remain detached and impartial as a viewer when confronted with images like that--they obviously know a fair bit about emotional manipulation. But also a good exhibit on the role of western photojournalism in the war, from Robert Capa to the journalists who disappeared into Cambodia in the 70s. Worth seeing in the sense that it's got to be better that people don't forget how crap we can be to each other.

Finally tracked down the$2 steaks--you get what you pay for, but $2 does go a hell of a lot farther in Vietnam than in London. Wandered Ben Thanh Market--the iconic clock tower that is recreated in various strip malls in Northern Virginia lives here, built by the French in 1914. David and I had fresh beer--up to 30 cents a glass here, from the much more reasonable 25 cents in Hoi An (sigh...) at a local-ish place near the hotel. Local in the sense that there were actually Vietnamese people in there who were not looking for western boyfriends. Though it also appeared to be where all the Sub-Saharan African men resident in Saigon go for their Orangina--a tad surreal, that.

David and a bunch of the others have gone off this morning for a half-day tour of the Cu Chi tunnels...will let him explain all that. Suffice it to say that I am not a fan of tiny dark little spaces, and have taken this opportunity to sleep in. Until noon. And googling for a hotel in Fiji. It's a hard life for Miss Saigon.

Welcome to the Jungle Beach

26 August 2009

Leaving Hoi An with our new sartorial splendours crammed into rucksacks that are already overflowing, we split into two minivans for the very long drive down to Doc Let beach, where we find ourselves today. It's eleven hour ride, which may well be a record for this trip, barring the all-night drive in China. We're just about 60K north of Nha Trang, which also has beaches, but last year's trip didn't have an amazing stay there, so we're testing out the Jungle Beach Resort instead.

And it's pretty much a home run; Jungle Beach is on it's own isolated (very isolated) cove, past some unpromising industrial port buildings on a bumpy track, 19K from the main road. It's a little more hippie-commune than I would have opted for personally, but I can deal with the middle-class Canadians and their travel beards...because it's just so beautiful. We've got our own hut, with sleeping platforms and mosquito nets on the double bed, a big fan, and a porch with hammock and lounge chairs. The 2beach itself is about 100 meters away, more pristine white sand and blue, warm, clear, gentle water. Food is $8 for three nights, and so far has included tuna steak, fried shrimp, and of course tofu. They are hippies, after all.

When we got here last night, went for a night swim, which the French-Canadian owner promised was “magical”. I am something of a cynic, and I don't know about magical (again, watersports and alcohol! what is wrong with people? did none of you ever see Baywatch?), but it was pretty lovely. It's fairly shallow and the surf is so gentle that it would be hard to drown, but the best bit was the plankton. I've read about phosphorescence but never seen it. Tiny cellular creatures that respond to movement by lighting up for a moment (apparently it distracts potential predators)--it was like fairy lights every time you moved, swirling around in the moonlight. Dreamy and gorgeous. And plankton-y.

Spent today doing nothing at all on the beach. Nice Vietnamese people brought around fresh pineapple at 2:30, napped a bit in the sun, now sitting on our porch listening to the South China Sea and drinking 85 cent beers. In my new dress. With no sunburn because I've been on holiday for 4 months and already have a tan going. Bliss.

The Backpackers' New Clothes

24 August 2009

Continuing our tour of duty in 'Nam, we've driven south in yet another air-con private bus from Hue down to Hoi An, one of the rare places that we managed not to bomb the crap out of during the war. This makes it uniquely lovely in Vietnam, with it's old town really intact. Of course, loads of tourists also know this...I miss the glamor of being the only white people in a given country. In addition to being known for it's ancient importance as a port city, a fishing centre, and existence despite American imperialism, Hoi An is also famous for new clothes.

Every other shop is a tailor (and all the ones between the tailor shops are either cobblers or sweatshops producing goods for said tailors and cobblers). The accustomed thing is to pick one at random—Louise and I opted for the only one which did not send someone chasing us down the road imploring us to just have a look—go through their random old Next catalogues and Vogues, point at what you want, and return the next day to collect your new wardrobe. Our chosen happily-indifferent Vietnamese lady measured us, made some cursory notes, nodded disinterestedly, and send us away, all at about 11am on Sunday. On Monday at 3pm, back we came. Am now proud owner of bespoke tan linen shorts, black linen wide-leg trousers, green silk sleeveless top (very Shanghai hooker in the 1930s), pink cotton floral full skirt, purple silk wrap skirt with woven gold Lao-esque detail, and a blue cotton sundress. All for the equivalent of $50. Brilliant. And David got shorts.

Hoi An's old town has some worthy historic Chinese assembly halls, a few ancient house museums, and a Japanese bridge that's been there since the 16th century. Of which we didn't really see much except the bridge, as it is remarkably hot and humid in Hoi An in August. Personally, I quite like hot and sticky weather, but even I was a bit warm for sightseeing. Instead we sat around a lot in the lovely cafes, bought some t-shirts, and ate. Entire fish cooked in a lovely ginger and garlic sauce one night at the Blue Dragon, for all of $4 with rice and veggies. But the culinary star of Hoi An (so says the guidebook and every lady selling it) is cao lau, the local specialty, which must (as you know) be made with water from a well in Hoi An to be counted as legit. It comprises a bowl of thick rice noodles in a little broth, with a bunch of green herbs and bean sprouts on top, what are called croutons but seem more like little shrimp crackers, and slices of roast pork (or chicken, beef, etc.) Every restaurant serves cao lau, but in particular there are a bunch of tables at the end of the market, each run by a single owner (Miss Thuy, Mr Ho, etc.), and all selling bowls for 15,000 dong—less than $1. “Fresh” beer, called such because there's no preservatives (or brand), can be had for 4,000 dong a glas. This is about 25 cents. Awesome.

On Monday, as I struggled to re-find all my photos (people who make and spread computer viruses should really roast in hell, fyi), David rented a motorbike to go out to the Cham empire ruins at My Son. We also bombed these, so the nicest ones are not actually there anymore. Oops. A group had gone out at 5am the day before, but we're just not that kind of people. Anyway, he ended up practically in Da Nang instead, so came back and we took the bike down to Hoi An's other gem, the beach. This is part of China Beach (as in Dana Delaney et al), and is just perfect. Rapidly being populated with very posh western resorts, but for now, still gorgeous. White soft sand, warm completely clear water, almost no surf, and loads of sun loungers along the sand, yours all day for the price of a bottle of water. And, as a bonus, he managed not to kill or maim either of us!

In Country

21 August 2009

Cue the ubiquitous Jimi Hendrix--we're officially in Vietnam these days. Eleven days, to be exact, and minus the big blue truck--Vietnam exercises their right to not let foreign vehicles in without permits arranged well in advance. It used to be no vehicles at all, the rule's only changed recently and sadly not in time for us to get a permit. Tim and Rich have taken off for Cambodia to deposit said truck, and we're with Cheryl, enduring the tragedy of air conditioned private buses for the next while.

First stop: Hue (pronounced way), the royal capital of Vietnam from 1802 until 1945. Also the site of a month-long battle in the Tet Offensive of 1968, which mostly destroyed the very cultured city. These two things seem to be primary in the city's image even now; main sight is the Imperial Citadel, the very elegant equivalent of the Forbidden City which dominates one whole side of the Perfume River. It's peaceful and serene and beautiful in the extreme--and also mostly missing. 120 of the 150 buildings were destroyed in Tet and in later fires. What remains is partly original, partly rebuilt, and all very beautiful. Spent the afternoon there with Denis, wandering among trees and foundations, pavilions and crumbling walls. Also they charged us one-fifth of what they charged everyone else, apparently. Either we just look really nice, or really poor. Or someone in the States has blown the whole war thing out of proportion.

After the Citadel, wandered around in the sweltering heat looking for a cafe--in Vietnam, these mainly consist of old women on a sidewalk, in possession of about 4 kiddie-sized chairs and a bucket of water with some Sprite in. Found our own old lady, who had diversified into whole coconuts with straws, though still on the requisite tiny chairs. Though when we planted our obese Western selves in them, she booted us out and fetched a bigger set. With reinforced seats.

Deciding it was too hot for any more walking, we hopped in a trio of cyclos--these look like Roosevelt-era wheelchairs, with a Vietnamese guy at the back pedalling along. Over the Perfume River amidst a sea of motorbikes, and back to our hotel. We're staying in a place called the DMZ Hotel, no lie. They do run tours up to the actual DMZ--the former demilitarized zone, scene of much very nasty fighting, but it's a 12-hour tour day from here. Next time--can already completely see coming back to Vietnam. We drove through Khe Sanh yesterday (reference: Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA), we're driving down along China Beach in the next few days...I think for us as Americans especially this part of the trip is remarkable. I feel like we're imbued with some familiarity with this country just from growing up with the movies, tv, pop culture, etc. I have clear memories of Dateline and 60 Minutes and whatnot interviewing Vets in the 80s, and being freaked out watching grown men crying. My own parents knew boys who came here and died. Hue didn't fall to the Communists finally until 1975, a year before I was born, but the whole area was bitterly contested for a very long time.

The History & Revolutionary Museum in Hue--spent the afternoon here. Outside are an array of rusting American tanks, still with ID numbers, seized when the city fell. Not to be overly dramatic, but I found it really moving to see the 'US Army' stamped in crumbling white on the side. The signage is great--letting you know in the most unbiased way possible that these are ammunition provided by the US to puppet soldiers for the crushing and killing of the people. Although modern Vietnam is tourist friendly, and lively, and open, it is still a communist country technically, and the museum is just a reminder that the victor always writes the history books.

Going Underground

19 August

From Vientiene we were meant to be camping on the way to the Vietnam border. I was quite looking forward to it, actually, as it's been ages since we camped—and ate free. Last time was the night spent clinging to a mountainside in China, when it rained so much it was actually funny. Anyhow, meant to be in a National Park, but rules are fluid things, and it turns out they've changed. No camping allowed without advance permission, so Tim & Cheryl magicked up a remarkable alternative.

Fifteen of us (Corrie opted to go back up to Vang Vieng after a day in Vientine with some girls she met in a bar, for more tubing--this time with people who were more fun than us) drove down to a place called Khong Lo, there to disembark at a riverside village and hop on a fleet of the shallow-bottom boats that race up and down the rivers here. Forty minutes later, and we were parked at a little eco-resort in the middle of nowhere, having a lovely meal on a terrace overhanging the river, and tucked below some amazing black limestone cliffs. Cold Beer Lao, the local version of adirondack chairs, more stars that one normally gets in, well, pretty much anywhere except maybe the Kazakh plain, and a distant lighting storm to watch. Bliss.

Although I am guilty of berating him a tad at first, David managed to score us the best room in the place. Had a fan and an en-suite, and a massive bed with turquoise mosquito net, and was practically in the restaurant itself. I had reservations about the noise (and am apparently an ungrateful whiner anyway—please keep your comments to yourself.) But it turns out that none of the others had bathrooms at all, and only half had fans. This is always an issue in tiny little places, and efforts are made to make sure that it works out to benefit everyone eventually, but I have to say, David did well for us this time.

Next morning, up at 9 for another boat trip in the (really very low riding) river boats, three of us to a boat, upriver through all sorts of hidden rocks and trees with the (mainly) expert local Lao boatmen. Ours did manage to almost tip us out about 5 minutes in, and the hysterically comical look of surprise on his face was worth it. Obviously we weigh more than the average three Laotians.

Anyway, this boat trip is different—it took us through an underground river, more than 7 kilometers winding itself though a phenomenal cave system. The caverns ranged from low and narrow to bigger than a cathedral, with a huge bit in the middle lit up with electricity by your friendly local French development agency. Being French, one random rock is lit in blue, no doubt a comment on the bourgeois nature of stalactites. Or something.

Out the other end for lunch, some more comical almost-dying. Seriously. Sort of. Tee and Le's boat got caught on a small rock-bank / rapid just into the pitch black, and when our boat tried to help, they broke loose and attempted to sail through the middle of us in their escape. Personally, as this was going on behind me (pretty much in David's lap), I was really more concerned about being stuck on a rock in a pitch black cave in a river in Laos and putting my life jacket on as quickly as humanly possible. Apparently I am less than humanitarian of the year.

Anyway. Caves are amazing, and should be in one of those Things You Do Before You Die lists. The first motorboats only went through them about 5 years ago, so this is another sign of the boom in Laos tourism. Get here before everyone else.