» A Few Days in Vietnam

A Few Days in Vietnam

Andy Mitchell

This is a snippet of my travel diaries, taken from the first few days in Vietnam, out of a trip that took in China, Vietnam & Cambodia in 2005. I wrote it and so help me I’m going to share it

Contents

The merits of flying into Vietnam on a very very poor airline.
A chance meeting with the descendant of a KKK founder.
Tips on how *you* too can get thrown out of a Vietnamese hotel
Motorbiking with no traffic laws, no helmet and no clue: a guide by an idiot
Boating around beautiful bays, and… sweatshops!
A night in Vietnam: the rubbishness of water puppets, and the pain-inducing awfulness of ‘trendy’ vietnamese clubs.
The awesome destructive power of CJ & a motorbike: the inevitable brush with danger.
And finally, the impact of stupidity and a wrong turn: how we three ‘lost’ each other for an afternoon.

Into Vietnam, courtesy of Vietnam Airlines

Heading out once again from the developed world, we flew in from the lush Hong Kong airport, on the way the paper bag was on my knee; man I had a dreadful flight.

You see, after running down the never ending terminals that Hong Kong provides (late as always - I’d been trying to buy a bottle of vodka in preparation), we had to squint to identify our aeroplane: it was just that small. My fears were compounded when we got on, and discovered that only the first four rows were occupied; it seems most people knew something we didn’t.

We didn’t have to wait long for that fear to be justified, for on take-off smoke started pouring out of the air-con units. Mercifully, it was only a short flight, and by the time I came round the engines were already being cut to mark our descent. Our extremely rapid descent.

With no word of a lie, in the space of one song (I was trying to drown out the screaming) we had gone from soaring above the clouds to being at house level: the plane actually felt like it was just tumbling down some steps.

The only upside is the souvenir that will forever be mine, in the form of the airline seat that is firmly embedded under my fingernails.

A Chance Meeting with the Decendant of a KKK Founder

At the airport we met Ian, an American student from the deep-south who had spent a month living in a Taiwanese monastery. He was a really nice chap and we would meet him later in our trip. He was also the great great great nephew of Nathan Bedford Forrest: a general, a slave trader, and the first Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan.

As an aside, at the time the Ku Klux Klan was largely a social club centred on practical jokes, before an ideology was drawn up to protect the weak (esp. the widows of the Confederate soldiers), to protect the US constitution, and to execute the law.

It was infact an unintended (though perhaps not unwanted) outcome that saw the homes of blacks broken into (to steal firearms), and black prayer meetings broken up. As time went on, the original leadership sought to distance themselves from what it had become.

However, that said, upon first being told about the Klan, Forrest replied “That’s a good thing; that’s a damn good thing. We can use that to keep the niggers in their place”.

Interestingly, in Ian’s brief description of his ancestor, he denounced him as insane; but not for starting the KKK. Rather, it was his actions on the battlefield; such as storming a hill fort by repeatedly having his men run round it to create the illusion of having many more troops than he truly had.

Hanoi in a Nutshell

The first thing that hits you about Vietnam is that it is a beautiful country: lush greenery over flat plains and small buildings boasting interesting architecture.

The second thing that hits you is the traffic; in some cases quite literally.

The motorcycle rules out here. There are reputed to be millions in the two capitols. In a later firsthand introduction to driving, we discovered the rules of the road to simply be “if it’s bigger than you, give way to it”.

The pattern of the traffic is akin to the flow of a river: if the swarm of motorbikes encounters a difficult object (parked vehicle, car, human) it simply flows around it. It’s really rather mesmerising.

The architecture in the city, which is largely French influenced, is amazing. The Old Quarter, which surrounds a lake, is full of tiny streets and even tinier shops.

People gather to eat and drink (the local beer costs about 10pence/glass) on small tables on every street corner; it’s just a pity that the food is so bland compared to the diverse choices we had in China.

“Leave Now” : Being Thrown out of a Vietnamese Hotel

We came to be at our first hotel following a dubious set of events: we pulled up at the intended hotel, and before we could even get out of the car, a local had hopped in and told us the hotel was full, and that we should go to the extended part of it just down the street. Our suspicion was quickly dampened when we saw the beautiful room - complete with ensuite bathroom, big bed, carved wooden furniture and balcony - that was ours for $12 (or 180,000 Vietnamese dong: an amazingly stupid currency).

However, little did we know that within 24 hours we’d be thrown back out onto the street.

A few weeks earlier Nic & Nicola (the Swiss couple) had told us how they had been asked to leave a Vietnamese hotel for not taking a tour.

Our situation was similar, in that we were waiting for CJ to join us before we took a tour, and kept fobbing them off (politely and honestly it might be added). The next morning, after Ian left, we asked to change rooms. They gave us a shoddy one, with 3 beds; but across the way was a nicer room with 2 beds (also empty!). Naturally, we asked for that.

“It’s booked”, came the reply.

“Okay, fine, we’ll take the one offered” said we.

“No, that’s booked too”.

Perplexed we said, “Well we’ll stay on in our original room”

“No, it’s all booked, we think you should leave”.

So we did.

(We were also on our best behaviour for the next few weeks, especially with hotelliers)

Prior to our arrival in Vietnam, we had been warned by all and sundry about the people: they were rude, abrasive and above all, desperate to get hold of tourist’s money. Further, they were even more sensitive than the Chinese to the concept of ‘face’, whereby embarrassment is to be avoided at all costs.

I’m pleased to say that, dodgy hotel and touts excluded, we have had the best time with the locals - who have all been welcoming and honest (even under extremely strained circumstances, as CJ discovered…).

Motorbikes!

CJ’s arrival (a friend from uni who joined us for 10 days) was rather surreal. It created a very homely clique in a very foreign country. It also provided a stronger dynamic by increasing the peer pressure: Lou & I would dream up stupid shit and CJ would force it through.

Take for example, motorbikes.

Hanoi is quite likely to be the city with the most bikes in the world. There are no rules. No one wears helmets. There are 30 road deaths per day.

I cannot ride a motorbike. I have never ridden a motorbike (well, that’s not strictly true; I have quite spectacularly thrown myself from them twice - both times within 30 seconds of mounting it).

I think the same can be safely said for Louis and CJ.

So, off we tootled to rent three motorbikes (for $5/day). I was visibly shaking with fear in the build up.

Much to my joy, Louis attempted to get a scooter rather than a motorbike on the basis it was easier. He endured mocking from the rental shop and an additional 30 minute wait. When it arrived, not only did it have a bigger engine, by nature of not having gears it provided all its power within one twitch of the throttle: i.e. it was far more dangerous than either of our motorbikes. Fortunately, he had been the only one sensible enough to get a helmet.

The baptism of fire came in the form of travelling from the bike rental shop to the fuel station: across a four lane express way, where Louis (who had opted out of the ‘once-around-the-block’ driving lesson) very nearly had a large truck inserted up his behind.

What followed was all the cliche stages of psychological development: we underwent an hour of fear, followed by 20 minutes of tentative learning and finishing up with massive over-confidence.

In no time at all, and almost certainly aided by the bike-based bar-crawl we found ourselves on, we were weaving through traffic and racing the locals from lights. Myself & CJ were particularly dangerous in constantly competing to see who could go fastest (me) and who could brake last (CJ).

I can honestly say it was the most fun ever. We even got up at 6am the next morning (after having ridden until midnight) so that we could ride for another hour before we had to return them.

I love Vietnam, and I love the lack of any sensible laws whatsoever.

The bikes are actually a good way to see the city - you can go anywhere (and much further) without worrying about the constant rising cost associated with a taxi (or haggling with a moto-taxi); and at your own time. You also get treated a little bit more normally by locals.

Ha Long Bay: Beauty Spots & Boats

As culturally integrating as trying to balance on two wheels was, we opted to take a tour out to the coast, to the renowned ‘Ha Long Bay’.

The bay of calm water has many beautiful (and large) rock formations rising up out of the water, and the tour gave us the opportunity to cruise around it for two days on a ‘junk’ (a particularly apt name for the boat).

We were fortunate to share the boat with a great group of people. We had a posh (but not pretentious) guy from Surrey, who worked in Japan and liked science fiction and sarcasm (this isn’t sounding great…); a ginger-haired French architect who studied in London, who had a penchant for dancing to terrible music and diving head first from the top of the boat; and a trio of Brits from Poole: two sisters and one boyfriend. The boyfriend, Raith, served in the Navy and had all the stories of drunken excess (and soiling oneself) that you could hope for, who was balanced out by his very laidback girlfriend. The sister, Verity, was a frighteningly articulate history student from Oxford with a phallic obsession.

Our only stop was to explore the ‘Surprising Cave’. Before you get too excited, bear in mind this name was given by a Frenchman. And with hype like that, you can only be disappointed. We were. In fairness, it was quite amazing: a huge cavernous underground formation. Sadly, the constant expectation to be surprised; Verity’s view of the cave as one big collection of penises; and Louis’ profuse (words can barely describe…) sweating - not to mention the ever enthusiastic guide’s demented use of a laser pen - meant that the whole episode could really be summed up as ‘confusing’, ‘bewildering’, ‘disappointing’ or any combination thereof.

(In retrospect: Is this sounding unappreciative?! Ignore the rants, I have great memories of that Bay - it truly is stunning)
Sweatshops and ‘Bobbiting’

The trip to, and from, the bay was punctuated with a stop at the sweatshop.

Under the rather thin guise of ‘helping the poor’; workers (who looked every bit as bored and frustrated as you might expect) presumably spent most of their waking hours weaving incredibly intricate pictures; where upon the tourists were dumped upon them (no cameras allowed) to try and secure some sales.

As heart breaking as this was, I was just as concerned for the state of the two Alsatians locked in a ramshackle cage with no water.

However, a brief conversation with the guide (who once again could not conceive of why they might need help) illuminated the precise reason they were incarcerated: a naked child, who had been wandering around aimlessly, had half of his penis removed by one of the hungry (and presumably dietarily confused) dogs.
(It is possible that this same story gets peddled to everyone who tries to water their dinner, but the look on her face… utter perplexity…).

Water Puppets and Clubs: A Rant

Back in Hanoi we joined our new found friends in a trip to the city’s answer to the clubs of London and New York (not my words…): New Century.

I won’t skirt around the issue, it was shit.
I’m hard pressed to choose between the precocious new-elite brats turning up in their Z4s, the thump-thump-thump drivel that seemed to make the natives happy, the “fashion” that largely consisted of tight vests and even tighter trousers or the scamming witch that accused CJ of stealing when infact he’d overpaid.

The only highlight to the evening, other than the company from the boat, was the unmovable grin on CJ’s face when he returned from a trip downstairs with two young attractive blonde Danes: one on either arm.

(Should any of you visit Vietnam, under no circumstances ever ever let any guidebook or traveller tell you that the “famous” Water Puppets show is any good. Infact ‘hideously diabolical’ is still over-exaggerating its merits. The seven of us left within 15 minutes of it starting, because two of our party looked close to suicide. Oh it *sounds* good - the art form that began life by impoverished farmers in the rivers of the countryside - in 1969 when you would have thought the Vietnamese had greater things to worry about - but then perhaps that is exactly why it’s as utterly flabasgastingly rubbish as it is: because any hick farmer with no education and no money, who is routinely being blown to pieces each day, is hardly going to create the next Phantom of the Opera. There again, for 50p…).

(In retrospect: okay, some licence may have been taken on just how bad it was. Actually, no it wasn’t. Curious and quaint? Yes. Hideous and ear bleeding? Also yes. I don’t like to sound like a savage, but I’d done my culture in China, and I’d have it forcefully imposed on me again in Cambodia, Vietnam was about fun!)

Fresh Entrepreneurism

In fairness, despite Vietnam being a country held back by a useless currency and rife corruption (which is being addressed), there is a hard-working/entrepreneurial spirit in force everywhere; and any successes are well deserved.

The entrepreneurial spirit was no greater in anyone than the little girl who sold me a Lonely Planet: I was blindsided by this tornado of a sales machine. My initial attempts to blithely dismiss her backfired, when she could tell me, in fluent English, the value of the book in every currency from here to Timbuktu; as well as exactly how much more fulfilling my life would be by owning this masterpiece; culminating in a precise destructive strike against the generalised South East Asia book that I was feebly protesting to be sufficient.

CJ & Motorcycle Madness: Half a Million in Damages

As soon as we could fish the change out of our pockets, we three were back on our hogs. Or more specifically, our rather puny putputput motorbikes/scooters.

After a brief lunch stop, CJ decided to set off by way of driving over everyone else’s motorbike.

He had flicked the throttle with a certain relish, realised his mistake, reached for the brake - thus enabling him to successfully turn the throttle even further - and set off at considerable speed towards the amassed parked bikes of the locals.
He was thrown over the top of the four bikes he had crushed, whilst his bike went on its own genocidal mission in search of more motos.

Within seconds, a crowd of 20 or so Vietnamese had descended - tutting and sucking air between the teeth - before politely letting CJ pay half a million dong. Never one to miss a trick (and at this time quite genuinely believing the brakes had been at fault - which was more than possible on these old things), CJ tried to haggle him down to 400,000.
When this sly attempt was met with a look that simply said ‘violence’ he wisely passed it off as a communication misunderstanding.

The thankful side to this episode was that half a million dong to us is nothing (twenty pounds), whereas to the locals - well, they probably thought they’d done really rather well out of the deal.

It also served a useful purpose in temporarily subduing us all into a more cautious mode of driving.

Lost We Three Be

This flash of madness was actually topped by a scene directly out of the Three Stooges…

Following engine failure, CJ & I lost track of Louis. This kick-started a whopping hour and a half of driving around the city in circles hunting Louis; whilst Louis was driving around in circles hunting us.

Things got stranger still when a wrong turn meant CJ & I lost one another; resulting in three wide-eyed Westerners roaming the city looking utterly bewildered.

It was only sheer laziness that led to us all giving up and returning to the hotel (a policy that some may argue would have been better from the start) at roughly the same time - two and half hours later.
How to Avoid A Life of Tenaments and Needles

Before we finally left the city by train (which are pretty much prison trains in comparison to the luxury of the Chinese models), we had one last meal with our friends from Poole.

This actually successfully stopped us ending up naked, penniless and very likely dead in a jungle somewhere; after a very serious invitation (and even more serious consideration on our part) from our hotel manager to join him, at 9:30pm in the basement of the nearest opium den.

Given we had a train at 10pm; I’d say it was almost certainly for the best we kept eating.

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Photos