Here we have some of our best and worst moments of our 33 days in Vietnam INCLUDING Margaux's picks for Ho Chi Minh City and the Mekong Delta which she visited along with us. We've also put together a gallery of our favourite photos which you can visit if you don't feel like ploughing through our gazillion photos. The gallery is available here.
Our FAVOURITE Places
According to Yann:
1- Ben Tre
2- Dalat
3- Hue
According to Emilie:
1- Hanoi
2- Ben Tre
3- Hue
According to Margaux:
1- Ben Tre
2- Ho Chi Minh City
3- Homestay in Vinh Long (in particular the hammocks)
Most DISSAPOINTING Places
According to Yann:
1- Sapa
2- Halong Bay
According to Emilie:
1- Sapa
2- Hoi An
3- Chau Doc (mainly the hotel)
According to Margaux:
1- Chau Doc hotel
FUNNEST Activities
According to Yann:
1- Riding a motorcycle around Dalat
2- Eating dog meat in Ho Chi Minh City
3- Family dinner in Hanoi at our new friend Anh's home
According to Emilie:
1- Eating dog meat in Ho Chi Minh City
2- Family dinner in Hanoi at our new friend Anh's home
3- Homestay in Vinh Long
According to Margaux:
1- Eating
2- Lying in a hammock
3- Riding motorcycles
Most DELICIOUS Foods
According to Yann:
1- Vietnamese coffee (the stronger the better)
2- White roses (dumplings stuffed with shrimp a Hoi An specialty)
3- Cao Lau (noodles with sliced pork, another Hoi An specialty)
According to Emilie:
1- Fish sauce (my new favourite condiment, makes anything taste better!)
2- Vietnamese coffee
3- Ice cream from popular local shops in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh
4- White roses
5- Huge fresh crab
According to Margaux:
1- Vietnamese coffee
2- Crab
3- Ice cream
4- Pho Soup
5- Pork chops
6- Lychees
Note from Margaux: Really almost everything was delicious!
LEAST Delicious Foods
According to Yann, Emilie & Margaux:
1- Steamed dog meat with purple dipping sauce
According to Margaux:
2- Sour shrimp soup in Ho Chi Minh City
MOST Annoying Touts
According to Yann and Emilie:
1-Sapa
2-Hanoi
3-Hoi An
THINGS We Might Have Done if We Had More Money
According to Yann and Emilie:
1- Stayed in a room at Crazy House in Dalat
2- Bought motorbikes in Hanoi and rode them to Ho Chi Minh City
3- Drank more Vang Dalat (Dalat red wine)
According to Margaux:
1- Try fancier foods, like the giant lobsters or turtle and also eat more crab.
WORST Bus/Boat Rides
According to Yann and Emilie:
1- Vientiane(Laos) to Vinh(Vietnam) (20 hours)
2- Unbearably hot boat ride from Chau Doc (Vietnam) to Phnom Penh (Cambodia)
3- Dong Ha to Hue (40 minutes, but won't actually bring you to Hue, could involve a 13km walk if you are stubborn enough)
4- Hoi An to Dalat (21 hours, the last 2 being a painfully slow uphill ride)
According to Margaux:
1- Boat ride from Chau Doc to Phnom Penh
If you are curious about our expenses we have updated our homepage with our financial information for Vietnam, it is available here
Showing posts with label Vietnam. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vietnam. Show all posts
Navigating the Mekong
We spent four days in the Mekong Delta most of the time in boats winding through the narrow canals. We seemed to finally escape the tour bus circuit when we arrived in Ben Tre a fairly small provincial capital a few hours from Ho Chi Minh City. Things actually started smoothly from the minute we were greeted at the Ho Chi Minh City bus station by a special attendant hired to guide tourists to the correct ticket window and have them spend the correct price. We only had to ignore the dozens of bus drivers saying "hello hello, where you go? come here, buy ticket here".
When we arrived in Ben Tre we wandered for a few minutes down the main street until we hit the river front and were greeted by a handful of very basic English speaking touts. After some attempt at communication we parted ways telling them we could find a hotel ourselves and we would be back to get a boat ride down the Mekong with one of them. After a few minutes of walking down the main street in search of a cheap hotel, they reappeared, this time on their motorbikes carrying their secret weapon: an English speaker. He agreed to take us to a remote home sitting on the banks of one of the Deltas' many canals, where the owners would cook us dinner and let us spend the night for only a few dollars each. This was what we were hoping for, so we got our things together and followed him to his small wooden boat docked nearby.
We weaved though small canals for almost an hour, enjoying the peaceful scenery made famous by so many war movies. I tried to prevent myself from daydreaming about Apocalypse Now or Platoon (for us Westerners, these images of the Mekong are often the only ones we have). Ben Tre has baptised itself the coconut capital of Vietnam, and every inch of waterfront is covered with coconut trees that shade us as we drift by. When we arrived at the small home we were greeted by an old woman who could only speak Vietnamese. Her husband had gone out for the day and she wasn't comfortable accepting our staying there without his approval. Since they are not an authorized guest house, staying there wouldn't exactly be legal, and the couple only accepted guests if they felt a surprise visit from the police wasn't due. Our boat driver wasn't exactly being clear about the situation, and despite the beautiful isolated location we didn't feel comfortable sticking around, especially that neither the wife nor our boat driver "felt comfortable" quoting us a price. We pulled Margaux from her new found hammock and we headed back to Ben Tre to find a hotel.
It was now late afternoon, and four busy days in Ho Chi Minh along with a full day in the hot sun had taken their toll on Margaux. We sent her off on a motorbike to the Trade Union Hotel and Yann and I headed over on foot to meet her there. For less than 10$ a night we got a big room with a much needed air conditioner and three beds. Other than the gigantic rat that scurried across the terrace as we headed there, the hotel restaurant seemed decent, so we settled into a table and ordered our much needed dinner, we didn't really care that we were the only ones there. After ordering, we were greeted by a concerned looking hotel worker who asked us politely if we would like to move to a private room, as there would be a group of people arriving shortly to the restaurant. We obliged, but felt a bit offended as the restaurant was gigantic, and the tables set for the group clearly did not take up the entire place. Once our "private room" was visited by a few extremly intoxicated Vietnamese soldiers we understood why we had moved. Symptoms of intoxication included: insistance on speaking to us in Vietnamese for long periods of time, deciding that Yann had two wives, proposing to Margaux after concluding that Yann in fact did not have two wives.
We were served meticulously by the hotel staff, who periodically escorted the soldiers out of our room. Later in the meal, a female staff member joined us with tea and a pile of scrap paper on which she had scribbled down English text describing historic sites in the area. Margaux and I both spent a few minutes reading through it with her, correcting the mistakes. When the sentences were too incomprehensible I just corrected spelling. If I had known they were going to be used as the captions at the new provincial tourist centre I might have been a little bit more careful. Oh well, it'll make the museum way more interesting! (Makes me rethink all those times I've made comments such as "can't they get someone who actually speaks English to edit these") The extremely friendly woman invited us to join her for breakfast the next day to thank us for our help.
We met our new friend Kieu for breakfast and she allowed us to order any breakfast item from the menu free of charge. We all chose the baguette with omelette. Kieu had also invited her former English teacher to eat with us, and after breakfast he took Yann out on his motorbike to visit his friend's coconut candy shop (where Yann bought two boxes of coconut candy for less than half the price we were able to find it for anywhere else), then he treated Yann to a coffee and told him a few stories about the war. Meanwhile I decided to give Margaux a day off, by this point she was really not feeling very well. She spent the entire day in bed, not even coming out for lunch (for anyone who knows Margaux, a day without eating is not a good sign).
Yann and I took the time to hop on a few local buses and hire some motorbike drivers to bring us to nearby towns. We visited a temple whose story I had edited the night before, but mainly spent the day on the bus, or sipping much needed cold drinks at drink stands. For our excursion we followed directions that a tourist agent had written down for us, free of charge, when we told him we wanted to travel the cheapest way possible (we were expecting him to sell us his cheapest tour, instead he just wrote down instructions in English and Vietnamese on how to take the local buses, I love the Mekong Delta!) When we got back to the hotel, we got Margaux out of bed for dinner, and the next day she was ready to go again.
Our next Mekong destination was a city called Vinh Long, famed for its floating markets and "homestay" opportunities. Before leaving Ben Tre though, we felt we had to pay a visit to the "most beautiful place in the province, Phoenix Island", according to Kieu, who had again treated us to a free breakfast on our second morning. Phoenix Island is not exactly what one would call beautiful, but it is so tacky that it is worth the trip. Kieu wrote for us, in Vietnamese, a note that she told us to deliver to her friend at the coffee shop right next to the ferry. The note read: "Please take my friends to the boats to Phoenix Island", the meaning of this note "don't let the touts take them to Phoenix Island, make sure they get on the government boat that only charges 30 cents for the return trip". Her friend, upon presentation of the note, happily led us through weaving back alleys until we got to the boat docking area, she put us on a boat and waved us goodbye. Phoenix Island was originally the retreat of the Coconut Monk, who diverted from Buddhism and started his own sect, he lived there with a hundred or so "followers". The only fact I could remember about him (again from the text that I corrected in Ben Tre), was that he believed in having lots of wives. He built a few uber-kitschy temples on the Island as well as a hilarious (equally kitsch) replica of the Apollo space shuttle, on which is painted its misspelled name "Apolo".
Vinh Long is less than 100km from Ben Tre, but getting there wasn't exactly simple. First a public bus from Ben Tre to the ferry (where we took our side trip to Phoenix Island) then the ferry trip across the Mekong to My Tho. From the ferry dock we hired three cyclo drivers to bring us to the bus station. After 20 minutes in the blazing sun, I was feeling really guilty about being biked across town by a 55 year old man who sounded like he was having an asthma attack (for not even a dollar). But then, a familiar story "there are no buses to Vinh Long at this time" (hmmm, really? no buses at 1p.m. going the 60km between the Mekong Delta's two biggest cities?) Its really amazing that we fell for this, having been in Vietnam for almost 5 weeks. To "help"us, the cyclo drivers volunteered to drive us another 10 minutes out of town, where they could hail us a minibus to Vinh Long that was on its way from Ho Chi Minh City, for only 7000 dong each. We followed them out to the side of the highway, where they waited for minibuses (coming from the bus station I'm quite sure) heading to Vinh Long. After a few minutes a minibus arrived, we paid our cyclo drivers (a little extra because they had been so helpful) and we loaded our backpacks into the crowded minibus. After settling in to the back seats, Yann handed the driver a 50,000 dong note, he signalled for more. Our cyclo drivers watched carefully, and instructed us that it was not 7000 dong each, but in fact 70,000 dong each (we knew from our guide book, and from the short distance that the ticket should definetely be less than 20,000 dong). We understood now, the cyclo drivers had set us up, so that they could make a hefty comission by loading us onto a bus away from the watchful eyes of the bus station. We angrily exited the bus, (with Margaux looking a little bit perplexed), and would not reenter even when they offered to let us back in for only 30,000 dong each. We also told our cyclo drivers that they were no longer needed, and they peddled off quite content with the tip we had given them earlier.
Not even two minutes later three motorbike drivers agreed to drive us the 7 km to the bus station outside of town where we could catch a bus to Vinh Long. We agreed to pay them 10,000 dong each. We loaded on to the motorbikes and proceeded to drive approximately 500m down the road where we stopped at a roadside coffee shop. This was the bus station 7km away, they would again "help" us flag down a minibus. It was now time for Margaux to witness the wrath of Emilie. I told the motorbike drivers they weren't getting a cent from us as they had told us they were driving 7km away (replace the word told by screamed my ass off and you might get a more accurate picture of the situation). Many gestures were made including pointing at my head and exclaiming that "I am not stupid". Yann took out about 500 dong from his pocket and I handed it to one of the drivers, exclaiming that that was all they were getting because they were liars. When the driver yelled angrily at us as we walked away I actually turned around and stuck my tongue out at him. I had completely lost my composure, and possibly my sanity.
After walking about 20m down the highway another "helpful" motorbike driver happened to cross our path as a minibus for Vinh Long drove by. For so helpfully leading us into the minibus (for 30,000 dong each) he pocketed at least 10,000 dong and drove off. We arrived in Vinh Long less than an hour later.
We found ourself a much needed lunch and we also booked a homestay at a local home on the river. By 4 p.m we were settled in our hammocks on a quiet little canal on An Binh Island. We spent the rest of the evening doing crossword puzzles and reading in our hammocks and were then treated to a feast cooked by the family who owned the small guesthouse. At first glance, the elephant ear fish deep fried and served standing on a platter was a little bit of a shock, but once we stuck our chopsticks in it we were delighted. We went to bed early sheltered by our mosquito nets, lying on military style cots with our food hanging from ropes so that the rats wouldn't get in them, but we felt very very relaxed.
Early the next morning, our boat driver was back to pick us up and tour us around An Binh Island. We visited little villages, and spent a few hours just floating through the canals. The highlight was the bustling floating village, where huge boats display there goods by hanging them on tall poles so that people can see them from a distance. The yellow and green melons hanging from most poles indicated to us, that it was probably melon season on the Mekong.
We arrived back in Vinh Long in the early afternoon, and we planned to get to Chau Doc by nightfall. We wanted to leave Chau Doc the next morning and sail the Mekong into Cambodia. The tourist agency that had booked our homestay offered to get us a ticket (by infamous minibus) for 100,000 dong each. We knew it was a little bit expensive, but we asked ourselves if we could actually do the trip for cheaper, given our previous experiences with the Vietnamese bus system. We decided to do it the hardway (a trip that involved three transfers, read:three possibilites of being cheated). I proclaimed that if it cost us more than 100,000 I was going to kill myself.
To make a long story short, we made it to Chau Doc for only 38,000 dong each (and only a mild amount of discomfort). We spent our "winnings" on the outrageously overpriced food from our guest house in Chau Doc (we didn't know how overpriced it was until the portions arrived). After ordering what we thought was a fairly extravagant amount of dishes, and eating them quickly, we spent the rest of the night scouring the streets of Chau Doc for a "Vani-Socolat" ice cream cone, wondering if they would be available in Cambodia when we arrived the next day (we didn't find one).
When we arrived in Ben Tre we wandered for a few minutes down the main street until we hit the river front and were greeted by a handful of very basic English speaking touts. After some attempt at communication we parted ways telling them we could find a hotel ourselves and we would be back to get a boat ride down the Mekong with one of them. After a few minutes of walking down the main street in search of a cheap hotel, they reappeared, this time on their motorbikes carrying their secret weapon: an English speaker. He agreed to take us to a remote home sitting on the banks of one of the Deltas' many canals, where the owners would cook us dinner and let us spend the night for only a few dollars each. This was what we were hoping for, so we got our things together and followed him to his small wooden boat docked nearby.
We weaved though small canals for almost an hour, enjoying the peaceful scenery made famous by so many war movies. I tried to prevent myself from daydreaming about Apocalypse Now or Platoon (for us Westerners, these images of the Mekong are often the only ones we have). Ben Tre has baptised itself the coconut capital of Vietnam, and every inch of waterfront is covered with coconut trees that shade us as we drift by. When we arrived at the small home we were greeted by an old woman who could only speak Vietnamese. Her husband had gone out for the day and she wasn't comfortable accepting our staying there without his approval. Since they are not an authorized guest house, staying there wouldn't exactly be legal, and the couple only accepted guests if they felt a surprise visit from the police wasn't due. Our boat driver wasn't exactly being clear about the situation, and despite the beautiful isolated location we didn't feel comfortable sticking around, especially that neither the wife nor our boat driver "felt comfortable" quoting us a price. We pulled Margaux from her new found hammock and we headed back to Ben Tre to find a hotel.
It was now late afternoon, and four busy days in Ho Chi Minh along with a full day in the hot sun had taken their toll on Margaux. We sent her off on a motorbike to the Trade Union Hotel and Yann and I headed over on foot to meet her there. For less than 10$ a night we got a big room with a much needed air conditioner and three beds. Other than the gigantic rat that scurried across the terrace as we headed there, the hotel restaurant seemed decent, so we settled into a table and ordered our much needed dinner, we didn't really care that we were the only ones there. After ordering, we were greeted by a concerned looking hotel worker who asked us politely if we would like to move to a private room, as there would be a group of people arriving shortly to the restaurant. We obliged, but felt a bit offended as the restaurant was gigantic, and the tables set for the group clearly did not take up the entire place. Once our "private room" was visited by a few extremly intoxicated Vietnamese soldiers we understood why we had moved. Symptoms of intoxication included: insistance on speaking to us in Vietnamese for long periods of time, deciding that Yann had two wives, proposing to Margaux after concluding that Yann in fact did not have two wives.
We were served meticulously by the hotel staff, who periodically escorted the soldiers out of our room. Later in the meal, a female staff member joined us with tea and a pile of scrap paper on which she had scribbled down English text describing historic sites in the area. Margaux and I both spent a few minutes reading through it with her, correcting the mistakes. When the sentences were too incomprehensible I just corrected spelling. If I had known they were going to be used as the captions at the new provincial tourist centre I might have been a little bit more careful. Oh well, it'll make the museum way more interesting! (Makes me rethink all those times I've made comments such as "can't they get someone who actually speaks English to edit these") The extremely friendly woman invited us to join her for breakfast the next day to thank us for our help.
We met our new friend Kieu for breakfast and she allowed us to order any breakfast item from the menu free of charge. We all chose the baguette with omelette. Kieu had also invited her former English teacher to eat with us, and after breakfast he took Yann out on his motorbike to visit his friend's coconut candy shop (where Yann bought two boxes of coconut candy for less than half the price we were able to find it for anywhere else), then he treated Yann to a coffee and told him a few stories about the war. Meanwhile I decided to give Margaux a day off, by this point she was really not feeling very well. She spent the entire day in bed, not even coming out for lunch (for anyone who knows Margaux, a day without eating is not a good sign).
Yann and I took the time to hop on a few local buses and hire some motorbike drivers to bring us to nearby towns. We visited a temple whose story I had edited the night before, but mainly spent the day on the bus, or sipping much needed cold drinks at drink stands. For our excursion we followed directions that a tourist agent had written down for us, free of charge, when we told him we wanted to travel the cheapest way possible (we were expecting him to sell us his cheapest tour, instead he just wrote down instructions in English and Vietnamese on how to take the local buses, I love the Mekong Delta!) When we got back to the hotel, we got Margaux out of bed for dinner, and the next day she was ready to go again.
Our next Mekong destination was a city called Vinh Long, famed for its floating markets and "homestay" opportunities. Before leaving Ben Tre though, we felt we had to pay a visit to the "most beautiful place in the province, Phoenix Island", according to Kieu, who had again treated us to a free breakfast on our second morning. Phoenix Island is not exactly what one would call beautiful, but it is so tacky that it is worth the trip. Kieu wrote for us, in Vietnamese, a note that she told us to deliver to her friend at the coffee shop right next to the ferry. The note read: "Please take my friends to the boats to Phoenix Island", the meaning of this note "don't let the touts take them to Phoenix Island, make sure they get on the government boat that only charges 30 cents for the return trip". Her friend, upon presentation of the note, happily led us through weaving back alleys until we got to the boat docking area, she put us on a boat and waved us goodbye. Phoenix Island was originally the retreat of the Coconut Monk, who diverted from Buddhism and started his own sect, he lived there with a hundred or so "followers". The only fact I could remember about him (again from the text that I corrected in Ben Tre), was that he believed in having lots of wives. He built a few uber-kitschy temples on the Island as well as a hilarious (equally kitsch) replica of the Apollo space shuttle, on which is painted its misspelled name "Apolo".
Vinh Long is less than 100km from Ben Tre, but getting there wasn't exactly simple. First a public bus from Ben Tre to the ferry (where we took our side trip to Phoenix Island) then the ferry trip across the Mekong to My Tho. From the ferry dock we hired three cyclo drivers to bring us to the bus station. After 20 minutes in the blazing sun, I was feeling really guilty about being biked across town by a 55 year old man who sounded like he was having an asthma attack (for not even a dollar). But then, a familiar story "there are no buses to Vinh Long at this time" (hmmm, really? no buses at 1p.m. going the 60km between the Mekong Delta's two biggest cities?) Its really amazing that we fell for this, having been in Vietnam for almost 5 weeks. To "help"us, the cyclo drivers volunteered to drive us another 10 minutes out of town, where they could hail us a minibus to Vinh Long that was on its way from Ho Chi Minh City, for only 7000 dong each. We followed them out to the side of the highway, where they waited for minibuses (coming from the bus station I'm quite sure) heading to Vinh Long. After a few minutes a minibus arrived, we paid our cyclo drivers (a little extra because they had been so helpful) and we loaded our backpacks into the crowded minibus. After settling in to the back seats, Yann handed the driver a 50,000 dong note, he signalled for more. Our cyclo drivers watched carefully, and instructed us that it was not 7000 dong each, but in fact 70,000 dong each (we knew from our guide book, and from the short distance that the ticket should definetely be less than 20,000 dong). We understood now, the cyclo drivers had set us up, so that they could make a hefty comission by loading us onto a bus away from the watchful eyes of the bus station. We angrily exited the bus, (with Margaux looking a little bit perplexed), and would not reenter even when they offered to let us back in for only 30,000 dong each. We also told our cyclo drivers that they were no longer needed, and they peddled off quite content with the tip we had given them earlier.
Not even two minutes later three motorbike drivers agreed to drive us the 7 km to the bus station outside of town where we could catch a bus to Vinh Long. We agreed to pay them 10,000 dong each. We loaded on to the motorbikes and proceeded to drive approximately 500m down the road where we stopped at a roadside coffee shop. This was the bus station 7km away, they would again "help" us flag down a minibus. It was now time for Margaux to witness the wrath of Emilie. I told the motorbike drivers they weren't getting a cent from us as they had told us they were driving 7km away (replace the word told by screamed my ass off and you might get a more accurate picture of the situation). Many gestures were made including pointing at my head and exclaiming that "I am not stupid". Yann took out about 500 dong from his pocket and I handed it to one of the drivers, exclaiming that that was all they were getting because they were liars. When the driver yelled angrily at us as we walked away I actually turned around and stuck my tongue out at him. I had completely lost my composure, and possibly my sanity.
After walking about 20m down the highway another "helpful" motorbike driver happened to cross our path as a minibus for Vinh Long drove by. For so helpfully leading us into the minibus (for 30,000 dong each) he pocketed at least 10,000 dong and drove off. We arrived in Vinh Long less than an hour later.
We found ourself a much needed lunch and we also booked a homestay at a local home on the river. By 4 p.m we were settled in our hammocks on a quiet little canal on An Binh Island. We spent the rest of the evening doing crossword puzzles and reading in our hammocks and were then treated to a feast cooked by the family who owned the small guesthouse. At first glance, the elephant ear fish deep fried and served standing on a platter was a little bit of a shock, but once we stuck our chopsticks in it we were delighted. We went to bed early sheltered by our mosquito nets, lying on military style cots with our food hanging from ropes so that the rats wouldn't get in them, but we felt very very relaxed.
Early the next morning, our boat driver was back to pick us up and tour us around An Binh Island. We visited little villages, and spent a few hours just floating through the canals. The highlight was the bustling floating village, where huge boats display there goods by hanging them on tall poles so that people can see them from a distance. The yellow and green melons hanging from most poles indicated to us, that it was probably melon season on the Mekong.We arrived back in Vinh Long in the early afternoon, and we planned to get to Chau Doc by nightfall. We wanted to leave Chau Doc the next morning and sail the Mekong into Cambodia. The tourist agency that had booked our homestay offered to get us a ticket (by infamous minibus) for 100,000 dong each. We knew it was a little bit expensive, but we asked ourselves if we could actually do the trip for cheaper, given our previous experiences with the Vietnamese bus system. We decided to do it the hardway (a trip that involved three transfers, read:three possibilites of being cheated). I proclaimed that if it cost us more than 100,000 I was going to kill myself.
To make a long story short, we made it to Chau Doc for only 38,000 dong each (and only a mild amount of discomfort). We spent our "winnings" on the outrageously overpriced food from our guest house in Chau Doc (we didn't know how overpriced it was until the portions arrived). After ordering what we thought was a fairly extravagant amount of dishes, and eating them quickly, we spent the rest of the night scouring the streets of Chau Doc for a "Vani-Socolat" ice cream cone, wondering if they would be available in Cambodia when we arrived the next day (we didn't find one).
A Religion and a War Site
Before leaving Ho Chi Minh City, we took a day trip to two extremely popular sites near the city. Our first stop was the Holy See, the largest of the Cao Dai temples in Vietnam. Cao Daiism, mainly practised in Vietnam (probably only practised in Vietnam), is apparently a fusion of the major religions, "invented" in the 20th century in Southern Vietnam. I was going to try to make this a very informative entry on Cao Daiism, but I can only remember a few of the hundreds of facts bombarded at us during the tour and read in my guidebook. Here is what I remember:
- Cao Daism is comprised of many different religions the main ones being Christianitiy (specifically Catholicism), Buddhism and Daoism.
- High priests of Cao Daiism wear different colours according to their expertise, ones with Buddhist knowldge wear yellow, Daoism and Confucianism wear blue and Catholicism wear red
- Cao Daiists pray 4 times a day every six hours: noon, 6p.m., midnight, 6 a.m.
- Cao Daiists dress entirely in white, except males wear a black headdress
- Cao Dai temples are modelled after Muslim mosques
- Cao Dai women enter the church from the left and sit on the left during prayer, men the right side
- The symbol of Cao Daiism is an eye, the eye of God that appeared to the founder of the religion in a dream, it looks like the eye on the pyramid of an American 1$ bill
- There are more tourists at the Holy See (Cao Dai Great Temple) at the noon prayer session than there are Cao Daiists
- The hierarchy of the priests follows the Catholic naming system. There highest member being the pope. They have been awaiting their new pope for over 50 years, since the previous one died without naming a successor, religious rules state that the next pope has to live to be 110 years old before attaining enough holiness to take over the position. It is unlikely they will have a new pope in the near future.
- The noon prayer session consists of 45 minute song/prayer for peace around the world and happiness to all, especially the Vietnamese
We joined the hundreds of tourists and invaded the upper balcony of the Cao Dai temple to watch the faithful enter and pray, just like being at the zoo. We escaped a few minutes after the prayers began, there's something about mass that made us very sleepy.
After a quick lunch and another few hours on the bus we arrived at the Cu Chi tunnels. A network of tunnels built by the Viet Cong to defend against American bombing. Our enthousiastic guide led us through the jungle site, showing us the various booby traps (ingenious) and tunnels. Margaux and I were the only two people in our group to crawl the three hundred meters though some of the original tunnels. Dark, damp and extremely claustorphobic, the thought of spending weeks, even hours in them is frightening. Of the 16,000 Viet Cong that were deployed in the area only 2,000 survived, but death rates on the American side were also staggering. The entire area was defoliated by agent orange in an attempt to destroy the tunnels, it was also a free fire zone, where American soldiers were ordered to shoot anything on sight. Bombers flying back from other mission were ordered to drop any remaining bombs on to the Cu Chi area.
Vietnamese villagers collected B-52 bombs and took them apart to use them for their own weaponry, they also built complicated series of tunnels to divert smoke from cooking so that the tunnels were unidentifiable. Entrances to tunnels were carefully disguised with leaves and plants. No soldiers new more than a small area of the tunnels, so that if they were captured they could not reveal too much. On further missions soldiers were sent from various tunnel areas, so that in case of emergency evacuation they would have many options to which to retreat. While Americans were equipped with the most modern weapons, the Viet Cong fought in rubber sandals using weapons built from recycled American bombs, the ingenuity and unbelievable determination of the Vietnamese is obvious to anyone who visits this site.
A few old Cu Chi war veterans run energetic presentations at the information centre explaning that the Americans were too big to fit in the tunnels, and only the tiny Vietnamese could wiggle through them (which I believe after crawling through them, and embarassingly, almost getting stuck in a tunnel entrance). At the end of the tour for a few dollars you can choose from an array of different weapons to fire in a shooting range; AK-47s, M16s and these huge automatic beasts (whose names I didn't bother to retain). We decided not to glorify guns any more than they already are, and opted for ice cream cones to finish off the day (although we did watch a fellow tour mate shoot an AK47).
- Cao Daism is comprised of many different religions the main ones being Christianitiy (specifically Catholicism), Buddhism and Daoism.
- High priests of Cao Daiism wear different colours according to their expertise, ones with Buddhist knowldge wear yellow, Daoism and Confucianism wear blue and Catholicism wear red
- Cao Daiists pray 4 times a day every six hours: noon, 6p.m., midnight, 6 a.m.- Cao Daiists dress entirely in white, except males wear a black headdress
- Cao Dai temples are modelled after Muslim mosques- Cao Dai women enter the church from the left and sit on the left during prayer, men the right side- The symbol of Cao Daiism is an eye, the eye of God that appeared to the founder of the religion in a dream, it looks like the eye on the pyramid of an American 1$ bill
- There are more tourists at the Holy See (Cao Dai Great Temple) at the noon prayer session than there are Cao Daiists
- The hierarchy of the priests follows the Catholic naming system. There highest member being the pope. They have been awaiting their new pope for over 50 years, since the previous one died without naming a successor, religious rules state that the next pope has to live to be 110 years old before attaining enough holiness to take over the position. It is unlikely they will have a new pope in the near future.
- The noon prayer session consists of 45 minute song/prayer for peace around the world and happiness to all, especially the Vietnamese
We joined the hundreds of tourists and invaded the upper balcony of the Cao Dai temple to watch the faithful enter and pray, just like being at the zoo. We escaped a few minutes after the prayers began, there's something about mass that made us very sleepy.
After a quick lunch and another few hours on the bus we arrived at the Cu Chi tunnels. A network of tunnels built by the Viet Cong to defend against American bombing. Our enthousiastic guide led us through the jungle site, showing us the various booby traps (ingenious) and tunnels. Margaux and I were the only two people in our group to crawl the three hundred meters though some of the original tunnels. Dark, damp and extremely claustorphobic, the thought of spending weeks, even hours in them is frightening. Of the 16,000 Viet Cong that were deployed in the area only 2,000 survived, but death rates on the American side were also staggering. The entire area was defoliated by agent orange in an attempt to destroy the tunnels, it was also a free fire zone, where American soldiers were ordered to shoot anything on sight. Bombers flying back from other mission were ordered to drop any remaining bombs on to the Cu Chi area.
Vietnamese villagers collected B-52 bombs and took them apart to use them for their own weaponry, they also built complicated series of tunnels to divert smoke from cooking so that the tunnels were unidentifiable. Entrances to tunnels were carefully disguised with leaves and plants. No soldiers new more than a small area of the tunnels, so that if they were captured they could not reveal too much. On further missions soldiers were sent from various tunnel areas, so that in case of emergency evacuation they would have many options to which to retreat. While Americans were equipped with the most modern weapons, the Viet Cong fought in rubber sandals using weapons built from recycled American bombs, the ingenuity and unbelievable determination of the Vietnamese is obvious to anyone who visits this site.A few old Cu Chi war veterans run energetic presentations at the information centre explaning that the Americans were too big to fit in the tunnels, and only the tiny Vietnamese could wiggle through them (which I believe after crawling through them, and embarassingly, almost getting stuck in a tunnel entrance). At the end of the tour for a few dollars you can choose from an array of different weapons to fire in a shooting range; AK-47s, M16s and these huge automatic beasts (whose names I didn't bother to retain). We decided not to glorify guns any more than they already are, and opted for ice cream cones to finish off the day (although we did watch a fellow tour mate shoot an AK47).
It's a Man Eats Dog World
Yann and I have spent a whole week in Ho Chi Minh City. We arrived a few days before Margaux did, mainly so that we could rest before starting a full three weeks of tourist activities. Since our pace has been so slow, we knew we should pick it up when Margaux arrived, so that she got to maximize her sight-seeing time.
Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon), has already lived through thirty years of American presence, unsurprisingly, the backpacker district is fully equipped with anything a homesick westerner could possibly desire. Here in the sinful south, the skirts are shorter, the nails are longer and the hair is blonder. Although, that doesn't prevent Margaux's pale white skin from being a major attraction for the locals. Since she has arrived, the amount of attention we have recieved has augmented tenfold. We are always greeted with "Hello", and Margaux has even gotten a "Hello, you are beautiful, I love you" from a passing moto. Margaux even inquired if it was normal for people to rub your arm as they walk by. Sorry, our arms have never garnered such attention.
Margaux and I spent her first days in the city taking advantage of the shopping opportunities. Margaux ordered a tailor made suit, and we returned several times to the shop for fittings. We did all the other standard tourist things, drinking coconut milk, visiting the War Remnants Museum, the Reunification Palace, taking a ride in a cyclo and of course motorbike riding.
With only two nights left in the city, we had already agreed on our final two meals, one seafood dinner (a treat offered to us cheapies by Margaux) and a dog meat dinner. Since we wanted to end our time in the city with seafood, this left us with only one option, and we were now starting to regret having agreed on this adventurous meal. Dog meat eating in Ho Chi Minh city is not really out in the open for tourists to see. The restaurants, with good reason, do not set up in the tourist areas. With no dog restaurant listed in our Lonely Planet we sought out the directions from a small tourist office, who led us to a dark alley about 15 minutes walk away.
According to our Vietnamese friends in Hanoi, dog meat eating is a "guy thing". Typically men eat dog meet with their male friends and wash it down with lots of hard liquor, its kind of a wings and beer night equivalent. So when Margaux and I walked in with Yann, armed with our notepad on which our friends had written four dog meat dishes, we were greeted with a look of curiosity and mostly surprise. I crossed off the "dog stomach" and "dog soup" items from the list and pointed at the "fried dog meat" and "steamed dog meat". For a little bit more than 3$ we would get both dishes. They seemed to arrive very quickly and for once the portions appeared to be very generous.
Fried dog meat looks like any other fried meat, marinated in some sauce with a few sesame seeds. We very soon wished we had not ordered the steamed dog meat: thin slices of meat complete with large strips of fat and veins. The meat is served with a basket of greens and a purple coloured dipping sauce. The three of us sat staring at the meat, no sign of movement, until Yann reached for a piece of steamed meat and stuck the whole thing in his mouth. Margaux made the first move for a fried piece. I however seemed, against my will, to be frozen. Luckily for me, our neighbor at the table beside us stood up, grabbed a piece of steamed meat, wrapped it in a leaf and dunked it in the purple sauce handing it to me. I held it in my hand. Margaux and Yann might have eaten a few pieces in the meantime, I hadn't moved yet. Our neighbor came back to our table again, this time with a couple of shot glasses, what a relief. Feeling a little bit embarassed about still sitting there with the meat in my hand, I put it in my mouth. It only took me two bites to finish it. The shots of hard liquor were much appreciated.
We looked around and realised that the bottles of whisky and vodka were being consumed at all tables, Yann got up to find a convenience store and returned shortly with a 500mL bottle of Vietnamese vodka. During his departure, Margaux and I consumed quite a bit of the fried meat and we had made one very important discovery. Contrary to our original belief, it wasn't the dog meat that smelled and tasted awful, it was the mysterious purple sauce. Margaux and I concluded, with much certainty, that it smelled like a certain part of the female anatomy (Yann disagreed, thank God). Once the liquor started flowing, the meat seemed to go down much easier, we now understood the whole process of dog meat eating.
Men started getting up from their tables to share more shots of alcohol with us, and we returned the favour. By the end of the evening, men at a nearby table were getting up and feeding Yann random pieces of meat. Yes, actually feeding him, coming over with their chopsticks and sticking them right in Yann's mouth. Margaux and I were very thankful to be women. But our luck changed when they came over with gifts of random dog meat for both Margaux and I. I got a nice slice of steamed meat dunked in purple sauce and Margaux got a chunk of dark brown sausage. I am embarassed to say that I couldn't get mine down, and when the opportunity arose I discreetly got rid of it. Margaux got her chunk down, but she followed it up with a swig of vodka straight from the bottle. The men around could not believe it, first the white skin, then then swigging from the bottle, a dream woman.
What turned into a "small sampling of dog meat before dinner" turned into an entire evening activity. We finished the bottle of vodka, the two plates of meat and waved goodbye to the men at the restaurant who had witnessed something they had most likely never witnessed before.
Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon), has already lived through thirty years of American presence, unsurprisingly, the backpacker district is fully equipped with anything a homesick westerner could possibly desire. Here in the sinful south, the skirts are shorter, the nails are longer and the hair is blonder. Although, that doesn't prevent Margaux's pale white skin from being a major attraction for the locals. Since she has arrived, the amount of attention we have recieved has augmented tenfold. We are always greeted with "Hello", and Margaux has even gotten a "Hello, you are beautiful, I love you" from a passing moto. Margaux even inquired if it was normal for people to rub your arm as they walk by. Sorry, our arms have never garnered such attention.
Margaux and I spent her first days in the city taking advantage of the shopping opportunities. Margaux ordered a tailor made suit, and we returned several times to the shop for fittings. We did all the other standard tourist things, drinking coconut milk, visiting the War Remnants Museum, the Reunification Palace, taking a ride in a cyclo and of course motorbike riding.
With only two nights left in the city, we had already agreed on our final two meals, one seafood dinner (a treat offered to us cheapies by Margaux) and a dog meat dinner. Since we wanted to end our time in the city with seafood, this left us with only one option, and we were now starting to regret having agreed on this adventurous meal. Dog meat eating in Ho Chi Minh city is not really out in the open for tourists to see. The restaurants, with good reason, do not set up in the tourist areas. With no dog restaurant listed in our Lonely Planet we sought out the directions from a small tourist office, who led us to a dark alley about 15 minutes walk away.
According to our Vietnamese friends in Hanoi, dog meat eating is a "guy thing". Typically men eat dog meet with their male friends and wash it down with lots of hard liquor, its kind of a wings and beer night equivalent. So when Margaux and I walked in with Yann, armed with our notepad on which our friends had written four dog meat dishes, we were greeted with a look of curiosity and mostly surprise. I crossed off the "dog stomach" and "dog soup" items from the list and pointed at the "fried dog meat" and "steamed dog meat". For a little bit more than 3$ we would get both dishes. They seemed to arrive very quickly and for once the portions appeared to be very generous.
Fried dog meat looks like any other fried meat, marinated in some sauce with a few sesame seeds. We very soon wished we had not ordered the steamed dog meat: thin slices of meat complete with large strips of fat and veins. The meat is served with a basket of greens and a purple coloured dipping sauce. The three of us sat staring at the meat, no sign of movement, until Yann reached for a piece of steamed meat and stuck the whole thing in his mouth. Margaux made the first move for a fried piece. I however seemed, against my will, to be frozen. Luckily for me, our neighbor at the table beside us stood up, grabbed a piece of steamed meat, wrapped it in a leaf and dunked it in the purple sauce handing it to me. I held it in my hand. Margaux and Yann might have eaten a few pieces in the meantime, I hadn't moved yet. Our neighbor came back to our table again, this time with a couple of shot glasses, what a relief. Feeling a little bit embarassed about still sitting there with the meat in my hand, I put it in my mouth. It only took me two bites to finish it. The shots of hard liquor were much appreciated.
We looked around and realised that the bottles of whisky and vodka were being consumed at all tables, Yann got up to find a convenience store and returned shortly with a 500mL bottle of Vietnamese vodka. During his departure, Margaux and I consumed quite a bit of the fried meat and we had made one very important discovery. Contrary to our original belief, it wasn't the dog meat that smelled and tasted awful, it was the mysterious purple sauce. Margaux and I concluded, with much certainty, that it smelled like a certain part of the female anatomy (Yann disagreed, thank God). Once the liquor started flowing, the meat seemed to go down much easier, we now understood the whole process of dog meat eating.
Men started getting up from their tables to share more shots of alcohol with us, and we returned the favour. By the end of the evening, men at a nearby table were getting up and feeding Yann random pieces of meat. Yes, actually feeding him, coming over with their chopsticks and sticking them right in Yann's mouth. Margaux and I were very thankful to be women. But our luck changed when they came over with gifts of random dog meat for both Margaux and I. I got a nice slice of steamed meat dunked in purple sauce and Margaux got a chunk of dark brown sausage. I am embarassed to say that I couldn't get mine down, and when the opportunity arose I discreetly got rid of it. Margaux got her chunk down, but she followed it up with a swig of vodka straight from the bottle. The men around could not believe it, first the white skin, then then swigging from the bottle, a dream woman.
What turned into a "small sampling of dog meat before dinner" turned into an entire evening activity. We finished the bottle of vodka, the two plates of meat and waved goodbye to the men at the restaurant who had witnessed something they had most likely never witnessed before.
Easy Riding in the Central Highlands
It took us 23 hours of bus riding to get to Dalat, the most populous city in the Central Highlands of Vietnam. By now, we are getting pretty used to long bus rides, and thankfully our bus was only half full which meant better sleeping. I was only slightly disturbed by the middle-aged couple behind me complaining to the non-English speaking bus driver about the "filthy bathroom stops" and the "uncomfortable seat" while riding on a 2$ budget bus.
We had read and heard alot about the "Easy Riders", an informal group of motorbikers in Dalat who have been tour guiding for over a decade and have recieved rave reviews. However, we have become guidebook skeptical, and we were not feeling in the mood for anything other than bare minimum fact absorbing. Yes, we are being lazy. For a little bit of adventure, we decided that we should rent a motorbike. Our first motorbike experience in Sapa had been decent, although we only rented the bike for two hours and my driving consisted of me swirving and panicking as we approched other bikes with Yann screaming directions at me. So we voted that Yann would be the driver for this full day trip that involved more traffic and higher speeds. In my own defense, we rented the bike in Sapa late in the day. There was exactly one bike left in the lot, some no-name Chinese bike with Honda stickers stuck on in random places in an attempt to conceal its crappy identity. Any gear change involved me kicking violently against the pedal with all my strength and only succeeding in changing it half the time. This time, we had a brand new Honda (a real one as far as our expert eyes could tell). After we figured out how to put gas in it, under the watchful eye of dozens of other Vietnamese drivers lined up at the pump, we were off on our day long Central Highlands tour.
I quickly gained the confidence to ride on the bike without holding on, necessary, because I had a huge pull out map of the area which I was leaning against Yann's back, while trying to read the street names as we whizzed by them, simultaneously giving Yann directions (damn I'm good). We first headed north, towards the village of Bac Lat, stopping by at the Hang Nga Crazy House (self-explanatory) in Dalat on the way. The village main street is nothing more than a dusty road lined with a few wooden houses. We stopped for a cafe and cola and spoke to a few local boys skipping school. The villagers, members of hill tribe minority groups are very poor, and have apparently suffered much more persecution than northern hill tribes. Central Highlanders, being once aligned with U.S forces, now have to contend with a constant stream of new inhabitants, sent by the Hanoi government to flood the area with the Vietnamese.
After leaving Bac Lat, with new found confidence we roamed back through Dalat and headed south to visit waterfalls, pagodas and old train stations. We arrived back to our hotel late in the afternoon, with our faces sunburnt, having used almost a full tank of gas. We are now heading to Ho Chi Minh City for a full week of relaxing and waiting for the arrival of our first (and maybe last) guest, my cousin Margaux.
We had read and heard alot about the "Easy Riders", an informal group of motorbikers in Dalat who have been tour guiding for over a decade and have recieved rave reviews. However, we have become guidebook skeptical, and we were not feeling in the mood for anything other than bare minimum fact absorbing. Yes, we are being lazy. For a little bit of adventure, we decided that we should rent a motorbike. Our first motorbike experience in Sapa had been decent, although we only rented the bike for two hours and my driving consisted of me swirving and panicking as we approched other bikes with Yann screaming directions at me. So we voted that Yann would be the driver for this full day trip that involved more traffic and higher speeds. In my own defense, we rented the bike in Sapa late in the day. There was exactly one bike left in the lot, some no-name Chinese bike with Honda stickers stuck on in random places in an attempt to conceal its crappy identity. Any gear change involved me kicking violently against the pedal with all my strength and only succeeding in changing it half the time. This time, we had a brand new Honda (a real one as far as our expert eyes could tell). After we figured out how to put gas in it, under the watchful eye of dozens of other Vietnamese drivers lined up at the pump, we were off on our day long Central Highlands tour.
I quickly gained the confidence to ride on the bike without holding on, necessary, because I had a huge pull out map of the area which I was leaning against Yann's back, while trying to read the street names as we whizzed by them, simultaneously giving Yann directions (damn I'm good). We first headed north, towards the village of Bac Lat, stopping by at the Hang Nga Crazy House (self-explanatory) in Dalat on the way. The village main street is nothing more than a dusty road lined with a few wooden houses. We stopped for a cafe and cola and spoke to a few local boys skipping school. The villagers, members of hill tribe minority groups are very poor, and have apparently suffered much more persecution than northern hill tribes. Central Highlanders, being once aligned with U.S forces, now have to contend with a constant stream of new inhabitants, sent by the Hanoi government to flood the area with the Vietnamese.
After leaving Bac Lat, with new found confidence we roamed back through Dalat and headed south to visit waterfalls, pagodas and old train stations. We arrived back to our hotel late in the afternoon, with our faces sunburnt, having used almost a full tank of gas. We are now heading to Ho Chi Minh City for a full week of relaxing and waiting for the arrival of our first (and maybe last) guest, my cousin Margaux.
Vietnam Threesome
We are temporarily disturbing the chronological order of our blog to bring you the News that our best friend Margaux has arrived to join us for the next few weeks! She flew in from Ottawa a few days ago and I have already taken advantage of female companionship to do some shopping and chocolate eating. Yann is taking the time to relax in the hotel room watching shows such as "the top 10 bombers ever built" and "kings of construction" on the Discovery channel (he claims he's not feeling well).
We are staying in a small guest house outside of the busy backpacker's district. However, it we had seen the above hotel earlier, we most definetely would have stayed there.
What is There To Do Around Here?
Hoi An is the place in Vietnam that nobody seems to miss on there journey up or down the country. Pleasant scenery, nice weather and ridiculous amounts of shopping opportunities. There are only three types of business in Hoi An: guest houses, clothing shops and restaurants, it took us about an hour to find a cheap room.
After dropping our bags in the room we decided since the weather was amazing, that we should rent bikes and head to the nearby beach as quickly as possible. Despite the one-geared junkers that we rented, the 5km ride was still done with relative haste (with me the most eager to finally get to lie on a beach). The beach near Hoi An is beautiful, but this time of year the waves are pretty big, and there weren't too many people venturing any further than into knee-deep water.
After realising that our peaceful afternoon at the beach would be anything but peaceful (see dozens of women trying to sell us anything from a pedicure to a bobble head bulldog) I decided I might spend the afternoon in the water. I left Yann to deal with the old ladies.
It turns out swimming (or wading) in really rough waters isn't really alot of fun. I lasted about 5 minutes. When I returned to find Yann lying in the sun, it wasn't long before I realised that I was sitting in a soggy bathing suit full, and I mean full, of sand. Everytime I moved not only did it feel like I was rubbing sandpaper across my ass, but the old ladies thought I might be expressing my desire to purchase tiger balm or a nail clipper.
The five kilometers back to Hoi An feels much longer when you are sitting in a wet bikini bottom full of sand. After returning our "all-day rental bikes" (no you do not get money back if you last less than an hour), and having a shower, we had now spent a precious two hours of our three days in Hoi An. So what's next? Shopping and eating.
After dropping our bags in the room we decided since the weather was amazing, that we should rent bikes and head to the nearby beach as quickly as possible. Despite the one-geared junkers that we rented, the 5km ride was still done with relative haste (with me the most eager to finally get to lie on a beach). The beach near Hoi An is beautiful, but this time of year the waves are pretty big, and there weren't too many people venturing any further than into knee-deep water.
After realising that our peaceful afternoon at the beach would be anything but peaceful (see dozens of women trying to sell us anything from a pedicure to a bobble head bulldog) I decided I might spend the afternoon in the water. I left Yann to deal with the old ladies.
It turns out swimming (or wading) in really rough waters isn't really alot of fun. I lasted about 5 minutes. When I returned to find Yann lying in the sun, it wasn't long before I realised that I was sitting in a soggy bathing suit full, and I mean full, of sand. Everytime I moved not only did it feel like I was rubbing sandpaper across my ass, but the old ladies thought I might be expressing my desire to purchase tiger balm or a nail clipper.
The five kilometers back to Hoi An feels much longer when you are sitting in a wet bikini bottom full of sand. After returning our "all-day rental bikes" (no you do not get money back if you last less than an hour), and having a shower, we had now spent a precious two hours of our three days in Hoi An. So what's next? Shopping and eating.
Hue Do You Think You Are?
The town of Hue, is less than 100km from Dong Ha and the DMZ Cafe, lucky for us, sits right next to the local bus station where buses for Hue head out every few minutes. Unlucky for us, we are not Vietnamese, so its impossible to get a regular price bus ticket. Instead of paying money to the bus station attendants, we chose to forfeit our "comission" to the guys at the DMZ Cafe, who walk next door, purchase the tickets for us, and charge us for this "service".
After about an hour of driving in our minibus, we pass a sign indicating that Hue is 22km away, then a few minutes later we pull into a minibus station and we are told that we have arrived in Hue. Having seen the trailblazer (and not having eaten yet) I am not in a good mood and I refuse to exit the minibus. While this is happening the minibus is swarmed with motorbike drivers pointing at Yann and I, reserving the foreigners for an extortionate taxi drive to Hue. After the bus driver dangles my backpack over a puddle of water, I am forced to leap out of the bus and I refuse to deal with the motorbike drivers. Yann talks to them for a few minutes, he deduces that we are either 12km or 18km from Hue and asks me quasi-sarcastically if I want to walk. In a classic Emilie screws herself over moment I answer: "Oh yeah, we're walking.... (insert swear words here) ......".
So we're not actually sure if it was 12km or 18km but it did take us about 3 hours to finally get to our hotel in central Hue. We were only followed for motorbikes down the highway for about 45 minutes before they realised we weren't bluffing.
We really enjoyed Hue, the weather was terrible (cold and rainy for three straight days), so people didn't stay long or bypassed it completely. Most of the sites we visited were almost empty and the rain had taken the boldness out of the motorcycle drivers. On the second day we took a boat cruise down the Perfume River, halfway through we got bored, and after we were told we had to pay for our lunch (which was supposed to be included) we opted to abandon ship. At the next stop along the river bank we head back towards town by foot (a popular theme), only about 8km this time, and without the heavy bags.
Despite the fact that our backs and knees were aching a little bit from our stubborn walking adventures we left Hue in a great mood, knowing that we had saved, I don't know... maybe 4$. When I checked my bank records after leaving, I realised that the Vietnamese ATM machine in Hue had charged me 150$ for a withdrawal that didn't happen, so its a damn good thing we saved that four bucks.
After about an hour of driving in our minibus, we pass a sign indicating that Hue is 22km away, then a few minutes later we pull into a minibus station and we are told that we have arrived in Hue. Having seen the trailblazer (and not having eaten yet) I am not in a good mood and I refuse to exit the minibus. While this is happening the minibus is swarmed with motorbike drivers pointing at Yann and I, reserving the foreigners for an extortionate taxi drive to Hue. After the bus driver dangles my backpack over a puddle of water, I am forced to leap out of the bus and I refuse to deal with the motorbike drivers. Yann talks to them for a few minutes, he deduces that we are either 12km or 18km from Hue and asks me quasi-sarcastically if I want to walk. In a classic Emilie screws herself over moment I answer: "Oh yeah, we're walking.... (insert swear words here) ......".
So we're not actually sure if it was 12km or 18km but it did take us about 3 hours to finally get to our hotel in central Hue. We were only followed for motorbikes down the highway for about 45 minutes before they realised we weren't bluffing.
We really enjoyed Hue, the weather was terrible (cold and rainy for three straight days), so people didn't stay long or bypassed it completely. Most of the sites we visited were almost empty and the rain had taken the boldness out of the motorcycle drivers. On the second day we took a boat cruise down the Perfume River, halfway through we got bored, and after we were told we had to pay for our lunch (which was supposed to be included) we opted to abandon ship. At the next stop along the river bank we head back towards town by foot (a popular theme), only about 8km this time, and without the heavy bags.
Despite the fact that our backs and knees were aching a little bit from our stubborn walking adventures we left Hue in a great mood, knowing that we had saved, I don't know... maybe 4$. When I checked my bank records after leaving, I realised that the Vietnamese ATM machine in Hue had charged me 150$ for a withdrawal that didn't happen, so its a damn good thing we saved that four bucks.
Crossing the 17th parallel
We took the "slow" night train from Hanoi to Dong Ha. The railway system is wonderfully simple, the Reunification Express runs North-South from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City. The slow trains are cheapest, but the are the slowest, they have last priority of all the trains so they have to pull over and wait while the fast trains pass them. They also make stops at smaller local stations whereas the faster trains connect the two major cities with few stops in between. But when you are travelling by night, these things are relatively unimportant.
Dong Ha is the first city we visited south of the 17th parallel, the line that once divided North and South Vietnam. We came to take a tour of the former Demilitarized Zone or DMZ (one of the most heavily armed locations during the war). We were greeted on the train platform by an old tour guide working for the "DMZ Cafe", dressed in a green military raincoat, who quickly whisked us away to the Cafe to book our tour. After putting our bags away in our room we paid 15$US each, put our helmets on, and hopped on motorbikes behind our two drivers.
My driver was the old guide that had met us at the train station. His name is Mr. Dien, he is 62 years old and after our first stop at "Charlie 2" Fire Base when he started to refer to the North Vietnamese as "the enemy" we realised the tour could be different from reading the captions at the Army Museum in Hanoi. Mr. Dien was on the payroll of the U.S Government serving as a Liaison Officer for communication between the American and South Vietnamese Armies. He mentioned briefly his 6 years in prison/re-education camp, saying that he was lucky to be alive. He was eligible for evacuation from Saigon, but at the time could not find his family who had arrived in Saigon before him. He and his family were left behind.
We did the standard DMZ tour, over 100km on motorbike, in the pouring rain and the cold of the winter rainy season of Central Vietnam. We walked along the 17th parallel, on the bridge over the Ben Hai River, we were shown B-52 bombs that were sitting outside a scrap metal factory waiting to be melted down, the National War Martyrs Cemetary and the remains of the two American Fire Bases, Charlie 1 and 2. The highlight of the tour are the incredible Vinh Moc Tunnels a network of underground tunnels built by Vietnamese villagers to hide from the continuous bombing. The tunnels have three levels, the lowest of which is 23m deep. Villagers lived underground on and off for over 5 years, educating their children, cooking their meals, even giving birth. At some times over 1000 people inhabited the tunnels. There is only one entry into the tunnels and there were five exits, each leading into the nearby ocean. Similar tunnels were constructed in nearby villages but none survived the bombing, some collapsing, killing everyone inside. The tunnels were also used by the North Vietnamese Army to send important supplie to their allies in the south. The tunnels are seen by the Vietnamese as an incredible testament to the hard work and courage of their people and are an amazing source of pride. They remain intact and unaltered over 30 years later.
At the end of our tour, the sad-faced Mr. Dien dropped us off at "his office", the DMZ Cafe, owned by his old friend Mr. Tinh, also a war veteran. He expressed proudly that back in the day he had a higher rank than Mr. Tinh, but now "the roles are reversed, and Mr. Tinh gets to do desk work while he is out in the field". Only a few moments on the tour did Mr. Dien show a glimpse of happiness, mainly when he was talking about his old supervisor "four star General Westmoreland, Westy" or when we stopped for lunch and he was able to put back four or five shots of snake whisky before we set off. We all have an idea of how war affects people's lives, but I can't help thinking its worse when you are on the losing side.
Dong Ha is the first city we visited south of the 17th parallel, the line that once divided North and South Vietnam. We came to take a tour of the former Demilitarized Zone or DMZ (one of the most heavily armed locations during the war). We were greeted on the train platform by an old tour guide working for the "DMZ Cafe", dressed in a green military raincoat, who quickly whisked us away to the Cafe to book our tour. After putting our bags away in our room we paid 15$US each, put our helmets on, and hopped on motorbikes behind our two drivers.
My driver was the old guide that had met us at the train station. His name is Mr. Dien, he is 62 years old and after our first stop at "Charlie 2" Fire Base when he started to refer to the North Vietnamese as "the enemy" we realised the tour could be different from reading the captions at the Army Museum in Hanoi. Mr. Dien was on the payroll of the U.S Government serving as a Liaison Officer for communication between the American and South Vietnamese Armies. He mentioned briefly his 6 years in prison/re-education camp, saying that he was lucky to be alive. He was eligible for evacuation from Saigon, but at the time could not find his family who had arrived in Saigon before him. He and his family were left behind.
We did the standard DMZ tour, over 100km on motorbike, in the pouring rain and the cold of the winter rainy season of Central Vietnam. We walked along the 17th parallel, on the bridge over the Ben Hai River, we were shown B-52 bombs that were sitting outside a scrap metal factory waiting to be melted down, the National War Martyrs Cemetary and the remains of the two American Fire Bases, Charlie 1 and 2. The highlight of the tour are the incredible Vinh Moc Tunnels a network of underground tunnels built by Vietnamese villagers to hide from the continuous bombing. The tunnels have three levels, the lowest of which is 23m deep. Villagers lived underground on and off for over 5 years, educating their children, cooking their meals, even giving birth. At some times over 1000 people inhabited the tunnels. There is only one entry into the tunnels and there were five exits, each leading into the nearby ocean. Similar tunnels were constructed in nearby villages but none survived the bombing, some collapsing, killing everyone inside. The tunnels were also used by the North Vietnamese Army to send important supplie to their allies in the south. The tunnels are seen by the Vietnamese as an incredible testament to the hard work and courage of their people and are an amazing source of pride. They remain intact and unaltered over 30 years later.
At the end of our tour, the sad-faced Mr. Dien dropped us off at "his office", the DMZ Cafe, owned by his old friend Mr. Tinh, also a war veteran. He expressed proudly that back in the day he had a higher rank than Mr. Tinh, but now "the roles are reversed, and Mr. Tinh gets to do desk work while he is out in the field". Only a few moments on the tour did Mr. Dien show a glimpse of happiness, mainly when he was talking about his old supervisor "four star General Westmoreland, Westy" or when we stopped for lunch and he was able to put back four or five shots of snake whisky before we set off. We all have an idea of how war affects people's lives, but I can't help thinking its worse when you are on the losing side.
Wintertime in Hanoi
There are only 3 million people living in Hanoi, it is the largest city in Northern Vietnam (there are 87 million people in the country). Our train from Sapa arrived at 4:15 a.m. at the Hanoi train station. It was still pitch black out, but all the vendors had already set up outside, serving up cafe and tea for the exhausted passengers. We stopped for a cafe before heading by foot to Hoan Kiem Lake right in the centre of town. Yann was hoping for a photo of the sunrise and we couldn't really show up to a guest house until 7 or 8. By five o'clock the path surrounding the lake was full of Vietnamese dancing, walking, running, stretching. We watched them for hours as the performed their morning routines saying hello when they noticed us.
At 7 we headed out to find a guest house and despite the fact that none of the stores were open yet, the empty streets were still crawling with hotel touts, trying to lure us to their "very cheap" guest house. Our goal was to find a hotel for 3$ U.S but after at least 6 guesthouses we didn't have anything under 5$ and that was for two dorm beds. The touts leave you alone when they offer you a room for 10$ and you ask if they have one for 3$? We realised maybe we might be hoping for a little too much in the busy Old Quarter, so when a loud, annoying young tout offered us a room for 6$ we took a look (despite the fact that he was really really annoying). We had a double bed, cable T.V and a hot shower so I agreed to take it even though it was on the sixth floor (Yann was pouting because he thought we could get better). Note: After 5 days in Hanoi we didn't meet a single person who had a room for less than 8$, even Asian tourists. The one issue was the annoying hyperactive teenage tout who happened to be the owner's son (we did grow to (sort of) like him after a while).
Meanwhile, the front desk manager is desperately trying to sell us a package tour to Halong Bay. He wooed us with free coffee and baguettes every morning (until we accepted his tour, after which we no longer existed). We did want to take a tour to Halong Bay, the tours are cheap, all-inclusive ordeals which we felt would be easier and possibly cheaper than doing it on our own. There are no fixed prices for buses in Vietnam, so you can be charged whatever the driver wants to charge you. It is especially difficult when there is only one bus to the destination. We spoke to a backpacker in Laos who had crossed the border from Vietnam from an extremely remote location. The bus driver had charged him 10 times the fare because there was no other way of crossing the border, when he refused to pay, the driver left him (at 2 a.m.) in the middle of nowhere, even though the bus was half empty. Its a strange thing that he would prefer to lose money rather than to charge a foreigner the real price of the ticket (this backpacker had even offered to pay 5 times the price of the ticket). So for 43$US/each we had a three day tour of Halong Bay including all food and transportation.
Before heading on our tour of Halong Bay we spent two days wandering Hanoi, eating Pho on the streets, visiting Uncle Ho's Mausoleum and of course dining out at our new friend's house in the outskirts of Hanoi. Every salesperson in Hanoi knows to charge tourists more than they should. I curse all the fools who throw their money around, "what the heck, thats only 2$ US". The salespeople love to use US dollars cause it makes things seem cheaper. Our first morning a salewoman tried to sell us a donut for 20,000 dong, we eventually got her down to the standard price of 1000 dong. We meet other tourists who were promised a hotel room for 8$ US and when they go to the desk to pay, they are charged 8$/person plus "service charges" and "taxes" so that there room is now over 25$. Instead of walking out (this is check-in) they actually take the room! There are hundreds of guest houses in the old quarter and you let yourself be ripped off, its just so maddening! I blame the tourists for the insanity in Hanoi (and thats really the only way it can be described, insanity!), you have a duty to those who come after you for crying out loud.
Our Halong Bay tour begins with a mini bus picking us up at our hotel, and we are crammed into a mini bus with 14 other tourists, no problems yet, this is what we expected. We arrive in Halong City 5 hours later and quickly board our boat. We are served lunch as we sail off into the Bay. As mentioned in the brochure, drinks are not included (and that means no drinking water too), water is sold at three times the price. Yann and I came prepared as we had read the fine print and knew no drinks = no drinks. We visited a cave and sailed through the limestone islands. In the late afternoon we were scheduled for some kayaking, our guide informed us that we were running late so we could only kayak for 45 minutes. We all lined up and loaded into the kayaks from a small ladder hanging off the side of our boat. It was a slow process and our guide yelled the entire time. Yann and I tried to help out, and were the last people to load into a kayak, at which point our guide threw down a paddle and exclaimed: "no more paddle for you, you get one". I don't blame him, it is a difficult concept, 14 kayaks equals..hmmmm... 28 paddles give or take. There was another couple behind us, who had waited patiently the whole time to get in a kayak, when it came to their turn he told them "no, you too late, no kayaking for you!". We set out with our one paddle and later on they caught up to us, with their two paddles, after having argued with our guide.
We slept on the our boat the first night. We had the room right over the motor room, and we hoped we would wake up alive the next morning, as all the windows were sealed shut and we took in fumes all night. It was pretty romantic. The next day we were dropped off on Cat Ba Island, the most developped of the islands on Halong Bay. We were scheduled for a 12km hike through the National Park. Our hike consisted of being dropped off on the side of the highway, were we proceeded to walk up a hill for an hour or so until we were picked up by our minibus a little further up the highway. We didn't dare suggest it might not in fact be the National Park (35 km away according to our map), we just pretended it was (makes us much happier). In the afternoon we went to one of Cat Ba's beaches. It was deserted, due to the cloudy winter weather and we lay there reading for a while (our photocopied books from Hanoi). You know they actually have photocopied Noam Chomsky books? Our hotel was quiet and clean with a seaside view and a hot shower and the staff liked us, probably because we were the only tourists who hadn't showed up pissed off at the quality of their "luxury 3 day tour of Halong Bay" (and then taking it out on the poor hotel employees). We were happy to have seen Halong Bay, but also happy to get back to Hanoi away from our evil (prostitute selling) guide.
We spent the next few days hitting more Hanoi tourist sites, museums, pagodas. I even posed for a photo with the Canadian ambassador, who we ran into while he was leaving the embassy. Note: the embassy has a prime spot right next to Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum. Similar themes reappear at all the tourist spots, "the great victories of Vietnam over its agressors", "our great wise leader Ho Chi Minh"... Its all a little bit over the top, but it's obviously an important part of the country's history. The Vietnamese have spent most of the last century under foreign control.
At 7 we headed out to find a guest house and despite the fact that none of the stores were open yet, the empty streets were still crawling with hotel touts, trying to lure us to their "very cheap" guest house. Our goal was to find a hotel for 3$ U.S but after at least 6 guesthouses we didn't have anything under 5$ and that was for two dorm beds. The touts leave you alone when they offer you a room for 10$ and you ask if they have one for 3$? We realised maybe we might be hoping for a little too much in the busy Old Quarter, so when a loud, annoying young tout offered us a room for 6$ we took a look (despite the fact that he was really really annoying). We had a double bed, cable T.V and a hot shower so I agreed to take it even though it was on the sixth floor (Yann was pouting because he thought we could get better). Note: After 5 days in Hanoi we didn't meet a single person who had a room for less than 8$, even Asian tourists. The one issue was the annoying hyperactive teenage tout who happened to be the owner's son (we did grow to (sort of) like him after a while).Meanwhile, the front desk manager is desperately trying to sell us a package tour to Halong Bay. He wooed us with free coffee and baguettes every morning (until we accepted his tour, after which we no longer existed). We did want to take a tour to Halong Bay, the tours are cheap, all-inclusive ordeals which we felt would be easier and possibly cheaper than doing it on our own. There are no fixed prices for buses in Vietnam, so you can be charged whatever the driver wants to charge you. It is especially difficult when there is only one bus to the destination. We spoke to a backpacker in Laos who had crossed the border from Vietnam from an extremely remote location. The bus driver had charged him 10 times the fare because there was no other way of crossing the border, when he refused to pay, the driver left him (at 2 a.m.) in the middle of nowhere, even though the bus was half empty. Its a strange thing that he would prefer to lose money rather than to charge a foreigner the real price of the ticket (this backpacker had even offered to pay 5 times the price of the ticket). So for 43$US/each we had a three day tour of Halong Bay including all food and transportation.
Before heading on our tour of Halong Bay we spent two days wandering Hanoi, eating Pho on the streets, visiting Uncle Ho's Mausoleum and of course dining out at our new friend's house in the outskirts of Hanoi. Every salesperson in Hanoi knows to charge tourists more than they should. I curse all the fools who throw their money around, "what the heck, thats only 2$ US". The salespeople love to use US dollars cause it makes things seem cheaper. Our first morning a salewoman tried to sell us a donut for 20,000 dong, we eventually got her down to the standard price of 1000 dong. We meet other tourists who were promised a hotel room for 8$ US and when they go to the desk to pay, they are charged 8$/person plus "service charges" and "taxes" so that there room is now over 25$. Instead of walking out (this is check-in) they actually take the room! There are hundreds of guest houses in the old quarter and you let yourself be ripped off, its just so maddening! I blame the tourists for the insanity in Hanoi (and thats really the only way it can be described, insanity!), you have a duty to those who come after you for crying out loud.
Our Halong Bay tour begins with a mini bus picking us up at our hotel, and we are crammed into a mini bus with 14 other tourists, no problems yet, this is what we expected. We arrive in Halong City 5 hours later and quickly board our boat. We are served lunch as we sail off into the Bay. As mentioned in the brochure, drinks are not included (and that means no drinking water too), water is sold at three times the price. Yann and I came prepared as we had read the fine print and knew no drinks = no drinks. We visited a cave and sailed through the limestone islands. In the late afternoon we were scheduled for some kayaking, our guide informed us that we were running late so we could only kayak for 45 minutes. We all lined up and loaded into the kayaks from a small ladder hanging off the side of our boat. It was a slow process and our guide yelled the entire time. Yann and I tried to help out, and were the last people to load into a kayak, at which point our guide threw down a paddle and exclaimed: "no more paddle for you, you get one". I don't blame him, it is a difficult concept, 14 kayaks equals..hmmmm... 28 paddles give or take. There was another couple behind us, who had waited patiently the whole time to get in a kayak, when it came to their turn he told them "no, you too late, no kayaking for you!". We set out with our one paddle and later on they caught up to us, with their two paddles, after having argued with our guide. We slept on the our boat the first night. We had the room right over the motor room, and we hoped we would wake up alive the next morning, as all the windows were sealed shut and we took in fumes all night. It was pretty romantic. The next day we were dropped off on Cat Ba Island, the most developped of the islands on Halong Bay. We were scheduled for a 12km hike through the National Park. Our hike consisted of being dropped off on the side of the highway, were we proceeded to walk up a hill for an hour or so until we were picked up by our minibus a little further up the highway. We didn't dare suggest it might not in fact be the National Park (35 km away according to our map), we just pretended it was (makes us much happier). In the afternoon we went to one of Cat Ba's beaches. It was deserted, due to the cloudy winter weather and we lay there reading for a while (our photocopied books from Hanoi). You know they actually have photocopied Noam Chomsky books? Our hotel was quiet and clean with a seaside view and a hot shower and the staff liked us, probably because we were the only tourists who hadn't showed up pissed off at the quality of their "luxury 3 day tour of Halong Bay" (and then taking it out on the poor hotel employees). We were happy to have seen Halong Bay, but also happy to get back to Hanoi away from our evil (prostitute selling) guide. We spent the next few days hitting more Hanoi tourist sites, museums, pagodas. I even posed for a photo with the Canadian ambassador, who we ran into while he was leaving the embassy. Note: the embassy has a prime spot right next to Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum. Similar themes reappear at all the tourist spots, "the great victories of Vietnam over its agressors", "our great wise leader Ho Chi Minh"... Its all a little bit over the top, but it's obviously an important part of the country's history. The Vietnamese have spent most of the last century under foreign control.
42 Hour Trip From Hell
Backpackers are always eager to share their recently acquired "expertise" about such and such country. Getting ready to leave Laos we heard alot about Vietnam, mostly pretty negative, my favourite: "the Vietnamese are liars and bastards". The problem apparently lies in their inheritant desire to screw over foreign tourists, charging them triple or quadruple the usual price, or actually downright lying and stealing. Not that this is uncommon in other countries, but apparently the Vietnamese have mastered the technique of being completely unreasonable.
Despite popular opinion, we couldn't pass up Vietnam of all places! We bought a bus ticket from our Vientiane hostel, that would take us over the border to Vinh, Vietnam. The bus ride is commonly referred to as the "bus ride from hell" but we couldn't seem to find any other (cheap) way of getting to Vietnam. After an early dinner we waited outside our hostel for our "free pick-up" to arrive. It showed up 45 minutes late and dropped us off at the local bus station, confirming our suspicion that we could have bought the tickets ourselves.
The first sign of trouble was the agressive bus drivers (there were three of them) along with some lunatic woman who hurried us to the seats in the back of the bus where they had piled all their rice sacks, chairs, luggage... (to give themselves some leg room). Thankfully Yann objected and grabbed us comfortable seats at the front that were being reserved for the possibility thatVietnamese passengers might arrive. Meanwhile the lunatic woman yelled and paced back and forth through the aisle, for really no apparent reason. Yann quickly befriended the two men sitting next to us: two Vietnamese monks returning from a pilgrimage through Thailand, Burma and Laos. Despite his terrible English, the younger of the two monks, 39 years old, (who I will refer to as young monk) was extremely eager to talk to Yann. Actually I think young monk fell in love with Yann. We had our first ally.
After multiple long, dragged out stops, where the bus drivers and their entourage would pig out while we were overcharged for a bottle of water, we arrived at a large restaurant. By this time it was past 2 a.m. and we got off the bus to stretch and pee then the foreigners (about half the bus) loaded back onto the bus, to eagerly continue the trip. About 15 minutes later, someone noticed that the restaurant doors were closed, all the lights were off, and the bus drivers and company had all dissapeared. Any locals still remaining in the bus had reclined their seats and were sleeping. After some laughing and worrying, we concluded we were sitting near the Lao border waiting for it to open. Our bus crew was sleeping in the restaurant (and hotel, so we learned) while we attempted to sleep in the bus. Its important to note that we were now considerably high up in the mountains and it was damn cold. Most of us were still dressed for Vientiane weather. Despite the cold we might have been able to sleep, if it weren't for the pair of drunk, loud, rude Vietnamese guys behind us, who had opted not to pay for a hotel room (we were never given the option). I wont even get into how much they were assholes, its frustrating just writing about it.
By 6 a.m. our monks had joined us, and young monk seemed sad to learn that we had spent the night in the bus. (This didn't stop him from describing his thick warm blankets in considerable detail for someone who can't speak English) He pulled out his bag of offerings that he had collected on his trip and began to feed us. He handed me handfulls of cookies, cakes, fruits and when I enthousiastically thanked him he got serious expression on his face "No! It's for Yann!". He spent the rest of the morning singing to Yann or sending him loving glances.
We joined a queue of other buses crossing the border into Vietnam. All the passengers rushed to the immigration office to get our passports stamped by the Lao authorities. The Lao stamping process involves hundreds of people forcing their way to a small glass window and throwing their passports through the slit. Passports are handed from the back and forced towards the front as people yell and push, the most ridiculous line I heard was "please, let me through, I only have one". To get your passport stamped a little bit quicker, you can throw it towards the window with 10,000 kip in it. The scene is absolutely chaotic, Yann sat in the lounge watching tv and left me with the two passports. Young monk similarly sat down and let old monk (60+) get their stamps. The Vietnamese stamping process was slightly less chaotic, but equally annoying, as the border guards demanded "fees" from each foreigner.
By the time everyone on our bus had gone through the stamping process, more than two hours had passed. Seventeen hours after our departure we arrived in Vinh and were dumped on the side of the highway as the rest of the passengers continued their ride to Hanoi. We were greeted by the Vinh motorbike touts, eagerly awaiting us. Since we had no idea where we were, it was pretty hard to negotiate a price for a ride anywhere, so we continuously brushed them off as they tried to offer us rides on their motos. We decided we wanted to head to the train station to book tickets to Hanoi for the next day. They offered us a ride there for 30,000 dong each, which seemed high, even though we were untrained in dealing with Vietnamese dongs (not the motorbike drivers, the currency!). After following us down the street for five minutes or so, they agreed to drive us to the train station that was "very very far" for 10,000 each. Meanwhile we watched the other couple that had been dropped off in Vinh get into a taxi, also heading to the train station. We agreed to the motorbike rides. I was scared, I had never been on a motorbike before and I had my heavy backpack pulling me backwards. I had remembered my aunt Marie-Ange telling me that she had burnt her leg the first time she rode on a motorbike, so instead of putting my feet on the foot rests (which I couldn't find anyways) I stuck my legs out beside me as far as I could manage. I balanced precariously with only my crotch supporting all my weight on the seat. When we got to the train station about 5 minutes later, we got out our 20,000 to pay, and surprise surprise, the drivers accused us of cheating them out of another 20,000 "that we had agreed upon". We stood our ground despite one of the drivers pushing Yann and making a big scene. We turned our back to them and walked into the train station gates. Neither of them followed, the intimidation routine hadn't worked this time.
Not feeling so keen anymore about staying in Vinh, we booked a train ticket to Hanoi, a six hour ride. Three hours later we embarked on to the Reunification Express, the train linking Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh city. A brand new train with television sets, confortable seats, and even an on board meal included in the price of the ticket. At the train station we met a young woman from Hanoi who was keen to talk to us and spent a good part of the train ride in our cabin. Before parting ways in Hanoi, she gave us her phone number and made us promise to come over to her place for dinner while we were in Hanoi.
The train pulled into Hanoi in the evening and we still wanted to get to Sapa in North Western Vietnam. Our train from Vinh pulled in right as the train to Sapa was leaving. Instead of going to the ticket counter, we were ushered suspiciously to the Sapa train where we could "purchase tickets" from the train attendants. For the price of a first class ticket (which would not have purchased), we were each led to an attendants private cabin. By passing up their bed they can make a quick 250,000 dong each. Although our beds were comfortable and quiet, we slept uneasily, wondering if they would charge us more upon arriving in Sapa. They made some kind of attempt to charge Yann more, but they had written the price in our notebook, so they didn't make too much of a fuss.
The rail line doesn't actually bring you all the way to Sapa, only to Lao Cai. From Lao Cai, there is still a one hour mini-bus ride to Sapa. As you get off the train, dozens of tourist minibuses await, ready to sell you a ticket to Sapa. What they try to prevent you from doing, is walking 200 m to the local bus station to buy your own ticket for half the price. One tout told us that the bus station had closed, and the other told us that it was 5 km away. Of course at 5:30 a.m. most people don't really feel like exploring the dark streets to find the local bus station in order to save less than 1 U.S dollar. Yann and I did though! Actually, we waited for the sun to rise so that we could walk to the only ATM in town to get money before we got to Sapa. We walked the 3 km to the ATM (with a few emergency bathroom stops for me) and back to the local bus station where we haggled to get the local price for our bus to Sapa. We didn't get the local price, but we did get a cheaper price than the minibus, so we were somewhat content. We arrived in Sapa at around 10 a.m. 42 hours after we had left Vientiane. By then I was going to the bathroom every few minutes, having difficulty retaining even water. I went to bed and slept for 24 hours while Yann explored Sapa.
We spent 3 days in Sapa, renting a motorbike and running away from handicraft sellers. When we arrived back in Hanoi we had an e-mail from our friend who we met on the train from Vinh. She had invited us for dinner that very night. She came into downtown Hanoi with her friend, and we motorbiked out to her home in the outskirts of Hanoi. She had prepared a veritable feast complete with springrolls, beef, fish, veggies, soup... She had also invited her family members and friends. We ate and drank beer and were welcomed like old friends. We had a wonderful time and felt that we had disproved all the backpackers who said that the Vietnamese weren't welcoming.
Despite popular opinion, we couldn't pass up Vietnam of all places! We bought a bus ticket from our Vientiane hostel, that would take us over the border to Vinh, Vietnam. The bus ride is commonly referred to as the "bus ride from hell" but we couldn't seem to find any other (cheap) way of getting to Vietnam. After an early dinner we waited outside our hostel for our "free pick-up" to arrive. It showed up 45 minutes late and dropped us off at the local bus station, confirming our suspicion that we could have bought the tickets ourselves.
The first sign of trouble was the agressive bus drivers (there were three of them) along with some lunatic woman who hurried us to the seats in the back of the bus where they had piled all their rice sacks, chairs, luggage... (to give themselves some leg room). Thankfully Yann objected and grabbed us comfortable seats at the front that were being reserved for the possibility thatVietnamese passengers might arrive. Meanwhile the lunatic woman yelled and paced back and forth through the aisle, for really no apparent reason. Yann quickly befriended the two men sitting next to us: two Vietnamese monks returning from a pilgrimage through Thailand, Burma and Laos. Despite his terrible English, the younger of the two monks, 39 years old, (who I will refer to as young monk) was extremely eager to talk to Yann. Actually I think young monk fell in love with Yann. We had our first ally.
After multiple long, dragged out stops, where the bus drivers and their entourage would pig out while we were overcharged for a bottle of water, we arrived at a large restaurant. By this time it was past 2 a.m. and we got off the bus to stretch and pee then the foreigners (about half the bus) loaded back onto the bus, to eagerly continue the trip. About 15 minutes later, someone noticed that the restaurant doors were closed, all the lights were off, and the bus drivers and company had all dissapeared. Any locals still remaining in the bus had reclined their seats and were sleeping. After some laughing and worrying, we concluded we were sitting near the Lao border waiting for it to open. Our bus crew was sleeping in the restaurant (and hotel, so we learned) while we attempted to sleep in the bus. Its important to note that we were now considerably high up in the mountains and it was damn cold. Most of us were still dressed for Vientiane weather. Despite the cold we might have been able to sleep, if it weren't for the pair of drunk, loud, rude Vietnamese guys behind us, who had opted not to pay for a hotel room (we were never given the option). I wont even get into how much they were assholes, its frustrating just writing about it.
By 6 a.m. our monks had joined us, and young monk seemed sad to learn that we had spent the night in the bus. (This didn't stop him from describing his thick warm blankets in considerable detail for someone who can't speak English) He pulled out his bag of offerings that he had collected on his trip and began to feed us. He handed me handfulls of cookies, cakes, fruits and when I enthousiastically thanked him he got serious expression on his face "No! It's for Yann!". He spent the rest of the morning singing to Yann or sending him loving glances.
We joined a queue of other buses crossing the border into Vietnam. All the passengers rushed to the immigration office to get our passports stamped by the Lao authorities. The Lao stamping process involves hundreds of people forcing their way to a small glass window and throwing their passports through the slit. Passports are handed from the back and forced towards the front as people yell and push, the most ridiculous line I heard was "please, let me through, I only have one". To get your passport stamped a little bit quicker, you can throw it towards the window with 10,000 kip in it. The scene is absolutely chaotic, Yann sat in the lounge watching tv and left me with the two passports. Young monk similarly sat down and let old monk (60+) get their stamps. The Vietnamese stamping process was slightly less chaotic, but equally annoying, as the border guards demanded "fees" from each foreigner.
By the time everyone on our bus had gone through the stamping process, more than two hours had passed. Seventeen hours after our departure we arrived in Vinh and were dumped on the side of the highway as the rest of the passengers continued their ride to Hanoi. We were greeted by the Vinh motorbike touts, eagerly awaiting us. Since we had no idea where we were, it was pretty hard to negotiate a price for a ride anywhere, so we continuously brushed them off as they tried to offer us rides on their motos. We decided we wanted to head to the train station to book tickets to Hanoi for the next day. They offered us a ride there for 30,000 dong each, which seemed high, even though we were untrained in dealing with Vietnamese dongs (not the motorbike drivers, the currency!). After following us down the street for five minutes or so, they agreed to drive us to the train station that was "very very far" for 10,000 each. Meanwhile we watched the other couple that had been dropped off in Vinh get into a taxi, also heading to the train station. We agreed to the motorbike rides. I was scared, I had never been on a motorbike before and I had my heavy backpack pulling me backwards. I had remembered my aunt Marie-Ange telling me that she had burnt her leg the first time she rode on a motorbike, so instead of putting my feet on the foot rests (which I couldn't find anyways) I stuck my legs out beside me as far as I could manage. I balanced precariously with only my crotch supporting all my weight on the seat. When we got to the train station about 5 minutes later, we got out our 20,000 to pay, and surprise surprise, the drivers accused us of cheating them out of another 20,000 "that we had agreed upon". We stood our ground despite one of the drivers pushing Yann and making a big scene. We turned our back to them and walked into the train station gates. Neither of them followed, the intimidation routine hadn't worked this time.Not feeling so keen anymore about staying in Vinh, we booked a train ticket to Hanoi, a six hour ride. Three hours later we embarked on to the Reunification Express, the train linking Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh city. A brand new train with television sets, confortable seats, and even an on board meal included in the price of the ticket. At the train station we met a young woman from Hanoi who was keen to talk to us and spent a good part of the train ride in our cabin. Before parting ways in Hanoi, she gave us her phone number and made us promise to come over to her place for dinner while we were in Hanoi.
The train pulled into Hanoi in the evening and we still wanted to get to Sapa in North Western Vietnam. Our train from Vinh pulled in right as the train to Sapa was leaving. Instead of going to the ticket counter, we were ushered suspiciously to the Sapa train where we could "purchase tickets" from the train attendants. For the price of a first class ticket (which would not have purchased), we were each led to an attendants private cabin. By passing up their bed they can make a quick 250,000 dong each. Although our beds were comfortable and quiet, we slept uneasily, wondering if they would charge us more upon arriving in Sapa. They made some kind of attempt to charge Yann more, but they had written the price in our notebook, so they didn't make too much of a fuss.The rail line doesn't actually bring you all the way to Sapa, only to Lao Cai. From Lao Cai, there is still a one hour mini-bus ride to Sapa. As you get off the train, dozens of tourist minibuses await, ready to sell you a ticket to Sapa. What they try to prevent you from doing, is walking 200 m to the local bus station to buy your own ticket for half the price. One tout told us that the bus station had closed, and the other told us that it was 5 km away. Of course at 5:30 a.m. most people don't really feel like exploring the dark streets to find the local bus station in order to save less than 1 U.S dollar. Yann and I did though! Actually, we waited for the sun to rise so that we could walk to the only ATM in town to get money before we got to Sapa. We walked the 3 km to the ATM (with a few emergency bathroom stops for me) and back to the local bus station where we haggled to get the local price for our bus to Sapa. We didn't get the local price, but we did get a cheaper price than the minibus, so we were somewhat content. We arrived in Sapa at around 10 a.m. 42 hours after we had left Vientiane. By then I was going to the bathroom every few minutes, having difficulty retaining even water. I went to bed and slept for 24 hours while Yann explored Sapa.
We spent 3 days in Sapa, renting a motorbike and running away from handicraft sellers. When we arrived back in Hanoi we had an e-mail from our friend who we met on the train from Vinh. She had invited us for dinner that very night. She came into downtown Hanoi with her friend, and we motorbiked out to her home in the outskirts of Hanoi. She had prepared a veritable feast complete with springrolls, beef, fish, veggies, soup... She had also invited her family members and friends. We ate and drank beer and were welcomed like old friends. We had a wonderful time and felt that we had disproved all the backpackers who said that the Vietnamese weren't welcoming.
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