For our final day in Hanoi, and Vietnam, we had no plans. Since our onward flight was going to be just after midnight tonight we had booked the room for two nights, allowing us to stay here until we had to leave for the airport. After a bit of a sleep in, and a slow breakfast at the hotel we walked to the Ho Chi Minh Museum complex which, we had read, contained a mausoleum with Uncle Ho’s preserved body, a large museum, a presidential palace, and the traditional stilt house that Ho Chi Minh used to live in.
To put it bluntly, the mausoleum was closed, the grounds were confusing to navigate, and the museum was disorganized and it was very hard to understand whatever story they were trying to tell. So we didn’t get much out of it. I was quite looking forward to learning more about Uncle Ho, so I was disappointed. It was sort of like finding a large box labelled “Ho Cho Minh”, dumping its muddled contents of letters, mementos, photos, and items of interest onto a flat table and picking through it.
During the walk back Magnus spotted an Apple store (they should maybe call them “Rotten Apple” stores because I have a feeling they are not exactly bonafide) so we went over to see if they could change the battery on his phone, which had been acting up. When we walked in there were two older Vietnamese gents sitting at a table near the entrance, eating and drinking, and one of them gave me a nod on the way in. Magnus didn’t have any luck with the battery, so we left, but on the way out the man held up a bottle of…something, and called me over. With eyebrows raised and a mischievous grin, he motioned to the bottle and empty glass, and I indicated my interest. He poured me a glassful, passed it over, and motioned that this was a “one shot” drink so I tipped it back and was hit with the unmistakable heat of a homegrown hooch, rapidly warming my interior temperature to match that of the exterior. It must have been a fortified rice wine, because it had the same flavor, but was much stronger than the ones I’ve tasted in the past. I could feel it burning out every germ in my body and marinating my internal organs. The old man was smiling from ear to ear, so I gave him a huge smile back, said thanks with my words, eyes and hands, and left, probably never to meet again, but happy that on our final day here, I was yet again overwhelmed with the generosity, kindness and spirit of the Vietnamese people.
Which brings me to some final thoughts on Vietnam.
If somebody who had never been to the region asked me which was the best country to visit in SE Asia, I would recommend Vietnam. Before this trip, I probably would have answered that question with Thailand, but after spending three weeks here I would have to say that Vietnam has nearly everything Thailand has to offer, and then some. Now if that same person asked me which countries in SE Asia they should skip, I would say none of them, because they are all amazing in their own ways. But for an introduction to the incredible sights, sounds and smells of the region, and a rich overall experience, Vietnam is the place to go. Now, saying this, we have yet to visit Indonesia and the Borneo island of Brunei and eastern Malaysia, and Papua, New Guinea, but those are the only major remaining gaps for us in this part of the world.
I also loved Cambodia. A lot. The people were just as kind, humble and friendly as those in Vietnam, and their country too has been through terrible times. But as far as tourist infrastructure goes, it is well behind where Vietnam is at, making it a little more difficult to digest and comprehend. One of my favourite spots along the way was Baddambang, because here we saw a place that could be on the cusp of a great tourist influx, but is still relatively unaffected by tourism. We experienced everyday people out enjoying their city and loving life and it really made me think about what elements of that vibrancy and spirit could be adapted to our community at home. But Cambodia had its issues – it was very dirty, pollution was bad, there were stray dogs and cats everywhere, and it was a little rough around the edges; but I hadn’t realized any of these things until we visited Vietnam.
One of the most rewarding aspects of travel for me is when I get home and meet people from the countries we have visited. When you can say you have visited somebody’s country, and even city, their eyes light up and you can just see the pride and memories swelling. It gives you an instant and personal connection you would otherwise not have. This is one of the joys of travel that benefit you long after the trip is over; in fact, for your whole life.
Over dinner we discussed our favourite places in Vietnam. The kids surprised us when they both said Dalat was their favourite, simply because we found it to be such a strange place. But they really liked being able to walk around outside, during the day, without feeling like you were being grilled like a chunk of tenderloin. And that weasel poo coffee really made an impact! But as a group, we decided that Nha Trang was the Olson family’s favourite town because it has all the things we love – especially that huge, luscious beach. But also the 50 cent beers, the great food, the Vinpearl Land theme park, the night market, and the great diving and watersports.
In a few short hours, we fly to the Philippines.
As I was slowly regaining consciousness after a dreamless sleep, the first thing I recognized was the sound of the air conditioner turning off – the best alarm clock available in these parts. Yes, I slept right through the 6 am sunrise experience and tai chi lessons, but it was a late night and there was a lot of beer for the system to process, so the sleep was definitely required.
The day was cloudy and completely overcast and there was a slight drizzle, with thick, dark clouds threatening nearby. We went up to the restaurant for breakfast, consisting of noodles, rice and fruit, and then met down at the dingy for some morning kayaking. Only about half of the guests decided to take in the kayaking, so we motored over to a nearby bay where there was a “kayaking centre” - huge, floating dock, dozens of kayaks, paddles and lifejackets, and a fully staffed operation. It did not take long for us to get our kayaks – Stella and I went together in a double kayak and Ana and Magnus joined up in another.
The site itself was a hong – very similar to some of the ones we explored in Thailand. This one had a large cave-like entrance that we paddled through, which then opened up into a huge, secluded bay, perfect for the hundred or so kayaks gliding through the water. It was fun, but not quite the same as paddling off your own catamaran. How spoiled are we?? Besides the kayaks there were also these large rowboats that fit about 12 people and were being rowed by the Vietnamese guides. It looked like this was primarily for the older clients – likely those traveling in the five level luxury steamers with thick wallets and thin biceps.
We paddled for about 45 minutes and then returned to the boat, and as we were leaving we nearly got smoked by another boat. The other driver had taken off at full speed, swerving wildly, and didn’t check to see if there was anybody else around him. This technique the Vietnamese use so efficiently for driving scooters in the city works fine because the overall speed of traffic is so low, but on the water it is treacherous because they are able to drive much faster. I am sure there are crashes out here all the time.
Back on the boat we were directed to gather up all of our things and vacate the cabins by 9:30 am to give the staff time to prepare them for the next group. We did so and returned to the restaurant where we chatted with the other guests, played cards, and watched the weather outside get progressively more and more rainy, until it was a total downpour. Some of the guests on our boat had actually paid for a 3 day, 2 night cruise, but David gave them the bad news that the second part of their trip was going to get cancelled because of the weather. When the weather gets bad the coast guard does not allow the tourist boats to go out into the bay, so those folks affected were trying to figure out what do to instead.
Before long it was time for lunch, so this time we sat with all the kids while Kiran and Aisha sat with the French girls and a couple of Aussies. The kids were all having so much fun together and the English boys were so polite and well spoken. Magnus had been teaching them the Magic card game throughout the trip so I could tell he was so happy to finally have somebody that actually wanted to play the game with him.
Our waiter brought out some vegetables and a tasty looking meat dish and I asked him what it was, to which he replied, “Pork.” Amar, the older bay, looked over to his dad and Kiran gave him the thumbs down, so I assumed they didn’t eat pork. Amar told his younger brother Kamil and Kamil said, “What? We can’t eat it? But I love pork, it’s my favourite food!”
The boys started eating the vegetables and rice, but then the waiter brought over another very tasty looking meat dish – pork ribs. We gave the kids the bad news. Amar looked to his dad and said, “Pork again Daddy, can we eat it?”
Kiran said, “OK, go ahead, since there’s nothing else available.”
The boys dug into the pork and started munching away. Kamil had a few bites and then announced, “I hate pork.” We started laughing.
The waiter then brought out a third unexpected meat dish, and this one was chicken! There was great happiness around the table and the two lads dug in. I must say, I was so impressed with this short episode. Their family did not eat pork, but when they were faced with no other options, dad let the kids have some, so that they could enjoy the meal with the rest of their new friends. This to me is the essence of being a great traveler – being flexible in the face of limited options, or options that you would not normally choose. This is why I can’t imagine how a person with strict food requirements, such as being a vegan, or having food allergies, would be able to handle a place like this, where your food choices are simply not as flexible as you would have at home, and the preparation standards are completely out of your control. This could make a trip truly miserable, but I suppose in the face of such challenges, one would either have to bend one’s rules, or else suffer through it. Or else stay home, and that would be a bloody shame.
As we ate our lunch the boat worked its way through the clear, blue waters, passing by these unlikely limestone structures, sometimes so close that it seemed you could reach out the window and drag your knuckles across the grey surfaces. It was too bad that the rain would not let up, as it would have been a remarkable view from the top of the boat.
Before long we were back at the harbor and waiting for our bus to arrive. The kids were busy catching crabs on the shoreline while we waited, inhaling air that was thick with humidity and diesel vapors, talking with our English buddies. We had learned that Kiran’s family was from India and Aisha’s was from Nigeria so they were telling us all about their customs, family links, travels and so on. We were discovering that we had a lot in common, and therefore had plenty to talk about.
The bus ride back to Hanoi went quickly, as we chatted with our buds the whole way, and the kids played cards in the back seat of the bus, which they had commandeered as it gave them the greatest possible playing space. We stopped for a break at yet another giant tourist centre, and this one was selling living room sets that looked as if they were heisted from a royal palace somewhere – carved from a single tree, elaborate, regal, and layered with a hundred coats of varnish. As much as I loved the chairs, they probably weighed four hundred pounds each, so they were just not a backpacker-friendly souvenir.
After saying goodbye to the rest of the passengers, and making plans to meet up with our friends for dinner, we were dropped off at the hotel Indochina Queen 2, deep in the heart of the Old Quarter. Our room was massive – it was actually two rooms separated by a door, and each room had two queen beds and its own tv and air conditioner. We exploded our stuff all over the room and had a nice long chill out session. We weren’t meeting our friends until 9 pm for dinner, but we were getting pretty hungry so I went out and secured some snacks. – four noodle bowls, one hot dog on a stick decorated with a line of chili sauce and a line of ketchup, and finally one of those fancy white buns with a salty duck egg inside, all purchased at the local mini mart for about five bucks.
We went back out into the heat and it hit us like a nuclear blast wave, instantly drawing the sweat from our bodies and soaking our previously AC-dried shirts and shorts. This is one hot city, man.
When I had described the rendezvous point to our friends as being at the north end of the lake, in a huge, tranquil area gated off for pedestrian use only, I didn’t expect that the pedestrian-only arrangement was done only on the weekends, so we arrived to a chaotic mess of traffic, making it look quite unlike anything I had described. Nevertheless, we found each other, and sat down to a lovely and leisurely meal, fueled by cold beer, rum and apple juice, and excellent conversation. After our meal we walked over to a coffee shop for a nightcap and squeezed in one more drink before the midnight close-up. As we were finishing, we were suddenly hit by a cold wind and then the heavens opened and gave Hanoi a well needed dousing. But like I have said, since you’re soaked with perspiration already, the rain doesn’t make much of a difference, and is always welcome since it brings down the temperature and gives your clothes a fresh water rinse.
We said goodbye to our friends, as we weren’t going to see them again, but we exchanged information with mutual promises of a visit sometime in the future. Since we are so overdue for a trip to London, I think it may happen sooner than we think, but time will tell.
After enjoying a very good breakfast at the hotel, the tour bus collected us promptly at 8 am and we were off on our adventure to Halong Bay. This region is known as Vietnam’s greatest showpiece, so we were very excited to be finishing up our unforgettable Vietnam explorations here. We chose a company called Apricot Tours and would be going on a two day, one night trip.
The bus trip took nearly four hours, which included a 30 minute rest stop at this giant, overpriced tourist gift shop, which had surprisingly clean bathrooms. Similar to the caves, this trip is one that nearly every visitor to Vietnam will take, so we had no preconceptions that it would be quaint or otherwise non-touristy, so I think we were ready for it. During the ride the tour guide David had each of us introduce ourselves to the group, which was a pretty good idea as we would be spending the next 24 hours with each other. There was one large group of Australians, two separate groups of Spaniards, an English couple with two young kids and a Dutch family with two teenage kids. They seemed like a very interesting lot.
The bus pulled into the port area and rather than the dozens of huge ships I was expecting, there were hundreds. In fact, the tour guide would later tell me that there are about 600 tourist and support boats in Halong Bay. So why is this bay so special? Well, it is because of the nearly 2,000 limestone islands that decorate the bay and provide for such stunning scenery that is so otherworldly it barely looks real. Most of the islands are covered in thick jungle, and many have hongs and huge caves. The bay has been a UNESCO world heritage site since 1994.
We were loaded into a small boat, given lifejackets, and told we would be ferrying out to our ship. The variety of boats in the harbor was remarkable, from five story luxury cruise ships to worm-eaten wooden beasts that looked in imminent danger of sinking. Ours was somewhere in the middle of the quality scale with one level containing cabins, a second level that held the restaurant and crew quarters, and the open top floor of the boat which had a lovely bar, loungers, and a dance floor of sorts.
The crew directed us to our cabin and, besides being beautifully furnished and decorated, it was much larger than we expected, with two queen sized beds and a huge bathroom. And instead of a musty, mouldy boat smell there was an exotic hint of cinnamon in the air and a sweet air conditioning unit in one corner that we were told would kick in at 7 pm and run until the morning.
We pulled anchor and we were away. All of the guests were seated in the restaurant enjoying welcome drinks as the bar staff started serving lunch. We were so consumed with meeting the other passengers and enjoying our lunch that we hardly noticed the scenery around us until we were well into the bay and nearly surrounded by the jagged shards of limestone reaching up to the sky. I finished up lunch and went up to the top deck to have a better look. What I saw was a real life armada of ships headed for the same narrow entrance to a bay, and the captains of the dozens of vessels that surrounded us were driving their boats just like they drive their scooters in Hanoi – cutting others off, driving too fast, and following no particular rules of the water.
The crew got us anchored in a giant, sheltered bay, in the company of many other boats. Our tour guide David told us to get our swimsuits ready as we were going to be first visiting the largest cave on Halong Bay and then the beach for a swim. So we gathered our things and piled into the “dingy” which was a wooden vessel that carried at least 25 people and was towed behind the ship. The helmsmen piloted us a short ways over to a large dock and let us off. Here we found a small ticket booth where our guide purchased tickets for everybody and then we started ascending the stairs, but we couldn’t go too fast because it was jammed with people. As expected, this was a very, very busy place with hundreds of tourists everywhere you looked, and that mid-afternoon sun was baking them all like gingerbread cookies.
The cave was enormous, and after we walked through it we were actually feeling a twinge of regret at doing the big cave tour at Son Trach, as this cave was just as impressive. Towards the end of the cave there was a series of steep staircases that led outside, and it seemed that the temperature went up by half a degree with every step I took. There was one older Dutch man who was sweating buckets, swaying from side to side, and eventually collapsed on the stairs, completely overwhelmed by the heat and strain. I ran back down and helped him climb up the stairs safely. He thanked me profusely for saving his life, and immediately wrote me into his will as a token of his gratitude. He was, of course, a billionaire so my retirement may come earlier than expected.
The boat picked us up and shuttled us over to the one and only beach in the area, but it was a little hard to see the sand for all of the touristos on it. The four of us found a small patch of beach to leave our bag and towels and we jumped in for a cool, invigorating swim, which was actually a hot, mildly refreshing swim as the water temperature was that of an autumn hot tub. But it still felt great.
After our allotted 60 minutes we returned to the rendezvous point and awaited our dingy chauffeur. By now we had gotten to know a few of our fellow passengers, specifically the English family – Kieran, Aisha and their 7 and 9 year old boys Kamil and Amar. It looked like Magnus may have finally found somebody to play Magic the Gathering with him so we were all thrilled.
Back at the boat, it was happy hour so I grabbed a cigar, fired it up, scored a cold Bia Hanoi and got comfortable on the top deck. I spent some time talking to the group of Aussies and then met two other boys who turned out to be Canadian – one from Calgary and the other from Quebec City. They were there for a quick holiday before continuing onto Taiwan for a badminton tournament, as they were pretty skilled with the birdies.
More and more passengers started to gather and soon the top deck was full of people drinking, laughing, and taking photos of the sun setting over the mountain tops. The view from the deck was extraordinary, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees, making it much more comfortable. Ana was feeling so good she took advantage of happy hour and ordered three cocktails for the price of two. That Ana - always a value shopper.
When the dinner call came, I was surprised because I thought we had already eaten – those Hanoi beers were clearly playing tricks on my mind. So we pulled ourselves away from the bar and got settled in the restaurant. Ana and I sat with the Dutch family while our new English friends took one for the team and sat with the four children, amidst all the Magic cards spread out on the table. The food was excellent, company was amiable, and conversation was stimulating. The happy hour wobbly-pops had lubricated the social situation, so we were all getting to know each other a little better. After dinner we hung out with our new English buds and then the Spanish contingent, practicing our Spanish and hearing a lot about Barcelona. While we were speaking the Espanol, the kids were fishing for squid off the back of the boat, and one of the young English lads actually caught one!
The night finished up how it should on 24 hour power trips such as this – dancing to Latin music with Spaniards on top of the boat!
Our sleep was shattered at 4:45 am by a shrill, earsplitting air raid siren that screamed forth from the loudspeakers on the train. We leaped out of bed, expecting something horrible was underway, and then realized that this was just their way of broadcasting a friendly wake-up call as we were nearing the Hanoi terminus. The siren was silenced, which was a relief, but then it was immediately replaced by a high-treble Vietnamese folk song whose only lyric I could make out was the word “Hanoi”, and it was repeated endlessly. Again, it felt like this was a throwback to the days of torturing American POWs and I sure felt sorry for those poor dudes.
As we exited the train we were accosted by an army of taxi drivers, all vying for our attention and our business for that all-important first cab ride in a new city, where you are virtually guaranteed to get ripped off, no matter how much research you have done. We had a few of them offer us fixed rates, and then decided on one guy that had a metered taxi so seemed like a good bet. As we drove through the city he was particularly chatting, asking us about our kids, where we were from, telling us all about this family, and as he chattered on I noticed that, at some point during the trip, his taxi id card had been strategically positioned to obscure the price on the meter. I slid it over and saw that we were already up to 150,000 dong, which is twice as much as we’d paid anywhere else for any length of cab ride. The final meter settled on over 250,000 so he obviously had some sort of acceleration device on the meter. I fought with him for a while then finally gave him 200,000, throwing in the towel. It was still not much money, but it just never feels good getting ripped off. But like I always say, we just consider it a “tourist tax”, forget about it and move on.
We stepped into the hotel Muong Thanh and the lobby was choc-a-block with parked scooters, so many that we could barely walk through. The receptionist was sleeping soundly on the couch so we had to wake him up so that he could help us get sorted with a room, which he did, and then immediately went back to sleep.
After getting settled in our room and cleaned up we went out and found a breakfast place and had a decent feed and then went out to explore the area. We were staying in the Old Quarter part of the city, where virtually all of the hotels and tourist infrastructure is located. Streets are narrow, densely packed with buildings, and hidden alleyways seemed to be everywhere you looked, if you looked closely enough. There were not a lot of what I’d call western style restaurants and bars - most of them were local places, with the tiniest plastic tables and chairs, built for slim backsides and best for those shorter in stature.
We began walking, blindly. I was thinking we’d head towards the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum, but we ended up going in the completely opposite direction, but at this early stage of the game that was okay, as the goal was simply to get oriented with the city. I spotted an art gallery across one street, so I walked over there while Ana and the kids were in a shop. It was a stark, open concept building with concrete floors and walls and had a dozen or so large paintings on easels. As I was looking at one painting, I heard the noise of an engine, and a man with a smoke hanging defiantly out of his mouth burst out of a backroom riding a scooter, headed for the door. He whizzed by me, leaving an odourous trail of gasoline fumes and tobacco exhaust and blasted out the front door, turned left, and disappeared down the street. That has never before happened to me in an art gallery.
We continued walking and came across a lake and, surprisingly, the entire area around the lake was blocked off for pedestrian traffic only, which was a very strange and wonderful feeling, being able to walk down the middle of the street without scooters bearing down on you from behind, from in front and edging in at your sides. We browsed at a couple of bookstores that had reasonably good English sections, and the kids found a place where they were renting hoverboaards, so they got one to try out for twenty minutes. Standing here watching the kids, with a lovely lake in the backgrounds, and no motor vehicles lent a luxurious sort of urban tranquility that we didn’t feel in Saigon. Hanoi had won us over.
The street led us to the Opera House, where there was a troupe of uniformed beauty girls taking photos of each other on the grand steps. Continuing past here we found a large History Museum, and I was tempted to enter but the rest of the gang was not too keen so we decided to give it a pass. Just down the street was one of those street barbers I was searching for a few days ago, and I asked Magnus if he wanted to stop for a haircut.
“Dad, look at the guy. He is bald and has a bandage wrapped around his head. I don’t trust him,” he said.
“Good point my man!” I replied, “And I think he also has a few shaving cuts.”
Shortly after that we passed a short Vietnamese lady who gave us a gigantic, happy smile. She was obviously a fan of the betel nut as her teeth and lips were stained red, giving her a ferocious look. This spawned a new song, “Betel Nut Smile” and Magnus immediately started humming a tune and spitting out some fantastic, burgundy lyrics.
Our walk took us in a large loop and we soon found ourselves back at the lake, where we claimed a bench and sat down for a little break. There was a row of artists seated near us, and a man and his daughter approached one of them and made a deal. The girl sat down on a chair while the artist readied his drawing materials and went to work. I stood there watching this skilled young man first draw her eyes, and then her nose, and then shaded in her face and hair, and in less than 15 minutes had created an incredible portrait of her. I was sold, so I asked the kids if they were okay sitting for a portrait, and they agreed so I paid the man and he got to work. By this time quite a crowd had gathered, so the kids had a lot of onlookers. The portraits turned out fantastic and I think will be the most valuable souvenirs we bring back to Canada.
Up until this point of the trip we hadn’t touched any fast food, but today it was time to test out the local fast food franchise called Lotteria that we’d seen in many other places in Vietnam. We ordered burgers and fries and it was…okay. Yes, we could have gone for a delicious local pho, but visiting the Lotteria was a cultural experience in itself - seeing what the locals were eating, watching the teenagers goofing around, and observing the raunchy music videos playing on the giant screen.
Despite the overcast day, which was a glorious break from the sun, we were still getting overheated so we went back to the hotel for an afternoon cool down session and that blast of AC really hit the spot. Around 5 pm we went back out for the evening and the streets were wild with activity. We walked north this time into the commercial area of the Old Quarter and found streets densely packed with vendors selling everything from toys, to ceramics, to fabric, to spices, to musical instruments. Here, the traffic was insane. Besides scooters, there were women with wide Vietnamese hats, local men with their shirts pulled up, exposing their bellies, and plenty of blindly wandering tourists filling the available space between vehicles. The sidewalks were so jammed with parked scooters that it was difficult to find a place to walk, so you had to alternate between the available sidewalk space and the crazy street. But, like elsewhere in Vietnam, you just move slowly, don’t make any sudden moves, and the traffic will (just barely) flow around you.
The chaos eventually became too much, so we went back towards the northern end of the lake where there was a huge pedestrian area and – guess what – more hoverboard rentals, except these ones had been rigged up with a seat and side handles to drive them around like go-carts. It looked like a lot more fun than standing on them. The kids each rented one and went racing around the area, threading their way between the tourist targets. Actually, Magnus was doing that – Stella was just moving at low speeds, trying to get the hang of the controls, but she is no speed demon and was probably too scared she would smash into somebody.
By this time we were getting pretty hungry and thirsty, but we hadn’t seen much for restaurants in our wanderings so far. There were a number of local places, where the food looked great, but it was just so stinking hot outside that we wanted to find somewhere with AC, or at least some fans, so we wandered around for a while and finally found a street with several venues which fit the bill. We chose one, went upstairs, and soon I had a frosty Bia Hanoi in front of me, a fan blowing behind me, and I was in my happy place. But it got better when they dropped a steaming hot “bun cha” in front of me, which I spiced up with the leftover chilies from Magnus’s pho. My dish was similar to a pho, but instead had five little mini, spicy hamburgers floating around in the slightly fishy broth, and of course, a load of basil and lettuce packed in, soaking up the delicious juice.
Although it was only about 9 pm, the big dinner and oppressive heat had really done us in, so our imagined night of partying late into the early hours and making the most of the Hanoi nightlife was abandoned in favour of an easy evening relaxing in a nice, cool hotel room.
Today was cave day. The day tour would take us 50 kilometres north-west to the town of Son Track and the Phong Nha-Ke Bang national park where several caves are open to the public. The largest cave in the world was discovered in this park just a few years ago and was recently opened to a very small number of people per year (I think about 300) and is extremely expensive. The ones we would be visiting have been open for at least a decade and draw a huge number of tourists every year.
The bus picked us up at the hotel, and then picked up several others and we were off. One of the other passengers was a girl named Anna from South Korea. In fact she lived in the Gangnam area of Seoul, and if that neighborhood name has a funny ring to it, it should. Oppa is Gangnam Style! We asked her to demonstrate the dance, but she said we were probably better at it than she was. We had an excellent chat with her and she told us all about South Korea, its relationship with the north, the various dialects in the country, insane housing prices and so on. She had quit her job as an engineer for a semi-conductor manufacturing company as her workaholic tendencies were causing her health issues. She was taking six months to travel the world as a solo female backpacker. I was so impressed by this girl, having the courage to quit a job that paid a lot, but was slowly killing her, and heading out in the world for a life reset.
We arrived at the first stop for the day which was called Paradise Cave. I had a bad feeling when I saw dozens of tourist busses in front of the entrance, and my bad feeling was confirmed when we went in and were stuck behind a huge pack of tourists. This is the problem with going to the “can’t miss” sites of a country – everybody else is there too. We waited our turn and then were driven a mile or so in a golf cart, and then dropped off and told to start walking up a series of pathways. It was actually a fairly beefy walk and my calves were shrieking by the end of it. On top we hit a huge wall of tourists so had to wait patiently to get into the cave. It wasn’t too bad standing in line though, as there was a strong, cool breeze wafting out from the cave entrance.
The cave was massive. We walked for one kilometer into the cave, but the entire thing ran for about 35 kilometres in total. The thousands of tourists spread out nicely on the wooden pathways, giving us some room to walk and take photos. It’s pretty pointless to describe a cave, so let’s just say there were plenty of stalactites, stalagmites, columns, bizarre shapes and dripping walls, and it was all supersized, in fact much, much larger than all of the caves we have been to in the past. I must say, they did a remarkable job building the stairs and pathways into the cave as it was able to handle a huge quantity of people, but kept them away from the actual structures so they weren’t poking and stroking every surface.
After this tour we were driven to a restaurant for lunch with many other tourists. We had some decent food and a bit of a break from the heat, but were soon back into the second half of the day. We were led down to a river and put on a boat, which started motoring its way slowly up the river, passing by water buffalo grazing on the banks, naked children swimming in the water, and fishermen tending to their nets. We reached the entrance to the Phong Nha cave and were surprised to see that a major branch of the river flowed directly into it, or perhaps from it. The boat motored up and into the cave and then the driver cut the engine and we floated in. The driver began paddling from the back and his assistant took the bow paddle and slowly moved us deeper into the cave. Although the caverns were not as enormous as the first cave, being able to paddle into it on a boat made it much more interesting. There were plenty of other tourist boats there, but they deftly maneuvered around each other and it was surprisingly quiet in the cave.
We paddled in for one kilometer, at which point the cave ceiling was too low to continue, but we were told that you can take another tour where you strap on head lights and paddle kayaks from this point forward, many more kilometres into the cave. Our pilots turned the boat around and paddled halfway back and then pulled up to shore and let us out to explore the cave. There was fine sand on the floor and we were able get close up to many of the cave structures and take a few pictures, before continuing by land out of the cave and up a hill where we passed by a dozen vendors selling cold drinks, coconut water, ice cream and knick knacks – sort of like the gift shop that every museum exit seems to lead you to.
After hanging around for a while exploring, we got back in the boat and did the return journey all the way back to the hotel, arriving around 5:30 pm, with a bit of time to spare before our 6:45 train departure. We retrieved our bags from the left luggage room at the hotel, had a not-so-thorough sponge bath in the bathroom, and then took a taxi to the train station. We sat down at a local shop just outside of the train station and ordered up a round of noodle bowls, drinks, and a nice cold Huda beer for myself. This was one moment of the trip that I think will stick with me. Sitting in miniature plastic chairs, at a miniature plastic table, with our bags piled up on the street, train station in the background, surrounded by mostly locals, feeling grubby, sweaty and tired, slurping back a spicy noodle bowl, getting ready for an overnight train to our next new destination, where who knows what adventure awaited us. To me, such a perfect image of a typical, unspectacular backpacking moment, and one that I will always remember.
A week previous, we had booked a first class private sleeper cabin with four beds. From the pictures online it looked quite luxurious. In real life, it wasn’t. The sheets were dirty and had hair on them, somebody’s shoes and bag were beneath one of the bunks, there was a full garbage can overflowing, the floor looked like it had never been cleaned, and the pillows smelled moist and suspicious. At first we thought we had the wrong cabin, so I ran out, checked the coach number, and sure enough it was the correct one. Oh well, in cases like this all you can do is make the best of it and call it a travel story. We pulled all the sheets off, shook them out in the hallway, flipped them over and put them back on the beds, and then wiped off all the visibly dirty surfaces, except the floor, which was beyond help. It wouldn’t exactly pass the Portuguese cleanliness test (ie. You feel safe running your tongue across the entire floor) but it would have to do. It made me think back to our conversation with the Henriques about germophobes and what a perfect torture chamber this could be.
We had a couple of games of Uno with the kids, then read for a bit and announced lights out at 10:30. For me, the rumbling of the train was like a tonic, and I immediately lost consciousness.
Today we had no plan. Since we had two nights booked at this hotel, we decided to have a chill out day today and take advantage of the swimming pool, and then do the big caving day trip that we had come to this town for tomorrow.
After a bit of rigmarole (where on earth does that word come from anyway? I must look into that.) at the check in, which involved some negotiation, many hand signals, and a room swap, we finally got settled into a decent room with two beds. This was a very large hotel and seemed to be more of a business hotel as opposed to the smaller inns and guesthouses we’ve typically been staying in. We would discover that everything about this hotel was mediocre; the breakfast was blah, the pool was dirty, the pool deck and chairs were filthy, there was a constant loud noise coming from something outside of the building beside our room, they had ashtrays in the lobby so people felt happy to smoke there and toxify the air, and lastly, the staff just seemed a little sad. But the AC in our room worked well and kept it nice and cool, and that counts for a lot in the oppressive heat.
We decided to take a taxi to the downtown area and start exploring, so we had the driver drop us off right across from one of the main monuments in town – a crumbling bell tower that was one of the few things left standing after the Vietnam War. Dong Hoi was bombed mercilessly by the US and at the end of the bombing there were literally four things left standing in the city – the church tower, one of the town gates, a water tower and a single palm tree. The rest was destroyed and bomb craters peppered the entire city. We would learn later that nothing was rebuilt here for many years after that, and most of what exists in Dong Hoi now was really only constructed in the last fifteen years. Every day we learn something new about this country that just seems unbelievable.
As we did not have a map of Dong Hoi and had no idea where we were going so we just found the busiest street and started walking. The sky was completely clear so the sunshine bore down like a laser on our skin, keeping us hopping from shadow to shadow. The street we chose to explore had nearly nothing of interest, besides Vietnamese signs that sounded really funny in English. I saw one big billboard that said, “My Dung” and just had a picture of a women smiling and winking, so she must have had a real good one. Another sign said, “Hung Low” and I really wanted Ana to take a picture of me standing below it doing a double finger pointer to my crotch, but she gave me the “What are you, 12 years old?” look so I just took the picture myself and I will do some Photoshop magic on it later.
The Olsons were keen to find a place to go for a drink, but there were no restaurants anywhere, and we tried asking a few people but they did not speak a word of English, which gave me the feeling they weren’t too used to tourists in this area. We searched around for a bit, but then gave up and jumped into a cab before the sun turned us into small, creamy puddles on the street. During the drive back we did actually see a couple of restaurants, but by that time we had our minds set on the pool.
We hung out at the pool for a while, lounged in the pool chairs, and enjoyed the overpowering smell of fish that filled the air. We weren’t exactly sure where the smell was coming from, but it was either a nearby fish sauce factory, or maybe the large number of fishing boats we saw at anchor near downtown. We headed back to the room and enjoyed the AC for a while as we read, wrote and watched tv. During that time Ana cleaned her purse, and picked out the three silkworm cocoons that Stella had pocketed from the silkworm farms. One of the cocoons had some strange black stuff on one end and a small hole. Ana kept digging and found a moth that had hatched inside her purse, but suffered a horrible, claustrophobic death by asphyxiation. I guess those tough little worms were still alive after all, working their way through metamorphosis. The remaining two cocoons got reassigned to a ziplock bag at the bottom of my backpack.
At 3 pm we decided we better get the hell out of the room before we all fell asleep or got feeling even less ambitious than we already were, so we grabbed a taxi and had him drop us off at one of the places we saw earlier - the Buffalo Hostel and Bar. We were the only customers there, but it was sort of a weird time of day, so we ordered drinks and lunch and kicked back listening to tunes. We struck up a conversation with one of the waitresses who spoke very good English and had a long, interesting talk with her. She told us all about the history of Dong Hoi, all about her hometown of Hoi An, and also about the relationship between the young people of the north and the south. All very interesting, and a hell of a lot more memorable than anything you might read in a book.
Around 5:30 pm we shoved off and walked back to the hotel, which wasn’t actually that far – maybe 1.5 kilometres – but since the sun was nearly down it was a lot more bearable. As we neared the hotel we discovered the source of that fish smell. There were many people with these buckets of pink stuff, which we discovered on closer inspection, were tiny shrimps. They were mashing the juice out of them and then spreading the mixture out on large fine nets, allowing it to dry. And the fish smell as we passed was so intense, it was nearly hallucinogenic.
The rest of the evening was spent in our room watching Star Wars and eating a nice backpacker dinner of instant noodles, crackers and fruit. I could have felt guilty for having such an uneventful day, but I did not, because days like this on our trip have been very few and it’s kind of nice to have a down day every once in a while.
Remember that movie Good Morning Vietnam when Robin Williams is doing his radio show and pretends to be interviewing a soldier in the field and asks how’s the weather? The soldier says, “It’s hot. Damn hot!” Well that was today in Hue. We left the hotel by shortly after 7 am and it was already ablaze outside. For some strange reason we decided to walk the three kilometres to the site, through the city streets, across a long unsheltered bridge, and then alongside a chaotic, busy, hot main thoroughfare, so by the time we got there we were already overheated and exhausted. But hey, we saved a dollar-fifty on the cab ride!
The Imperial City used to be comprised of well over 150 buildings, but it had been bombed to hell during the Vietnam War so, to be honest, there was comparably not much left to see – perhaps 10 buildings in all. The gigantic walls of the city still stand, as do many of the interior walls of the Citadel, but much of the grounds are sparse and empty, so you need to use your imagination. Of the buildings that are left, some have been restored, and they are quite magnificent – especially the main palace.
We walked around for a while, lurching from shadow to shadow, snapping a few photos, but we didn’t last much longer than 90 minutes before we called it and made our escape. By that time, the crowds were really starting to pack in, and I was nearly trampled by a huge group of over-enthusiastic Chinese tourists. The only really great part of the visit to the Imperial City was that the kids and I made up a new song called “Buddha Everywhere” – a lively, skippity number that is sure to get you dancing.
Since nobody had passed out from heat exhaustion yet, we decided to walk back, and look for a place to buy some shampoo and conditioner for our girls. Ana had been looking for shampoo for three days, and she finally found a decent sized grocery store and mall, so we went in and enjoyed the air conditioning while Ana searched for her hair conditioning. Inside the mall was a large, filthy-looking kids play land complete with greasy, finger-marked glass, torn carpets, busted apparatuses, and a strange smell. I couldn’t read the name of the place, as it written in Chinese for some reason, but I think it said, “Germland”.
Our next mission was to find somewhere to change the Thai baht that we had left over from Thailand into Vietnamese dong. We tried a couple of banks and they wouldn’t do it, but a clerk at one of them directed us to a nearby jewelry store, where they happily changed the money for us, and at a surprisingly great rate. So now that we were flush with cash, we hailed a taxi back to the hotel, spent the 75 cents on the fare, and avoided an unnecessary heat stroke hospitalization episode.
We immediately jumped into the hotel pool and decelerated from our morning adventures. We hung up our sweat-laden clothing on every available lounge chair, all of which dried very quickly in the hot sun. We stayed until our stomachs started demanding food, and then returned to the Hot Tuna restaurant we ate at the previous evening and had another delicious meal.
We still had some time to use up before our scheduled bus pickup, so I decided to go for a haircut. I was looking for one of the iconic street barbers that sets up a chair and mirror in an alley and takes care of your hair, beard, eyebrows, and even earwax all in one sitting. The hotel receptionist directed me to a place a few blocks away so we all marched over there, back in the full sun, and when we arrived I was slightly disturbed to find what looked like a ladies hair salon, so I had my doubts. The young proprietor welcomed me in and told me haircuts were an extravagant 100,000 dong ($5.50) but since we were so bloody hot I couldn’t bear dragging the family around any further so I sat down in the chair and waited for the shears to start snipping. This was no traditional Vietnamese street barber – it was jammed full with mostly female clients and every gay hairdresser in Hue. One of the ladies had six guys at once working on here. It was like a porn video, but without all the sex.
My boy did one pass on my sides, gave me the thumbs up, and I gave him the thumbs down and said, “Shorter.” He shaved the sides and back right down to the wood as my horrified wife looked on. It felt great to me. I never understand why my family gets so worked up about haircuts – even if you get a bad one, you get another chance to fix it in a few weeks. I was quite happy with the results, and definitely will definitely not be in need of a haircut for quite some time, perhaps November.
We still had a bit of time left so the kids negotiated a good rate on leg massages at a spa not far from the hotel, while Ana and I opted for a drink at the backpackers bar. Ana and I never run out of things to talk about so we sat and shared our thoughts on the trip so far, how the kids were enjoying it, and how we thought the Henriques enjoyed their time in SE Asia. We both thought that they would have loved Vietnam, probably more than Cambodia, as it is just further along in its development of tourist infrastructure and is, frankly, a much cleaner place, and still very cheap. But that’s the thing with travel – you simply don’t know about a place until you have been there yourself and experienced it.
We were soon on a bus, and four hours later we were in Dong Hoi. We took a taxi to our hotel, got our rooms sorted and called it a night.
Two weeks from today we will be getting on a airplane to come home, so this morning we decided on what exactly we wanted to do with those remaining two weeks and hammered through a flurry of bookings for hotels, busses, trains, planes and boats. We made a “surprise” decision on how to spend our final week that I am pretty excited about, so let’s just say that these final two weeks are going to be action packed.
We got on the bus around 1:30 pm and four hours later arrived in a city called Hue (pronounced “hway”). We came here for one reason – to see the 150 year old Imperial City, which was the crowning achievement of the Nguyen dynasty, who ruled Vietnam for 11 generations, and were eventually tossed out by the French. We had originally planned two nights here, but on the advice of that Polish girl we met in Dalat who had bought 7 kilos of weasel poo coffee, we knocked it back to one as she said the city itself had nothing of interest beyond this single attraction.
First question – would you take advice from a person who bought 7 kilos of weasel poo coffee? No, I thought not. So why did we? Can’t tell you.
We stepped out of our hotel and walked down the street to find an absolutely electrifying atmosphere. There were tons of young people around, many families, many locals and dozens of cool bars and restaurants. It felt like the greatest Friday night party of the year, and it was only Tuesday. It seemed to have Hoi An’s volume of people, but more of the party atmosphere of Siam Reap. We decided on a place called Hot Tuna for dinner and the meal was extraordinary. In fact, Ana declared her meal to be the best she has eaten on the trip thus far, and that is saying something.
After dinner we did a big walk down to – where else? – the night market. Along the way we passed a couple of huge party bars with female DJs up on stages spinning dance tracks and pumping up the crowd. This town was full of cyclos, which are these two passenger rickshaw type vehicles that a single dude pedals you around on, and we must have had a hundred of them pass by us, 96 of which stopped to ask us if we needed a lift. We found the market and explored it for a while, finding a few small treasures, and then we wandered around and came across an embroidery museum. I wasn’t expecting to like it much, as any sort of sewing-related items or situation takes me on a horror ride in time back to when my mom and grandma used to drag me and my brothers to Fabric Land to pick out clothing patterns and material. We didn’t help with picking out patterns, we usually just beat each other with empty cardboard fabric rollers, but when we got tired of that we just stood there bored out of our minds picking our noses and wiping it on the green fabrics. Just ask Marty or Curtis, and man, they will support me on this one. I have still never recovered from this childhood abuse.
Where was I? Oh yes, the embroidery museum. Well, it was awesome. The craftsmanship was stunning and some of the pieces were ten feet wide by five high, which must have taken months or years to create. All of the embroidery pieces were framed and displayed in an art gallery fashion. There were also other works of art in this gallery, but the embroidery really blew me away.
After here we walked back to the hotel, through the rapidly accelerating street party, and called it a night as we wanted to get off to the Imperial City early tomorrow to beat the heat and the crowds.
I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to take home with me. No, I don’t mean my new beer t-shirts, foot birdie, credit card knife, or the dried lemongrass; what I do mean is what experiences have affected me the most, what knowledge have I acquired, what have I learned about myself, and what ideas can I use to improve things at home. So here are ten of them, in no particular order.
1. I eat too much meat
I remembering learning this lesson the last time we travelled to SE Asia, and I have learned it again. Our diet at home includes way, way too much meat. During the time I’ve spent here I have felt physically better than I ever do at home, and I am sure this has to do primarily with the food I am eating. My intake of meat, cheese and bread has been substantially replaced by noodles, rice, fresh vegetables and fruit. The meals we eat at home are typically a big chunk of meat surrounded by starchy, root vegetables and bread. Here, the base of the meals is rice or noodles with a few scraps of meat, and loads of leafy green vegetables and spices. My digestive system simply seems to run better on this type of diet, so when we get back home I am going to make a concerted effort to cook a little differently at home.
2. The Chinese are coming
Nearly every person we met and spoke to at length commented on how Chinese investors are buying everything. Every city we visited had dozens of skyscrapers and construction everywhere you looked – all driven by Chinese money. Chinese tourists are absolutely everywhere, and they have money to spend – lots of money. One person we met who has a Chinese business partner has learned a lot about how they do business, and says that they are coming to take everything, at any cost, in every country, and will flatten anybody in their way because they are so focused on winning that they are willing to break any rules and do whatever it takes. This may sound a bit dramatic, but I think it is true. Think about it – every little piece of crap we buy at the Dollar Store, or Canadian Tire, or Walmart or 90% of the stores we patronize is putting profit in the hands of the Chinese, because that is where all the goods come from. What do you think happens to that money? Well, they have to invest it somewhere, and they invest it in countries outside of China. The result of this is that there is a massive opportunity for young people to learn more about the Chinese, learn more about Asia, and start building relationships and businesses with people there. No, the answer is not to hate China, ban their goods, and ostracize their people ; rather it’s to learn more about China, develop relationships, and build businesses with them. This shift is inevitable so you can either fight it, or seize the opportunity. The future belongs to Asia.
3. Smiling takes you a long way
Everywhere we go, the locals smile. When you tell them yes, they smile. When you tell them no, they smile. Their disposition is always cheery, and even when things go wrong, they keep on smiling, and that makes such a huge difference. At home, as soon as things go wrong we get pissed off. If a waiter screws up a bill, we get angry. If a retail clerk is having a bad day, they scowl and bark at people. This is a bad way to live. Getting things done is so much easier if you have a happy disposition.
4. I hate the winter
I already knew this one, but this trip has reminded me how much I despise living in a cold place. In these countries, people live their lives outside, on the streets and sidewalks, with their neighbours and friends, and that is why these cities have so much energy and excitement and culture – even on Mondays. In Canada, we spend half of the year bundled up inside, by ourselves, and even when the weather does warm up, the force of habit often keeps us inside by default. Being here reminds me how much I love the heat, and the sunshine, and the ocean, and the beaches. I have tried to enjoy the winter in Canada, but I just can’t do it. It’s too cold. And it seems Canadians just lurch from one cold or flu to another during the winter months which is simply punishing. That doesn’t happen in warm places. There’s not too much I can do about this one at the moment, besides escaping to the Caribbean for winter vacations as much as possible…but in a few years, who knows?
5. Plastic is destroying the world
Throughout this trip, we have left a wretched trail of empty, plastic bottles in our wake. Because you cannot drink the tap water, potable water is served up in plastic. Every hotel leaves three bottles of water per day in your room. When you order water in a restaurant, you get a plastic bottle. Want to fill up your reusable glass bottle? Buy a plastic litre jug of water from the mini-mart, dump it in, and throw the empty plastic bottle in the garbage. A lot of this plastic ends up in the rivers, oceans and beaches, and we’ve seen evidence of that everywhere we have traveled to. In Canada, there is absolutely no reason for anybody to buy or use plastic bottles, since our tap water is perfectly safe. There should be a huge tax put on those stupid things to dissuade people from using them. Also, I want one of my kids to become a scientist inventor and fix this problem for the world.
6. I am young at heart
I still feel like a kid. In fact, when somebody refers to me as a “man” I assume they are talking about somebody else. Several people during this trip have expressed surprise when they found out how old Ana and I are, so I think we must be doing something right. I simply don’t feel like I am very old. Ana and I have so many more places to visit, so much more to see, and so many more things to learn that we’re going to need at least another hundred years to finish it all. But as that is unlikely, we’re going to have to pick up the pace to make sure we get it all done in time.
7. There are not enough tourists in Paris or Brantford
We have run into tourists every place we have visited throughout this trip – millions of them. But I can’t remember the last time I have met an international tourist in Paris or Brantford, or perhaps I never have. Why? Where we live is such a beautiful part of Canada, with so many amazing things to see and do, such friendly people, and it is so easy to get to - why is there nobody there? I’m pretty sure we get backpackers in Canada, and they all can’t be going straight to Banff or Whistler, so why don’t they come to our region? Moreover, backpackers specifically bring a lot to the table - besides spending money on food, drink and activities, they bring a little piece of their homes with them, which is an opportunity for locals to learn about the world outside of where they live and build personal connections with people from all over the world. This is something that benefits everybody and can add a lot of character to a town. So I am announcing the imminent opening of Paris Backpackers…but I’m going to need some help. Anybody interested?
8. I can survive on a Low Information Diet
I regularly live on a high information diet. When I wake up I read the news in the local paper. On the way to work I listen to the news on the radio. When I get to work I check Google news again. At lunch I go to the gym and listen to the Economist news podcasts. During the drive home I again listen to the news on the radio. When I get home Ana and I talk about the news. On the weekends I read Time and The Atlantic news magazines, among others. During this trip I decided to take a break from all of this and enjoy a Low Information Diet. So I did not bring a smart phone, I have not looked at Google news once, I have not read a paper or magazine, and every time Ana’s tried to tell me about something that’s happening in the world anywhere outside of our current two block radius, I tell her to talk to the hand. And guess what? I don’t miss it. Any of it. In fact, I think it is slowly poisoning me and taking up way too much of my time and my limited memory space. Instead of feasting on news, I have been reading novels, writing, and very often just sitting there, looking around, thinking about stuff. So when I get home I am pledging to stick with a low information diet.
9. We are destroying the ocean
I did my initial scuba diving training in Karachi, Pakistan in 1997. My first major diving trip after getting my ticket was to Phuket, Thailand. Those dives I did there changed my life – never before had I imagined that such colour and life could exist in the oceans, and that we could go down there to see it. Twenty years later, a lot of this marine wonderland has been decimated. And there are a lot less fish. The pressure we are putting on the oceans is immense, and at some points during this trip I have wandered through the fish markets and seen the incredible quantities of product they sell, and looked out to the harbor to see hundreds of fishing boats, and boated through waters seeing nets and fishermen all over the place, and wondered how the hell there can possibly be much of anything left in the ocean. I don’t know specifically what I can do to alleviate this problem, besides maybe stop diving and stop eating seafood, but it does make me very sad.
10. Smart phones are turning us into sad, boring, screen zombies
Last night a German family sat at a table next to us. As soon as their asses hit the seats, all three of the kids pulled out devices and headphones and drifted off into another world. The mom and dad sipped their drinks and talked for a while and then pulled out their own phones and started surfing around. When the meals arrived, the kids didn’t even put down their phones – they shoveled food into their mouths with one hand as they held their devices up with the other. One day on the beach we passed four young girls, sitting in beach chairs as the sun was going down over the horizon and all four of them had their faces in their phones, oblivious to nature’s best show happening in front of them. We walked into one bar where there were six young backpackers sitting at a table, all of them consumed with their devices, completely ignoring each other.
I cannot express with words how sad this makes me. When I first started backpacking, everybody talked to each other and it was great, because it was easy making friends anywhere you went. Now, in 2017, you can’t talk to anybody because they are holding a screen up to their face at all times, which acts as a wickedly effective social barrier. This is insane. When you are with another person, or in a group of people, and you are ignoring them in favour of staring at your phone, you are actually communicating something very important. What you are saying to them is, “You are not that important to me. I don’t give a shit about you or what you have to say. I’ve got all I need here in this device of mine.” It is wrong and it’s making people strange. So if you ever catch me doing this to you, please punch me directly in the face and take my phone and break it in half. And then punch me again.
Yesterday Stella and I booked a half day cooking course. The only regret I had from our previous trip to this region was not partaking in a cooking class, as they are very popular in all of the countries here, fairly cheap, and actually provide you with skills you can take home with you. Plus, I love Asian food, but have never learned to cook it. Stella has shown some interest in this style of cooking too, as shortly before we left home on the trip we went to a big book fair and she bought an instructional book on Asian cooking. Ana and Magnus were less interested in this so they spent the morning scouring the markets to pick up gifts for a few people back home.
We were met by our guide and she first took us to the market to pick up a few ingredients and also to see some of the fruits and vegetables that are only found in Vietnam. I wish I could remember the names of all the ones she showed to us, but there were a lot and we tried several of them. One of the local specialties must be cinnamon as every second vendor had buckets of huge chunks of cinnamon bark for sale. We saw many different types of noodles for sale in the market, as well as these huge tubs of this strange green jelly that our guide tried to explain, but I just couldn’t understand. Since we don’t have any cooking facilities there wasn’t much point in buying anything, except I did pick up a snack bag of these coconut chunks that are scorched and dusted with sugar as well as a small bag of dried lemongrass I will take home and use for cooking.
We then walked to the river and picked up a boat that took us upstream to an island where the Bamboo restaurant and cooking school was located. It turned out that Stella and I were the only ones in the class that day so we had the full attention of the chef instructor. She first led us over to a basin in which she had put water, sliced limes, lemongrass, and some other greens and asked us to wash our hands. The liquid smelled so fresh and citrusy and seemed a whole lot classier than washing with glowing green Costco Palmolive.
In the kitchen she had put out all the raw ingredients on the table – carrots, lemongrass, garlic, yellow and green onions, chilies, coriander, fish sauce, tomatoes, spices, dry noodles, a chicken breast, pork bones for stock and a small, nice looking cut of beef. We started out by doing all the chopping, mashing and slicing of the raw ingredients. Stella often helps out with this at home so had no trouble at all. The chef then guided us through assembly and cooking.
We did three dishes – fried pork spring rolls, Pho Bo (a classic Vietnamese beef noodle soup) and chicken curry. We prepared the spring rolls, learning how to create the filling and roll it into rice paper and then fry it in vegetable oil. By the time we were done there was a huge pile of them, many more than we could comfortably eat without ruining our appetite for the second and third courses. The chef brought out the completed spring rolls and we dug in – delicious, especially the dipping sauce we made. The one thing that surprised me was that we added sugar to most of the dishes, which seemed like a strange thing to add to fish sauce and citrus mixtures, but I guess that’s part of what makes Vietnamese food taste so good.
We then prepared the pho, and I finally learned that I’ve been pronouncing it wrong the whole time we’ve been in Vietnam. Instead of “Foh” it is pronounced more like “Fuh”, but any way you say it, this is my favourite dish here by far. It is actually quite simple to make and absolutely delicious. Pho is always served with a large plate of basil leaves, fresh coriander, chilies, lime wedges, chili sauce and soy sauce, and then you add whichever of those you like into your pho to “personalize” it. I plan to make this my signature dish when we get back to Canada so I will be looking for people to experiment on!
After the pho we were both stuffed, but we had one more to go. We returned to the kitchen and cooked up a flavourful curry using the fresh chicken, spices, coconut cream and vegetables. One interesting thing we did with the chopped vegetables was to deep fry them first, so that they would stay intact instead of turning to mush in the curry.
Stella and I returned to the outdoor dining table and force fed ourselves the curry dish, which was flavourful, fresh, and aromatic. I felt like I had been invited into the magician’s back room and shown all the secret tricks, and I was quite proud of the results of our work. Stella too loved all three of the meals and ate more than I have ever seen her consume at a single sitting.
After lunch we waddled out to the entrance and a man on a scooter handed us helmets and we hopped on for the ride back to the hotel. This island on which the school is located does not have any large roads so you can only get there by boat, scooter or bicycle. We took off and wound through some narrow, hedged pathways and at one point a brave chicken ran across the road, right in front of the bike, but reached the safety of the other side. I could hear Stella laughing.
We met up with Ana and Magnus at the hotel and shared stories about the morning’s activities and then went for a swim in the wonderfully refreshing pool. I went for my afternoon beer visit to Mrs. Ha and then wandered down the street with Ana and the kids and had another one from a mini-market that also had tables out front (but I didn’t let Mrs. Ha catch me cheating on her). We really enjoyed sitting outside, watching the working boats drifting up and down the river, seeing the scooters going by, and listening to all the sounds of things happening in the nearby streets, but mostly we enjoyed just hanging out on a beautiful day. Of course, since this is SE Asia, and we were in the middle of monsoon season, the dark clouds started gathering and before long the hot, clear, sunny day had turned into a tropical storm with the heavens unleashing buckets of water. We escaped into the hotel lobby and enjoyed watching the storm giving Hoi An the daily douche.
After a chill out session in the room we returned downstairs and caught up with Rooster again for a short chat, and then saddled up and rode back into town, in search of the night market that eluded us the previous night. For some reason Magnus had this desperate look about him, as if this were his last 30 minutes in Vietnam and he had to spend the rest of his cash before leaving. Instead of pulling my usual trick of sitting down at the nearest beer-serving venue and letting the rest of the gang pound the market, I bought a tin of Saigon and trailed behind them. Magnus found a guy selling these crazy bird toys where you wind up an elastic (just like the old airplanes where you wound the prop), and let it go and the damn thing flaps its wings and actually flies up into the sky! He negotiated the guy down to two bucks which seemed like a pretty good buy, except that I had no idea how this flimsy bird was going to survive being jammed into a backpack.
The market actually wasn’t too big, so I followed them through the whole thing, at one point hiding behind a food cart to snap a picture of a bunch of local dudes sitting on plastic chairs around a plastic table with their shirts off laughing, smoking and drinking. I felt like joining them, but didn’t want to intrude, nor be ostracized by my family.
Ana and the kids bought ice creams and as they were walking along, Magnus’s ice cream suddenly slid off the stick and splattered onto the ground. I looked down at it, and then looked up at him and said, “Did you just drop your ice cream?”
“Yes. It was poorly made,” he explained.
“I have never seen you mishandle an ice cream in your entire life. I can’t believe it.”
“It was a poorly constructed ice cream.”
“I’d say it was some sloppy mishandling of a poorly constructed ice cream.”
I think he was a little pissed because he didn’t even want to get a replacement one. The poor, sugar-loving boy must be losing his edge.
Because Ana and Magnus hadn’t eaten a three course lunch like Stella and I, they were getting a little peckish, so we walked back to our bikes and started riding back to the hotel. We stopped at one of the riverside restaurants and sat down for drinks. As we sat there discussing plans for the rest of our trip, we could hear the sounds of a bad lounge singer, and we looked up the river to see this weathered beast of a boat slowly passing by. On the top deck was a live band and half a dozen tables full of people eating dinner, laughing, drinking and having a grand old time. How could we have missed the booze cruise?? We added this to the list of things to do the next time we found ourselves in Hoi An.
One of the tasks we have to do when we get home is to write an album worth of original songs all about backpacking in SE Asia. We’ve been slowly adding to our base material, and tonight we came up with some lyrics for a song called, “No Mo Pho”, which is a great addition to our current roster of songs that includes “Tuk Tukking It”, “Frog Porridge”, “Asian Ass Sweats”, “Hot Duck Eggs”, “Bad English Signs”, and “Spitballing Cheechucks”. It is going to be friggin epic.
After the beers in the market and the beers at the restaurant I was feeling a little buzzed when we arrived back at the hotel room. I thought it would be a good idea to wind up Magnus’s toy bird and see how she flew in the hotel room. So I wound it up to maximum, released it, and it flapped all the way around the room and made a textbook landing right in Ana’s hair. It was all pretty funny at first, because the bird hanging off her hair made her look like she was getting ready for a fancy English wedding, but then I walked over to see how it was so firmly lodged in place and noticed that those twisted elastics had buried themselves into her bun and were completely wound up with hair. I laughed nervously. She said what? I said I think we have a little problem. When I mentioned getting my credit card knife she immediately grasped the gravity of the situation and said there was no damn way I was going to cut it out. So I started taking the bird apart, removing the wings and tail feathers, until all I was left with was a wad of elastic buried in her hair and a bunch of bird parts lying on the floor. I started yanking on it and she started screaming and I yanked harder and finally it somehow unspun and released itself. I was a hero!
The overnight bus ride lasted for 11 hours and I was glad when it was over. The seats were the ones that tilted all the way back so were okay for sleeping, although not nearly as good as the full bed versions. The driver must have stopped 15 times during the trip. I don’t know what he was doing – maybe picking up or dropping off cargo, maybe stopping to take a leak, or a break, but he would sometimes switch on the bright interior lights, and then flick them off, not giving anybody enough time or direction to get out and find a bathroom. He did stop for a full bathroom break once, early on in the trip, and we stayed there for 20 minutes, but if you missed that one you just had to hold it.
We arrived in Hoi An at six in the morning and we hired a taxi to take us to our hotel, hoping that they would have a room we could check into that early. We arrived at the Golden Sands hotel, which was about three kilometres from the city centre, and it looked fantastic. It sported a beautiful swimming pool out front, huge airy lobby and comfy chairs, was located right alongside a river, and had a staff member that welcomed us in perfect English and gave us the whole low-down on the area, including the free bikes that they offered. Sadly, the hotel was full so we could not check into a room, but she did show us to the showers that we were able to use, but first we went for a nice cool dip in the pool and it felt glorious after the long, greasy bus ride.
Once we were freshened up we had an amazing, huge breakfast of eggs, bacon, fresh baguettes, fresh fruit, and juice in the hotel restaurant and then got ourselves some bikes and headed off into town. We biked along a river pathway for a bit and then cut over to the main road. The traffic was not bad at all, and it was a flat, easy ride into the centre. This was the first time this trip we’d had the opportunity to get on bikes and we were really missing it, so the ride was welcome.
Hoi An is famous for its ancient city that was built by the Chinese as a trading port in the 15th and 16th centuries. It is now a UNESCO world heritage site and has hundreds of designated buildings. It immediately reminded us of Antigua, Guatemala (or at least what it was like 15 years ago) but was cleaner and perhaps a little more inviting. It seemed strange that so many of these old buildings remained intact throughout the Vietnam war, so I did some research and discovered that the North Vietnamese and the South Vietnamese and their American allies actually agreed to leave Hoi An alone; although they did bomb the shit out of My Son – an archaeological site close to here that was decimated during the war.
The old city stretches for many, many blocks and forms a nearly perfect rectangular shape, making it very easy to navigate. The best part is that there are only bikes and pedestrians allowed – no cars. We put our best Vietnamese road skills to the test, driving our bikes right into the pedestrian traffic and watching the waters magically part, opening up a path for us. Every time I see how well the uncontrolled movement of densely packed streets of pedestrians, bikes and vehicles functions here in Vietnam, it pisses me off how structured we have to make everything in Canada. For example, if you ride your bicycle down a deserted sidewalk in a city’s deserted downtown core (because everybody is shopping at the mall), and a pedestrian appears that you have to scooch around, they will either snarl at you, swear at you, or give you the finger because bikes are NOT meant to be on the sidewalk – don’t you understand the rules you idiot?? Drop that same street down anywhere in Vietnam, put a thousand people on it, 500 hundred scooters, 200 cars, food vendor carts, cows, chickens and give them no rules of movement whatsoever, and guess what? They all use every available space on the street and sidewalk to get where they need to go and the result is this marvelous dance, with no right of way besides first movers advantage, powered by a million individual negotiations of movement, with only a slight regard for safety, which is usually sufficient at the naturally slow speeds. It is truly beautiful and makes me want to take my grinder and saw down every traffic light, stop sign, speed limit sign and turning sign in Paris, Ontario, and then paint over every pedestrian crossing, lane indicator, parking line and stop line and sit back and see what happens. At first, it would be mass confusion and people would be stunned and paralyzed at being given the power to think for themselves. But then gradually they would get the hang of it, and before you know it you’d be pushing through three times the volume of people and have less serious accidents, although probably more minor scrapes. And you would get to where you need to go faster.
We spent a few hours walking around the town, exploring, and stopping for drinks when the heat got too intense. There were a lot of tourists there, and more European ones that we’ve seen elsewhere – mainly Spaniards and Brits, but still hoards of Chinese and Vietnamese tourists too. Ana was truly in her glory, as there was dozens of leather shops selling purses and handbags and fancy shoes. She found a leather purse she loved, but the straps were too long for her liking, so the shopkeeper said no problem, we’ll whip a new one up for you overnight, come and pick it up tomorrow at five. Magnus found a vendor selling some brand of a strategy card game he likes and he worked over that poor lady with his guerilla bartering until she practically handed over the cards for free. She later banned him from entering the store, and being banned from a Vietnamese shop for bartering too hard makes a grand statement indeed.
We biked back to the hotel and checked into our room. It was the best room we’ve had yet on the trip – two queen sized beds, a balcony as large as a regular hotel room, a huge walk-in shower, plenty of space for our baggage and, if you can believe it, besides a regular toilet in the bathroom there was also a mini-toilet, perfect for Stella’s slender backside. We all did the hotel happy dance and then hit the pool for a couple of hours, enjoying the mid-afternoon sunshine. We met an interesting English family there, doing a similar sort of backpacking trip that we were, and the kids played with one of the boys in the pool for a very long time. We also met a New Zealander bloke named Rooster who is the most charismatic fellow I’ve met for quite some time, and we had a great chat with him in the lobby of the hotel for what seemed like hours. He is one of those guys you meet that has lived in countless countries and visited all the rest of the ones he has yet to live in. Instant connection. I have a feeling that we may be able to discover a common friend if we chat long enough, so we exchanged details with him and hope to meet up again in Vietnam or beyond.
Directly across from the hotel, right on the river boardwalk was Mrs. Ha’s snack stand. Mrs. Ha walked back and forth in front of her stand, greeting all passersby, smiling, waving and offering up her table and chairs for anybody looking for a rest and a drink. I walked over and ordered a Saigon beer. She said, “One minute!” and ran down the street and then disappeared into an alleyway. A few minutes later she came running back down the street with a gigantic smile, carrying a large, frosty Saigon beer. She then explained to me that the ones she has in her fridge at home are much colder than the ones in the cooler outside. I gave her the Vietnamese dong equivalent of 75 cents and enjoyed every drop of that 450 milliliters of beer as the sun pounded down and I pounded it back.
By 8 pm it was just as bloody hot as it was in the afternoon, but we braved the humidity, saddled up, and biked back into town to find somewhere to eat and see how Hoi An dresses up at night. Well, she is a dream. Lighted lanterns hung everywhere, and there were even paper lantern boats that people paddling around in the river released to float downstream, creating a floating light show on the river, whose mucky hues were hidden by the darkness of the night. I thought it had been busy in the afternoon, but I was wrong. Tonight it was PACKED! There were people walking elbow to elbow in some of the more congested areas and we had to physically muckle on to the kids to make sure we didn’t get separated.
We stopped for a meal and tried out some of the local Hoi An specialties, which were…mediocre. But it was so damn hot that nothing much would have tasted very good, besides cold beer and popsicles. After eating we walked around the town for a while, pushing through crowds, and looking for the night market, but not finding it. Stella and I were starting to lose steam so we returned to where we had locked up our bikes and pedaled home, although we got lost along the way as I was pedaling like a maniac, enjoying the thrill of the chaotic streets and forgot to pay attention to where I was going. But we eventually made it back.
We’ve had interesting set lists during the last three breakfasts here at the hotel. The first morning they played the “Happy Birthday” song, but they played ten different Asian versions of it and were still rolling out more as we left. Yesterday they played techno and house music at an uncomfortably high volume. This morning they must have found the Spotify “Saddest Instrumentals Ever” channel because I was nearly crying by the end of it, but part of that was because the breakfast sucked too.
Today was dive day so we were out of the hotel and at the dive shop by 7:15. Us and an Australian couple were picked up by a taxi and driven to the main port, which was a chaotic mess. It seemed that every single dive boat, tourist boat, fishing boat, ferry and cargo ship were trying to get loaded and out of there at the same time so it was a complete frenzy of activity, none of which looked particularly orchestrated.
We were lead over to one of the dive boats, and on initial inspection it looked pretty hideous. There was a thick ring of used tires hung by chains all around the sides acting as fenders. The boat was built of wood, and looked like it may have hit a few sea mines left behind during the war, and then repaired with rudimentary materials. Us and another 25 or 30 passengers were helped onto the boat and once loaded, we slowly chugged away, escaping the toxic diesel fumes that had been collecting at the dock and poisoning the air. The one reliable variable that is sure to bring the seasickness on is diesel fumes, so I dreaded the imminent barfarama. Fortunately, the seas were very calm so I didn’t notice anybody losing their breakfast.
We arrived at the dive site and the captain and crew tied us up to the long line of boats that were already there. In all, there were ten dive boats, each with 30 people aboard, so that meant 300 people diving and snorkeling in the same area. I didn’t have a good feeling about this. I was put into a group of divers and we received the dive briefing from the Divemaster, who was a young dude from the US. I have been diving for 20 years and have around 70 or 80 dives under my belt, but I haven’t done one for at least three years so I really paid attention to his instructions. I was happy to see that their equipment was almost brand new and they were very structured and professional getting everybody ready and into the water.
The first dive was okay. Just okay. We went to a maximum depth of 50 feet and covered some sandy area outside the coral banks, but didn’t see much. We then moved onto the coral and it was mostly dead, which has been our experience in other locations we’ve snorkeled at. Why is the coral dead? It’s a combination of local fishermen throwing their anchors haphazardly on the corals, divers getting too close and damaging it with their fins, possibly some climate change effects, and probably a bit of dynamite fishing by enthusiastic fishermen. It really makes you sad, especially when I remember back to the quality of the dives I had in Thailand 20 years ago when I first got my diving certification – it was magnificent. But when you are dropping 300 people a day on the same spot, it is inevitable that the reef will get damaged - it’s just too many people.
Our dive lasted 55 minutes and when I surfaced I pulled off my mask and unloaded two nostril cavities of mucus into the water. This is one of the disgusting side effects of diving – breathing dry air through your mouth only for nearly an hour causes an incredible amount of mucus to accumulate. As far as I know, it’s the only social gathering when you can farmer hanky your nose and nobody really minds.
The second dive and snorkeling was excellent. Although only a short ride away from the first site, the coral here was vibrant, alive, multi-coloured and swarmed by fish and creatures in every nook and cranny. Two of the more interesting fish I saw were a stone fish and a lion fish. There were huge boulders and canyons here and we got to swim through multiple caves that were eerie and full of fish. We hit a maximum depth of 60 feet and stayed down for 50 minutes. There was only one other diver in my group and we didn’t run into many other divers until the end of the dive as the site itself was very large. Ana and the kids said the snorkeling was fantastic and they saw all sorts of fish including a puffer fish.
We got back onboard and the crew helped me remove all the diving gear and they packed it away, leaving us to grab a beer and sit back and enjoy the sunshine. Although the boat didn’t look like much on the exterior, it really was a good dive boat is it had plenty of space, non-slippery wooden floors, a washroom, and reasonably comfortable seating. On the way back to the harbor I cracked out a cigar and sat on the back of the boat with my feet dangling in the water enjoying the view and having a chat with our Divemaster about his diving experiences in the region and beyond.
Once we returned to the dock we were mini-bussed back to the centre and we stopped at a restaurant for drinks and a cool down. The temperature here has been in the 35 to 37 range so those Asian butt sweats were at an all-time high. Since we were leaving today we had to check out of our room before we left for diving, and we just left our luggage at reception, which meant we had to keep ourselves busy for a few hours until the scheduled bus departure at 6:30pm. We walked down to the beach, spread out our towels and enjoyed our remaining time in Nha Trang swimming in the ocean and watching the many people enjoying the beach and beautifully warm ocean.
The majority of the tourists here are Russians, and they are so easy to spot. To begin with, they never smile or laugh. In fact, when you pass them on the street they look as if they are about to punch you in the face – women and men. Russian tourists are split into two categories – Young and Old. Young Russians are generally tall and slim and they nearly all have striking blue eyes and are quite attractive. The men are so similar it is actually funny. They all have identical brush cuts, strong builds, wear thick gold or silver chains around their necks (often with a large medallion), and appear enraged. Also, they all wear speedos, or similar types of, form-fitting, snug, banana hammock trunks. I myself do wear a gold chain, and if I was a bit taller, a bit stockier, and much less happy I could almost be mistaken for a Russian - except that I’m not gifted with the abnormal testicular mass required to showcase that particular choice of beachwear.
The Old Russians are different. Yes, the men still wear the genital clutching swimmers, but they have enormous beer bellies, are mostly bald, and nearly always have a large wife and two skinny blued eyed kids trailing behind them. And they all look like they are called Boris. They never speak English, and they never smile, but they do look slightly less likely than the young ones to launch an unprovoked attack on you as you pass them on the beach.
The whole thing is quite strange, because the Russians I know in Canada are extremely friendly, happy, smiley and would never punch me in the face. Maybe they get happier when they leave Russia? Or maybe it’s just a tourist thing? I may never know…
