Vinh Long, Vietnam

January 27-30, 2010

Mika and I left Saigon pretty quickly. In general we have always tried to stay out of big cities, especially when the daytime temperature exceeds 90 degrees with 80 percent humidity (I know the east coast is freezing right now but if you have ever been here, you understand what I am talking about. I have this strange feeling that there is little sympathy though!) Anyway, we made our way down to Vinh Long in the Mekong Delta. Vinh Long is half way off the beaten track, meaning it’s not hard to get to but not many foreigners go. We went because it’s the closest town to one of the largest morning floating markets in the Mekong – the Ca Bei market.

After checking into our hotel (which may or may not have been one of those places that rent by the hour judging by the free dispenser of condoms in the stairway), we found a café on the river and watched the hundreds of wooden boats go by. We began discussing our plans for the following morning when an Asian couple sat down next to us and struck up a conversation. Turns out the couple, Mr. and Mrs. Ha (his name is Quane but we do not remember hers), currently live in Melbourne and are in Vinh Long visiting Mrs. Ha’s family. After a long day of traveling I was in no mood to talk to anyone but Mika accepted their conversation and apparently impressed them. In no more than 5 minutes Mr. Ha invited us to dinner. (I completely understand his quick invitation - she had the same effect on me!) We exchanged glances and immediately knew that this was going to be one of those nights.

The details of the night are pretty straight forward and for the most part irrelevant except that the Ha family is extremely generous and open. After dinner at a very local restaurant that served enormous portions, they took us to a local café for coffee. They paid for everything that night. The next morning we all (the four of us plus Mrs. Ha’s sister, their niece and her 3 friends) took a boat tour of the floating market and the local islands. What we thought was going to be four hours ended up lasting 7 and included lunch. Again they insisted on paying for virtually everything. From the moment we left the café the first afternoon, Mr. Ha began telling his story. It took very little to prompt him and once he started it just kept coming. You see, Mr. and Mrs. Ha are refugees of the war. They escaped Vinh Long 30 years ago and only started coming back in 2004. The story goes as follows.

Mr. Ha was in the middle of university in Saigon when the North began invading the South. He was recruited for the military but avoided his draft because his father claimed he needed him, and his 10 brothers and sisters, to work on his tea plantation in the highlands, near the town of Dalat. This apparently worked and Mr. Ha left Saigon and returned to his hometown. He stayed there for a year or two until the threat of the Viet Cong and the Northern Army became all too real. Eventually, in the years that followed, the new government would take everything away his family. Mr. Ha headed for the river town of Vinh Long where he and his brother planned on building a boat. Having no prior boat building experience, they spent the next 4 years experimenting and learning until they got it right. Many of their early models sank during test runs. This alone was extremely dangerous as the penalty for escapees was prison and/or a hefty bribe which they were not in a position to afford. The boats had to be built in secrecy and usually tested at night. At least one of the tests required a rescue out at sea. During this time Mr. Ha also memorized the rivers and canals that led out to sea as well as the tidal patterns and places to avoid being run ashore. He learned to navigate by the stars and steer clear of both enemy and friendly vessels. Not bad for a tea farmer from the highlands. The final boat was of simple wooden design about 7 feet wide and 45 feet long.

During construction, Mr. Ha would get most of his boat parts from a local supply store. It was here that he met the future Mrs. Ha. Mrs. Ha’s family owned the supply store and during one of her visits from university the two met on coincidence. The bond was instantaneous and one month later, Mrs. Ha left her family and boarded the wooden boat with Mr. Ha and 31 of his closest family members in search of a new life. They spent 4 days and nights on the boat before reaching an island in Indonesia. We couldn’t exactly understand how much food they brought, but judging by how skilled the Vietnamese are at fishing, I’m sure that’s how they got by. Eventually they made their way as refugees into Australia.

As I said, we ended up spending the next day with the family and Mr. Ha pointed out all the landmarks he remembered as we passed; the shed and dock he used to build his boats, the canals he would test them on and the houses that lined the river. You could see the emotions in his expressions as he pointed each one out. He talked about how he still visits with some of the local people that weathered the war at home and gives them small amounts of money as an expression of gratitude for the good life he has been afforded. He repeatedly said how much happiness it gave him to be able to do this.

During our time together we talked about the war, America’s involvement and what the people of Southern Vietnam actually wanted. Most of this was similar to what our textbooks taught us but it’s a whole lot more effective hearing it in the first person. We also talked about the current state of the country and its future. During these conversations I became acutely aware of how fearful Mr. Ha still was, 30 years later. At dinner he abruptly stopped in mid sentence because he saw 3 Chinese men sitting two tables away and feared them ease dropping on our conversation. While waiting for a motorbike outside he pulled me away from a group of men he feared would again not approve of the topic of our chit chat. He continually mentioned how dangerous life was in Melbourne after dark and questioned me about the States. He wanted to know if everyone carried guns like in the movies and if it was a dangerous place to live. “What kind of people are the blacks?” he asked so innocently you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry. You could doubt the extent of the real danger both in Melbourne and in the restaurant we ate at, but his fear was certainly undeniable.

He told me about how hard life was during the years leading up to the war and how hard it continued to be for the people that stayed. It explains the unbelievable work ethic the Vietnamese have – 7 days a week, 12-16 hours a day for pennies. (As a general rule, the Vietnamese get 1 week off a year during the Tet festival.) He was thankful to be able to get to Australia with nothing but the shirt on his back, unable to speak a lick of English. It made him so happy to be able to return after so many years, even if his birthplace still refuses to grant him citizenship. After he puts his kids through college and retires he wants to return for good and open a metal fabrication shop with his family. He sees the changes that have happened in the past 5 years and it “fills his heart with hope”. He says of the more than 2 million refugees, few have desire to return and even fewer actually have.

We talked about the future of the country and I asked about what he thought the next 10 years would bring. Immediately he insisted that the US would need to get involved again. I was a little taken aback and I hesitated to tell him what the American public might think about that. “China is coming and there will be no one to stop her”. His feeling was that Laos and Cambodia would experience the same fate (if they haven’t already) but when I asked about Thailand he said no. “Thailand has America and the student will not go after the teacher.” I understood his point and probably agree with his thinking but I could not think of any way that the US is going to step back into Vietnam.

We probably could have spent the entire weekend with his family and friends. We were invited to dinners and going away parties. I think we were even invited to stay with them in Melbourne. If they were Jewish we probably would have been invited to the daughter’s Bat Mitzvah. They were the Asian parents we never had! But we couldn’t stay forever and still had the rest of the Mekong to see. We left the Ha family with hugs and smiles. The 24 hours that we spent together brought to light, first hand, the story of the South Vietnamese in a very real and personal way. I imagine there are millions of stories just like the Ha’s, hopefully most with a similar ending.

From Vinh Long we continued south and west to Can Tho, another river town with an even more impressive floating market. Another 5:30 am wake up for a ride down the Mekong! Life could be worse. One thing I have learned is that Vietnam coffee does wonders for those mornings. After a couple sips even I can muster a sentence or two before the sun rises. From there we headed to Rach Gai for a sunset dinner and a morning ferry to Phu Quoc – Vietnam’s answer to Thailand’s Phuket only 10 years behind.

-Alan

Saigon to the Southerners, Ho Chi Min city to the Notherners

January 26-27, 2010

Hoi An, Vietnam

January 22-25, 2010

Oh Hoi An how much I love your air of sophistication. Your big, old world shutters that line the sides of every window and the small cobblestone streets and alley ways. The fact that bicycles outnumber your motorbikes. The river running through you and the endless lanterns that light up the street so softly creating a cozy darkness in the night.

Hoi An is one of the only examples of what Vietnam would have been, had it not gone to war with itself. It is one of the few places that remains untouched by the war and the colonial French architecture is still standing, just in need of a coat of paint or two. Old mansions are now restaurants and hotels. The food is delicious, perhaps some of the best we have had it Vietnam. Where ever we went, nice restaurants or local street stalls, we were never disappointed.

Then there is the other aspect of Hoi An that is so unique, it is the tailoring capital of Vietnam. The streets are lined with shops displaying suits, winter coats, dresses and traditional Vietnamese clothing but you cannot go into a single one of these stores and buy something off the rack. Everything is made to order. The turnover is 24 hours until your first fitting and normally you can walk out the door with the catalogue picture you liked, in your size, within 48 hours. There was something fun about someone taking so many different measurements of you and then having the design show up shortly thereafter.

Alan had an uncanny interest in seeing our clothes being made, he was so excited and so off we went, hours after the order was placed, to two different ‘sweat shops.’ Alan’s coat was made in a small shop run by men, working elbow to elbow. Everyone was very busy and upon arrival we were instructed to stay in a small area of the room. Once Alan ventured outside this area to take a photo and almost got run over by the people throwing fabric everywhere. The floor was a carpet of fabric scraps, you could no longer see its tiles. Right as we arrived, as if putting on a show, Alan’s coat fabric hit the cutting board, two minutes later (literally), it was chalked, cut with massive sheers and passed off to the guy in charge of the lining. Shortly thereafter it was being sewn together and it continued down the line of people with their designated roles: the iron guy, the button guy and so on. Two hours later, after making its way through all the stations, Ta-Da - a winter jacket! They can turn out about 60-70 pieces a day, depending on how many orders come in. They begin working early in the morning and do not stop until the daily orders are complete. Supposedly, the man who owns the shop, and works side by side everyone else, is very famous - “people come from all over to see him.”

Next we were off on a quick walk down the road to watch my three piece suit and traditional Vietnamese dress in process. This area was comprised of all women. It was a much more relaxed environment and everyone’s eyes were glued to the T.V. It was a Saturday, and only on the weekends there are the ever dramatic soap opera-esque movies. Needless to say it was a savored moment and the ladies ability to multitask was impressive. The sewing machines were still going in full force but their hands did all the seeing - this might have accounted for my suit jacket being a bit large on the first fitting.

On our third day in Hoi An we rented bicycles and boarded a small boat that ferried people from the mainland to a small island off shore. Packed with people, bicycles and motorbikes, I got the regular non-verbal scolding for not having enough clothes on. That said I do travel modestly, perhaps too modestly for Alan’s taste, but the women in Vietnam have a way of avoiding the sun at all costs and taking the idea of ‘covering’ yourself to a whole new level. For instance, I did not have a rice hat on, no face mask coming up to my eyes, my shirt did not come down to my wrists, I had no gloves and my pants were missing the flesh colored socks between my flip flops. Some of these women in the bigger cities are able to make a fashion statement with these untraditional accessories; the ‘Be-dazzler’ is still a big hit over here.

We left the boat and set out on our bike ride. It was the perfect time of day. Maybe the only time of day that was comfortable enough for bike riding. The sun was lowering in the sky and the overwhelming heat was subsiding. As we began to ride we were getting a nice greeting of “Hello” from many of the people. This continued, children and adults alike, “Hello!” Everyone was very friendly. Then the “Hello’s” began coming from places we had not noticed there were people, some bending over in rice fields, tending to their gardens, children playing. This then grew to people that we could not even see, but they could see us, “Hello!” We would look around as we drove past not seeing the person but only responding to where we thought the voice originated from. This continued, in a very comical manner all the way through our 2 hour bike ride exploring the island over endless rice fields on small dirt paths. Needless to say we have never felt more welcome. We dubbed the island “Friendly-ville”!

Another side to this multifaceted town is the beach, located 5 km outside the main town. It was impressive and unexpected. Alan and I spent a lazy day here while we were waiting for our clothes to finish. Then off we were on a quick plane trip to Saigon (Ho Chi Min City).

-Mika

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We had just sat down to have a nice meal when I looked over at the chair next to me and this guy was on it!

More Rice

The Ladies of Silk Road.

Northern VietNam

Hanoi and Cat Ba Island

January 15-21, 2010

Alan and I are just beginning to discover the polarities between Northern and Southern Vietnam. Along our 23 hour bus journey on several modes of transportation (a mini bus, a boat, a local bus, an overnight sleeper bus, another mini bus and finally another local bus) from Cat Ba Island down to Hoi An on the southern central coast, I voiced my concerns about the Vietnamese people.

From the moment we crossed the border from Laos into Vietnam there was an instant rigidity and change in demeanor in the border officials, who were very formal dressed in crisp military uniforms flanking the entrance. This comes in comparison to the Laoians who are very casual and sometimes a bit too relaxed. Our arrival in Dein Bien Phu, Vietnam tested my patience especially since we were already a full day into our journey with still 12 hours to go. The only way I can come up with to describe the scene was like an India flashback with a very different type of people. After a month and a half of limited haggling and bartering, we were once again thrust into a sea of touts from the moment we stepped off the bus. However there are two major differences, there is aggressiveness to the touts in Vietnam; where as in India there is a playful game like aspect to their prying. Second, in India if you ignore someone or say “no thank you”, eventually they leave you alone, in Vietnam they continue their bombardment with voices blaring. If that doesn’t get your attention they touch you, poke you and/or pull at you. There is an underlying force and hostility to the way they try and persuade you. Their invasion of personal space made my skin crawl.

Apart from my initial uneasiness with the male population, the beauty of Vietnam has a way of making the testosterone raucousness of the male egos fade into the background. Hanoi is a modern, clean city with delicious food, a needed refresher from the overwhelming amount of sticky rice we consumed in Laos. We also had our first sample of Bia Hoi or “fresh beer”, brewed by the locals who set up small stalls all over town, perfect for sampling and people watching.  For more details see Jonah’s blog at http://www.jonahessers.blogspot.com.

We also made some time to visit the Hoa Lo Prison or as the Americans coined it, the “Hanoi Hilton” where John McCain was so famously imprisoned. We were able to see old American pilot paraphernalia as well as lots of photos. Photos of the prisoners decorating Christmas trees, going to Church, having Thanksgiving dinner, the smiles and fun looked endless and real. At this point we questioned everyone’s credibility. Who’s telling the correct version - Vietnam or the United States?

Perhaps the weirdest thing we encountered was Ho Chi Min himself, who is regarded very highly by the Vietnamese for facilitating the unification between the North and the South. When he passed away his desire was to have a simply cremation, but the people loved him so much that they put him on display. Yes you too can visit Ho Chi Min’s sarcophagus with the thousands of others, but there is a long list of rules to follow: no talking, no sniggering (which we still haven’t figured out what this means yet), no hands in your pockets, no pausing in line, no cameras, and you wear appropriate clothing, etc. Needless to say we all got our fair share of scolding by the guards. Oh, and just make sure you do not go during the 2 months out of every year when his embalmed corpse is sent to Russia for “maintenance.”

After much debate to choose the breathtaking hills of Sapa in the North, or the superb, unique ocean side cliffs of Halong Bay and Cat Ba Island in the East, we chose the latter- basing our decision solely on the weather. And so we embarked on our last journey with Alicia and Jonah.

We managed to hook ourselves up with a boat tour through the islands without paying the tour price the only kicker was no lunch and for 40 minutes, while most of the boat explored a cave, we had to stay put.  The tour guide was also very unpleasant and tried to leave the port without us! For what the boat was, it was entertaining. We left the bay with hundreds of identical what appeared to be old fishing boats now adored with sleeper cabins and roof decks. We embarked on a five hour journey though the endless islands of sheer, limestone karsts that jutted out of the water, until we reached Cat Ba Island. In August this island becomes a huge Vietnamese tourist destination but while we were there the town was quite quiet. It was a slap stick concoction of concrete, unattractive, tall buildings surrounding the port, with no rhyme or reason to their construction. Typical of the communist architecture.

Soon after arriving in Hoi An I discovered my initial assumption of the Vietnamese demeanor does not extend into all of Vietnam and we were welcomed into the south with wide open, friendly arms.

-Mika

You can always find a local making offerings to the spirits in the street, a typical offering is to burn money, but it is always fake money. This is their way of tricking the spirits because they do not know the difference.

Local Street Food

There are over 2 million motorbikes in Hanoi!

Boat Ride to Cat Ba

As we were just ordering dinner Alan was having some serious back pain, luckily some local rock climbers at the table next to us could recommend a masseuse. They called him and 15 minutes later Alan had a table side massage. We learned to love Mr. Vu who was one of the best masseuses we have ever had and the best priced one hour for $5 bucks.

The cliffs make this island a rock climber’s paradise, so how could we not test them out?

The Magic Bus

January 13-15, 2010

When Mika and I left for this trip we knew it would inherently involve a lot of traveling, mostly on public transportation.  What we didn’t know is that every time we got on one of these public vehicles we were unconsciously signing up for an adventure.  Now I know we have shared many of these adventures before but some of the things that happened on our way from Laos to Vietnam take the cake.

I must admit that leaving Laos left me feeling a little sad.  While the food left little to be desired, the people and the landscape more than made up for it.  It is a country that will probably be completely different in 5 years and unrecognizable in 10.  I am happy to have seen it before Western culture and the Chinese can turn it into something it was never intended to be and only hope that someone or something along the way can find a way to preserve what makes Laos so beautiful.  But as always, we move on.  Vietnam beckons and there are plenty more places to see.

The first step of any good journey is to actually find out what is involved, how long it will take, etc.  It’s a process we are experts at and seem to repeat every week or so whenever we make big jumps.  This trip however, uses a border crossing that is so new that no one knew exactly how to do it.  We got mostly shoulder shrugs whenever we asked travel agents or tour bookers on the proper route.  The few answers we did get contradicted each other and were thus even less helpful.  By the time we left, it was the tuk-tuk driver that brought us to the bus station that gave us our itinerary with conviction.  The trip from Lam Namtha to the Vietnamese border town of Diem Bien Phu requires 3 buses.  One is a normal transfer in a town called Udomxai.  The other is due to a river that runs through Laos that still remains bridge-less and thus un-crossable by wheeled vehicle.  The first two legs were 8 hours of uneventful traveling through even more gorgeous terrain.  The road followed a river through valley after valley, winding endlessly throughout the afternoon.  I should mention that the second bus doubled as a cargo truck and the floor was covered in 35 kg bags of corn, rice and god knows what else.  At one point a man with 2 live chickens tied at their feet got on (the chickens were placed under my seat, of course).  This is all par for the course and almost expected when we travel!  We spent the night in a small town where we found a lively restaurant to have our last meal in Laos.  It was here that we ran into a Japanese man we had met in Muang Ngoi a week or so before – small world.  Jonah, in particular got very excited because he has discovered that he has a fascination with the Japanese bowing culture – or any bowing culture for that matter.  Our friend gave him the chance to bow at just about everything he said! 

The river crossing began at 5:30am.  At the time we didn’t understand why so early and our inquiries weren’t exactly translating right.   So at 5am we woke, packed and headed down to the river to catch the boat.  There were a couple other people there including an Italian lady who ended up yelling at me because I got on the boat before she did.  Buon Giorno to you too lady!  Once across we were met by the next bus that was to take us across the border and onto Diem Bien Phu. We were told that we had to leave so early because parts of the road were only open from 10am to 12pm due to construction.  We had to get through those areas before that.

The first hint that this was going to be an interesting journey was that the bus floor was lined in 35 kg bags of MSG (it is the most common ingredient in all Lao food).  There must have been 15 bags in all covering the entire floor of the bus so that our feet never touched floor.  The second hint was the fact that the windshield was being held onto the bus by string and it was completely shattered.  See the picture below because I cannot accurately describe how bad this was.  It actually looked like the bus had just been in an accident but there was really no other damage to the front end.  We could not figure out how the driver could see anything without looking out his side window.  If it wasn’t so early and we weren’t so dazed, we probably would not have agreed to get on the bus, but we really didn’t have any other option.

Surprisingly the windshield didn’t seem to be an issue with anyone but us.  I guess by now that really shouldn’t surprise me!  Anyway, off we went.  We drove for about an hour and a half on a road in the midst of construction.  I’m not sure what happened to our timing because when we hit the part of the road that was under construction two excavators were actually piling dirt onto the road.  What humored us the most was that a guy from our bus got out, ran to one of the machines and started operating it, piling more dirt on!  We stared, laughed and took pictures like good tourists!  Two hours later they had the piles leveled out so we could pass and on we went.  This happened one more time before we reached the border, although this time only for an hour and with less laughing.

The border crossing was relatively painless and we were surprised not to be hit up for more money.  The “Falang Shakedown” is well documented at the Vietnamese borders.  The iPhone carrying guards were relatively pleasant and welcomed us into our first communist country!  Amongst ourselves we questioned how we were going to be received from this point forward due to that little war we all fought together.

By 3pm, two hours late, we made it to a rainy Diem Bien Phu.  We had a quick lunch, restocked our snack supply and enjoyed our first Vietnamese coffee.  The Vietnamese give a whole new meaning to strong coffee.  This stuff had legs and could get up and kick you where it counts.  We reviewed our choices, considered the weather and made an executive decision to get out of dodge asap.  At 7pm we boarded one of the plushest overnight buses we have been on.  Everyone got their own little “pod” with pillow and blanket and you had to take your shoes off before boarding.  We had bargained very hard with the bus people and were happy to be traveling in such style.

About an hour into the journey we realized just how hard we had bargained.  A guy came through asking for tickets and requested that we pay the extra difference that we had previously negotiated.  He couldn’t speak a lick of English so he basically just stood there with his hand out writing numbers down on a piece of paper.  The guy in the pod next to me tried to help translate and eventually got a friend on the phone to help.  So there I was, negotiating via a friend of a friend on a cell phone for a ticket I already bought on a bus that was at least an hour from the only town I knew in Vietnam.  Oh, and it was dark and rainy to boot.  I knew I could only push so far because at some point he was going to stop the bus and tell us to get out!  I think it was a matter of endurance because he finally gave up!  Another Falang Shakedown averted!  Well almost at least – the Vietnamese guide book that we had traded for only a couple hours beforehand was swiped from Jonah’s pod during a potty break.  I guess that’s the price we paid for the cheap tickets.

We arrived in Hanoi around 6am, 48 hours after we began.  A shower, quick nap and some breakfast and we were ready for country #10.  This one should be interesting.

-Alan