We arrived here from Hong Kong with a ton of extra baggage in tow. Baggage filled with the powerful images, political references and stories brought to us by Apocalypse Now, Full Metal Jacket, old news clips and photos of Kent State and the young Vietnamese girl, naked and screaming as she tries to escape the cloud of napalm. Along with the images of war that we brought in our checked luggage, we also brought carry-on bags full of the images of the romance and adventure of Indochina. French architecture and adventurers in fresh white linen enjoying their Cuba Libres, sitting under whirling teak ceiling fans and majestic potted palms. All of these things created a heavy patina as we entered the country.
The truth, we found, is far from either. There are no broad backed G.I.s with shorn hair, the Doors soundtrack has long been silenced, there are no wispy women with garish lipstick saying "Me love you long time." And as we found out, the Indochina as pictured in the movies was created on the backlots in France and in Hollywood when the directors came to Vietnam and determined it wasn't Indochina-y enough.
It’s funny, we are taught so much in school about the Vietnam conflict (here it's called the anti-American war), and maybe I was in the bathroom fixing my extraordinarily flammable bangs during the next class, but no one ever taught us what the follow-up to the war was here in Vietnam.
Well, what better way to learn that stepping right into the belly of the beast. After the "conflict" which was in fact a War, (a war that we lost) the Communists won, they took over, they sent American sympathizers (i.e.: southerners), which numbered in the millions to "re-education" camps. Some people were sent to these hard labor camps for 10-15 years. Men, who before the war were doctors and professors were stripped of their citizenship after re-education and now flood the streets desperately offering rickshaw rides (called cyclos here) and motorcycle rides around the city. There are absolute swarms of people on the street trying to sell you everything from lighters, to Kleenex to hash. After the 375th woman tries to sell you her postcards its hard not to let sympathy turn to frustration.
Honestly, before we came here I am embarrassed to tell you- I had no idea this was a full-on Communist country. In fact, the Chinese ruled this part of the world for about 900 years and Vietnam- the smaller, weaker brother to China- is still supported by and very closely tied to its powerful neighbor.
The Communist party here is based in Hanoi and out of the 80 million people in this country 2 million of them work for the party. These are the people who get medical benefits, education and extra food rations when times are tough. (There was a massive famine here in the 1980's that killed 2 million people.) 80% of the population lives in rural areas here. Areas scorched by napalm and still ridden with landmines. The main roads are paved but off the highway, the potholed dirt roads are still lined with concrete construction, which frames poverty and squalor. Unlike Africa, the standard of living here is softened to the western eye by the lush green rice paddy fields, pink lotus flowers splashed across the horizon and brightly colored temples, mosques and churches which creep up unexpectedly. Their zealous use of vibrant turquoise, yellow and fuscia paint on dilapidated concrete and corrugated metal does trick the eye- but only for a second.
Compared to Thailand, it's relaxed and seemingly prosperous neighbor, this country is light years behind. I wonder if the south had won if it would have been more like Thailand or it would have still been in the throws of conflict, given the power of it's big Chinese brother? Another interesting thing is that if you research Vietnam on the web you'll find hundreds of travel agents encouraging tourists to visit Vietnam "before it's ruined" which is ironic considering it is the most bombed country in the world.
HANOI
Our drive in from the airport began the gradual reconstruction of our pre-conceived picture of Vietnam. The highway was flanked by miles of rice paddies out of which rose monstrous steel billboard after billboard, advertising things like a new mobile phone or say, Communist propaganda emblazoned over cheerfully drawn smiling young people. The women here actually do wear those conical straw hats stereotypical of the western world's portrayal of a Chinaman. They also wear the beautiful and diaphanous ao-dais, which are the long dresses, slit up the sides and worn over pants that match. Gorgeous! We also witnessed the little-known miracle of the motorcycle society. Hundreds and thousands of motorcycles dodging and weaving fearlessly in and out of cars, trucks and large animals. The next time you have trouble packing the trunk of your car just consider that virtually anything can be transported on a motorcycle or bike: a family of five, cages of live pigs, a refrigerator, or a balancing act of baskets 30 feet high. Note to self: must approach U-haul and try to sell them a fleet of Vespas.
Soon after arriving, we were thrilled to meet up with Mike and Val who were 3 weeks into their 6 months of travel. Ecstatic to see each other, we exchanged rapid-fire greetings, all four of us trying to talk at the same time.
The old quarter of Hanoi is a beehive of honking scooters, honking vans, honking cars (drivers here use the horn about 95% of driving time), cyclo drivers heckling you for a ride, street vendors selling everything from baguettes to cigarette lighters. Local markets abound with souvenirs, seafood, shoes, anything you can imagine. Food stalls selling pho (the traditional Vietnamese noodles with beef), com (rice dishes) and coffee (sometimes in old Pepsi bottles) to customers who seem happy to perch on low plastic stools virtually anywhere along a curb, creating makeshift cafes. A fast favorite of the Chamorro and Capobiancos was the omnipresent bia hoi kegs, available from mom and pop establishments, a watered down beer for 12 cents a glass. Belly up to a tiny plastic stool on the curb next to small heaps of vegetable and fruit peels floating in sludge in the gutter, hold out one finger and promptly receive a refreshingly cold skunky 12-cent beer. "skunky but not funky" was the tagline we bestowed upon the sourdoughs tasting refreshment. but at 12 cents a glass- keep 'em comin'!
Another favorite activity: crossing the road. At first requiring nerves of steel and careful eye contact with motorists coming at you from all directions, we quickly graduated to veteran road crossers as we waltzed nonchalantly across the road like we owned it. Traffic just moves around you like the red sea, absolutely thrilling! So far, the food in Hanoi has not been as good as in Thailand. As San Franciscans, we have the best of the best of all cuisines, Vietnamese being high on our list. But so far, the real thing has not measured up, making us wonder, which is more authentic, the flavorful SF version, or the disappointing Vietnamese version.
UM... HAVE YOU SEEN MY DOG?
So, I sort of thought that it was a derogatory joke when people said that the Vietnamese eat dogs, taking it to mean that they will eat virtually anything. Well, they will eat virtually anything and they do eat dog.
Morbid fascination brought us to the part of town where one can find dozens of canine restaurants. To be fair, not all Vietnamese will eat man's best friend and most are probable repulsed by it. However, a fair number people do relish the taste for it as evident in the packed restaurants we found on our doggie tour.
We arrived at 7:30 in the evening expecting to find dog carcasses hanging from windows like the Chinese do roast duck in Chinatown, or see live dogs in cages waiting to be slaughtered, or God forbid, hear the sounds of one being beaten to death with a metal hose (which I've read is how some are killed to tenderize the meat.) Thankfully, the restaurants we found were more discreet than our imaginations led us to believe. Still, we found dark, caramel roasted parts laid out on chopping blocks, not exceptionally unusual looking except for the giveaway tail, which sticks straight up in the air like a car antenna. We were relieved no heads were on display like we'd seen in a magazine article, a gruesome snarl frozen in what must be a cruel roasting process. We shouldn't judge, really. I’m sure spaniel kabobs are quite tasty and normal for some people.
HALONG BAY
A few honk! Hours away honk! By bus honk! Honk! Hooooooooonk! Is the legendary and majestic Halong Bay. According to legend, when the Chinese tried to invade Vietnam, a great dragon ("long") descended from the heavens and into the bay ("ha") to help the Vietnamese people. As the dragon ran into the ocean, its thrashing tail carved out all the islands and rock formations that make up Halong bay today. The many islands helped the Vietnamese to hide from and sabotage the Chinese.
It is truly a beautiful place. The four of us spent one night and two days on a boat with 14 other people around our age, cruising the islands, eating well, sunbathing, swimming and kayaking. The jagged peaks that rise out of the water are magnificent. Through the mist, the hills farthest away look like two dimensional ink stains, dripping skyward in an upside down world.
MY SON
The other thing that we did while we were up north was to go visit the ruins of My Son. Though Cambodia gets the lion's share of the limelight with Angkor Wat, My Son was a wonderful surprise for us. Our guide, truk was passionate and spoke amazing English and you could actually hear the pain in his voice when he told us that 17 of the 20 temples had been bombed flat by the Americans. The other tourists shook their heads and clicked their tongues in disapproval. Ahh hem... awkward moment for everyone here. Still- unbelievable to see and I am not easily impressed by archeology.
HOI AN TO DANANG AND THE GULAG EXPRESS
From Hanoi, we boarded the night train on September 18, down south to Danang, where we'd planned to take a one-hour bus to Hoi An, in total a 13-hour trip. Well, the train we were supposed to be on was sold out so our travel agent put us on the next train but failed to tell us that it was not the express. The bucket of bolts we boarded was noisy and stopped in every station for the remainder of the journey. At the time, however, we were not aware that we were not on the train we thought we'd paid for, commenting on how surprised we were that it was not as nice as we'd expected and wondering why there wasn't a restaurant/bar car.
After a satisfying dinner aboard of baguettes and laughing cow cheese (which incidentally has been our food savior in every country where the street food is dubious. called la vache qui rit in every place outside the US, this unrefridgerated treat has been our staple on more than a few hungry treks) that we hurriedly bought from the vendors in the station, we settled into our narrow bunks and had a great night's sleep, thanks to ear plugs and my magic sleeping pills, excited to wake up to only a few hours of travel time before arriving in Danang. Oh little did we know...
Refreshed from our uninterrupted sleep and eager to arrive already, imagine our shock when we found out that we were still many many many hours from our destination. 13 hours turned to 14 then 16. The words "Gulag" and "Shaw shank" were thrown around in fits of laughter as we had to start rationing the food we had left for the longer than expected journey. A strict limit was placed on water consumption for those who refused to use the not-so-clean train toilets. We did an emergency food run at one stop, where the only edible things you can buy at a train station besides dried squid and candy were crackers and thank God, more laughing cow cheese. In desperation, Val started to squirrel away more food by buying a fish cake patty from the food cart on board. Fishcake patties, already a sketchy item here in Vietnam, let alone one bought from a train cart is a sure sign of dire straits. To our surprise (not the good kind), the conductor came by with free trays of food: kind of like airplane trays of food, only more like it came from a prison cafeteria. More fits of laughter as some of us sampled the food, Val being the only person able to identify anything in any of the trays besides the rice. Being the resident vegetarian- I was mortified, and actually so was Val, but in times of famine, one has to remain strong.
We pressed our sad little faces up against the metal bars of our train windows, patience wearing quite thin at almost 20 hours, when our train finally pulled into the Danang station at 3:30 in the afternoon on the next day. Unable to tolerate another hour of public transportation, we sprang for cabs (the gypsy kind) into town, a nice perk of what I like to call "executive backpacking."
HOI AN AND THE CUSTOM FIT
The small charming town of Hoi An is set on the banks of a brown river, and comes closer to our romantic expectations of Vietnam than anything else so far: colonial architecture, balconies, lanterns, ceiling fans and surprisingly good food. We were especially pleased to finally be somewhere. Lots of tourists here, but oddly comforting because it means creature comforts are more readily accessible. Our hotel has a pool and free worthless Internet access.
Hoi An is known for their custom tailors - you can't miss them, every other storefront is a tailor, promising to make a suit or anything you want in as quickly as five hours. After conferring with a French couple we'd met in Halong Bay who were there at the same time (they had about 30 pieces made between them) we succumbed to peer pressure and had to see what the hoo-ha was all about.
That was when I learned that my husband is secretly a fashion whore. You should have seen how much fun he was having running all over the store with swatches and sketches, pointing at bolts of fabric and telling the six tiny Vietnamese women about his ideas for alternative suits with zippers and hoods and they just kept measuring him and giggling and saying "Oh- you funky man!" it was really quite a scene- I left him alone for a minute to get fitted for a new winter coat I was having made and when I returned he was designing new board shorts and cargos. That night I am not kidding- he was mumbling in his sleep about jacket lining and the colors of buttonhole stitching. Whoa...
The Capo Spring Line should be arriving in the states this December. Dolce and whoooo???????
BEACHING IT IN NAH TRANG
Someone had told us that Nah Trang was the St. Tropez of Vietnam. Excellent. Our first thought upon arriving was that this person we had talked to had never been anywhere near St. Tropez. Instead we found the Daytona Beach and the girls gone wild of Vietnam. Hmmmmm.... all that travel time for this? We stayed only one day here but it was long enough to have a swank dinner at the sailing club on the beach, dance to Shakira and empty a few mason jars of some delicious pineapple vodka nectar in celebration of my 33rd Birthday. Oh, I also had TWO not one but TWO massages that day. So far being 33 is pretty much fabulous.
THEN ONTO MUI NE
A tiny beach resort a short Honk! 6-hour honk! Bus ride hoonkkkkkk!!! From Nah Trang. Honk! Honk! Honk! We hung out here for three days. The boys surfed in the ocean, the girls surfed the web (and wrote this) and we relaxed with nightly happy hours at the surf shop with Cuba Libres. New favorite drink! Super fun but we had to keep moving to stay on schedule.
MISS SAIGON
I say that not in reference to the play that I liked but mostly because this city is huge and crowded and choking with traffic and pollution. And despite the 10 million characters who live there- there is really none on the surface of the city itself. Thus, you could give it a "miss" if you wanted to.
Oh- the new official name (post communist) for the city is Ho Chi Minh City but none of the locals call it that. One day Angelo and I, in a suicidal attempt to see the city hopped into a cyclo (a rickshaw but the basket is in the front not back of the bike so you get hit before the driver does). I wished I had horse blinders on so I couldn't see the oncoming traffic heading for us on all sides. There is no such thing as stop signs here so everyone just merges from all four or six streets into the intersection at full speed and hopes that no one hits them. The hierarchy of traffic is as follows: big bus, minibus, car, motorcycle, cyclo, and pedestrian. Being low on the food chain is a terrifying experience.
You know a city is a little on the thin side when the major highlights are the post office and the bonsai garden in the waiting area of the ferry port. I asked my driver if he thought there would be lasting peace in Vietnam. He thought about it carefully and said, "We have always been at war. We fought the Chinese for 1000 years, and then we fought the French, then the Japanese, then the Americans and then the Cambodians. And now we finally have freedom but we are not free." He went on to tell me that the communist government here is so corrupt and that people are worse off than before so that for sure there will be another revolution. He even said it would be within the next 10 years. It will be interesting to see how the rest of the world will react if this does happen.
And just to make sure we got our requisite dose of sadness, oppression and violence per country, we stopped off at the War Remnants museum. Formerly named the American War Crimes Museum, this fun-filled hour was spent touring around American tanks, bombers, exploded land mines and two buildings of the most graphic and gruesome pictures I have ever seen. I suppose this museum serves as an important and sobering reminder that war in any form is malignant and dark and no matter what race, religion or nationality, we all have within us a frightening capacity for violence. With that in mind- I say yet another prayer for peace on this tiny earth. And also that the Vietnamese people can keep moving towards stability and prosperity and get on the road to rebuilding this still war ravaged nation.
It’s been absolutely amazing to get to spend so much time traveling, exploring and laughing (although not at the museum) with our dear friends Mike and Val. It's such a treat to end each day together talking about politics, economics, sociology and how this trip is changing all of us over a bia hoi or six. We are so lucky to have them in our lives. Tomorrow we get on a slow boat that will take us up the wide and meandering Mekong all the way to Phnom Penn, Cambodia. Angelo is calling this whole trip our tour of death and destruction. Good times. Good times. And somehow it actually is.
Reporting from Vietnam this is Jenna & Angelo (and Val and Michael)
