Asian Journal - Chapter 2 - Hangin' with Uncle Ho (Feb-Mar 2000)

Nothing had prepared me for the weather! Good old Lonely Planet said 15-20c and dry in the North so it was a bit of a shock stepping from Bangkok’s humidity to an icy February in Hanoi. The cold somehow became insignificant as Communist culture shock took. What I saw before me seemed to play out like a film. A street scene, showing Russia in the 40’s, grey crowds seething as they bustle through markets,desperate to bring food to the table. I could smell these people, hear them, touch them as they shoved past my body but it was as if a screen separated us. I had no idea how, or about what, I would communicate with these people.I was rescued when I made some Western friends and together with the help of waterproofs and brandy we explored the sights and streets of stuffed Ho Chi Minh and old Hanoi.Slowly I adjusted to the pace of life, the driving style and was warmed by the friendliness of these curious people. Sure, they tried to fleece me for dollars, trick me for tips and sell me the shirt off their back but I couldn’t blame them. They knew the importance our tourism and dollars to their economy in the long-term, but short-term they needed better medical facilities, an improved transport network and each of then wanted a new widescreen TV.
2 hours from Hanoi by bumpy minibus, an hour by boat then 3 hours uphill climbing, all in the pouring rain, knee deep mud and surrounded by 10,000 Buddhists on a pilgrimage sat the Perfume Pagoda! Heralded by the Lonely Planet as a cultural highlight of the Hanoi area this was the closest thing to Glastonbury I’d experienced outside the UK. OK, so it was lacking in music but the vibe remained, as did the cold, the damp and the hideously overpriced sparse foodstalls. I guess on a quiet day (ie. When there is not a pilgrimage going on) the voyage up the river and trail up the mountain makes for stunning scenery and a chance to take in the diversity of Vietnam’s landscapes, but on my visit I was treated to a different sight. In front of me, behind me and all around me where everyday Vietnamese who had travelled far and made huge sacrifices to be here at this time. Some had dressed especially for the occasion, wearing suits, high heels and Sunday bests for the climb. Others arrived in probably the only set of clothes they owned, and sandals borrowed from a neighbour. Here I saw for the first time a national of strong, determined people who hold dear their values and morals and continue to embrace their faith and beliefs. Young and old, rich and poor, never had I seen such a huge show of dedication to a religion.
Back in Hanoi and the rain continued to pour. Unable to get warm or dry I realised I was in danger of ruining my time in Vietnam if I did lose the cold i'd caught so buttoned my waterproof and booked a flight to Hué, approximately 700 Kms South. I was disappointed to be leaving the North before I'd explored properly, but knew i'd be back at sometime in the future.Being Vietnam’s main cultural, religious and educational centre there is plenty for the discerning tourist to do in Hué, but my primary priority was to get myself well.After 24hrs R&R and a couple of pints of noodle soup I was feeling healthier, and set off to explore Hué’s chequered past.Lying on the Perfume River Hué is the site of the splendid tombs of the Nguyen Dynasty, dating from the early 1800’s to the mid 1940’s. Scattered along the banks of the river the tombs feel somewhat older with their ornate Chinese-influenced architecture, armies of stone soldiers and gracefully carved elephants. Perhaps it’s the isolation and almost dereliction of these sites that also ages them. Between 1975 and the 1990’s the sites were considered politically incorrect and left to decay but since being made a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1993 the restoration and preservation work has slowly reclaimed them.Hué was also the site of bloody battles in the late 1880’s when the French surrounded the city following the 13-year-old Emperor Ham Nhgi objections to French activities in Tonkin. The Vietnamese launched a counter attack but were outnumbered and crushed when the French respond.In a small museum on the North bank of the town I found the Imperial museum holding the few remaining artefacts from the tombs and palaces. What furniture, clothing and ceramics remain give a glimpse of what life was like in this once regal area, but more fascinating for me was the Military museum, just across the path. With the De-Militarized Zone (DMZ) just a stones throw from the city, Hué also suffered a concentration of violence in the American War, what we in the West know as the Vietnam War. Inside this small building I was introduced to a different side of the story, and I had my first taste of true Communist propaganda. The South Vietnamese soldiers that fought alongside the American’s were named ‘The Puppet Army’, the young North Vietnamese girls who shot jets from the skies and stabbed soldiers in the streets were the nations heros, proudly uniformed and smiling in the photo exhibit. When you’re sold a story with such powerful media images as the West was with Vietnam its easy to forget theres another side, another history and another tale to tell, but here was this other story. OK, so it had been manipulated, edited, spliced and spiced into its present form but it helped explain to me the attitude I’d encountered with the Vietnamese to date. The images told of a nation that refused to lie down, that went underground to avoid its enemy and make daily sacrifices defend itself. It showed the same determination and commitment I saw at the Perfume Pagoda and on every street and in every shop. A desire to succeed, to proceed and generally make the best of every opportunity open to them. A national shaped and structured by Communism but driven by pride and passion for life.
I was beginning to adjust to the daily routine of Vietnam and along with the rest of Hué I crawled under my mosquito net at 10pm, ready for the 5am rise next morning.Headed North on Highway 1 the two hour drive sliced through paddy fields, worked by hand and ploughed by water-buffalo creating the picture postcard images I’d seen in Sydney that drew me to this place, but as we branched off onto highway 9 the landscape changed. We climbed high into the mountains on appauling roads to the heart of the DMZ and what was once the heart of the Vietnamese jungle. During the war the Americans dropped thousands of tonnes of napalm, Agent Orange and explosives in this area, clearing the jungle the Vietcong were so adept at fighting in, and with it clearing the monkeys, tigers and elephants that once inhabited the area. 30 years on from the war and the local communities are still feeling the effects. The chemicals have raped the earth so crops fail and the lack of vegetation has changed the climate, bringing more rain which in turn washes away the bare soil. Since 1975, 5,000 people have been killed by unexplored ordinance and thousands more injured. Landmines, bombs and grenades litter the ground and although teams from the UK, Denmark, Germany and the US working to clear the area current estimates say it'll take US$17Million and another 20yrs before the jobs done. When the locals say “don’t stray from the path” they really mean it. Society may have moved on but the environment has been destroyed. Indeed looking at many towns and villages in the area today its not overly obvious there was ever a war in this area, such is the Vietnamese drive to embrace the future. Closer inspection reveals the truth. The women dream of healthy babies and husbands with 2 arms and 2 legs. The unexploded bombs and landmines cause physical damage to the survivors but unborn children are feeling the effects of the huge levels of chemical contamination from the war. Birth defects are high, stillbirths commonplace and infant mortality is part of everyday life. But being Vietnamese they are making the best of their situation. Daily the ground is combed for pieces of damaged tanks, trucks and helicopters that can be sold for scrap, and every so often a piece will appear that will make rich pickings if offered to the right Western tourist, at the right price.Although I’d flown from Hanoi to Hué I was now behind schedule and needed to move on if I wanted time to explore the Mekong Delta. Leaving town by train I headed South to Da Nang, the war time Vietnam equivalent of Hawaii, where I was hoping the weather would be warmer still.
Da Nang disappointed me. I’d suddenly moved from wide open agricultural spaces to dusty dirty industrial landscape an in no way resembled the Hawaii I’d seen and heard of. Its one saving grace was an all night Internet access, and having dropped my kit in a hostel I popped down to the café to catch up on the only decent surfing in town. Good news was waiting. Baruch, an American I’d met in Hanoi was just 15 miles South in a small coastal town he described as ‘heaven on earth’. I had directions to his hotel a rough verbal map of the town and promise of fantastic seafood. I wasn’t going to hang in Da Nang for long!Half an hour on a local bus next morning and I arrived in 'tailor town', otherwise known as Hoi-An. Baruch was, as promised, having breakfast in his favourite café and almost as soon as I met him he was introducing me to his tailor, and I was being measured for countless suits. One minute I was a traveller, the next I was in a stunning silk evening dress. I was backpacking Barbie! The next week was spent lazy on beaches in the morning, and being measured for suits and dresses in the afternoon. Evenings were saved for exploring the most amazing seafood all with a stunning back drop of the beautiful old Vietnamese town. Suddenly I felt like I was on holiday. Being a small thin country, Vietnam is generally travelled either North to South, or vise-versa and in Hoi-An I was bumping into people I’d met in the North and gathering travel tips from those that were moving North. I soon learnt there was plenty waiting for me further down the country and somewhat begrudgingly packed up the rucksack for another journey South. It turned out a Dutchman, Martin, who I’d also met in Hanoi and a similar plan so we made our way together back up to Da Nang in order to take the train South to Nha Trang. One thing that strikes me about travelling, and travellers is the ease at which friendships are made. Some you know will last no longer than a few days, but every so often you meet a kindred spirit, a like mind who you genuinely feel you can get on with and possibly survive a long journey together. Luckily this was how Martin and I felt as we said goodbye to Baruch and squashed our Western sized bodies into the Vietnamese proportioned train for the 12 hr journey ahead of us.
Tired, hungry and somewhat weary we unfold ourselves from out seats and tumbled from the train into a warm summer night in Nha Trang. The usual hassle ensued as we wrestled with our packs, and the throngs of drivers ready to take us to their brother’s/aunt’s/neighbours’s hotel. With elbows in full working order we muscled through the crowd to a passive looking taxi-owner who after a little persuasion agreed to take us to the hotel of our choice whereupon we collapsed, exhausted from the effort of another Vietnamese voyage.Whilst Martin had travelled in the Halong Bay region of the North he’d become friends with a Danish couple and two solicitors from London, all 4 of which we meet up with in Nha Trang. Now we were six, all with the same desire to escape the tourist bustle of town and adventure out a little into the surrounding hills and countryside. The weather was with us now and as the Lonely Planet promised glorious beaches an hours ride away we hired motobikes, grabbed outr day packs and hit the road. I’m not sure if someone was watching out for us or may-be Lady Luck had come along for the ride but I'll think twice before riding through the busy town market again (Jackie Chan style) on the back of a bike! Out onto the open road we opened the throttles as Highway 1 sped below us and snaked out before us. Being the main North-South route it has a fair amount of traffic, mostly large trucks, lorries and buses, all carrying their load of people, pigs, goats or all of the above simultaneously. Dealing with these obstacles at speed was one thing, but dodging the water-buffalo sized pot holes was another. After what seemed like hours of bumping and jarring we arrived at Doc Let beach, much in need of its cooling waters and quiet sands. The lack of children selling pineapples ensured we were now well off the beaten track and despite the bruises, it felt good.Next day we did Mama Hanh’s Boat Trip, truly the most tourist orientated day-trips Vietnam has to offer, and something I’d heard whispers of, long before I’d even considered coming to town. You have to hand it to Mama Hanh. She has realised the potential for fun in the sun on this stretch of coast, and provided all the necessaries to ensure you have a good time. Boats are laden with obscene amounts of Tiger beer, stunning food and stashed full of Cambodian pot then launched into the South China Sea to cruise around a bit. Needless to say I remember very little of the trip other than the first few beers and well rolled joints. A few of the revellers on board were all set for another day with Mama Hanh next morning but sober once again we decided, 'en mass', to leave Nha Trang and head for somewhere a little quieter. Backpacks were hastily packed and we jumped on the local bus inland to the hill town of Dalat in the Central Vietnamese Mountains. The plan here was to sort out a couple of days trekking to stretch the old legs and get into the heart of the countryside. Upon arrival we hired a couple of guides, bought provisions from the local market and set off into the jungle. And I’m not joking, this really was the jungle! Our guides hacked away at the bamboo and vines whilst we stumbled along in semi-darkness with the mid-day sun blazing far above the tree canopy. After 6 hours of tough going we arrived at a minority peoples village where the guides sorted out food, a fire and showed us the huts we could stay in. After supper of wild boar, deer, porcupine and some fish we caught in the lake we were pretty much exhausted and wasted no time getting to bed. The two solicitors, Martin and I were sharing 2 rooms in a hut on stilts down by the lake where everything seemed hunkey dorey until the lights went out. The first thing that became apparent was that when anyone moved, the hut moved. Soon after this we discovered we weren't the only creatures in residence…In the darkness the walls started to move, then the mossie net started shaking and before long the whole bloody hut was jumping with hundreds of furry monsters. Words cannot describe what was going through my mind as animals (and big ones at that) dropped from the ceiling next to my head and ran across the wall next to my feet. At this point I decided to play the female joker card, turned into a complete girl screaming "kill it, kill it" whilst Martin lashed out at the walls with an empty water bottle. ‘Plan A’ wasn't doing the job so Martin got out his Maglight to shed some light on the scene. Now Martin’s English is good, but his eyesight’s not much better than mine so when he described seeing a rabbit-sized animal with black and white stripes running up the wall I freaked and assumed we were being attacked by bandit badgers. Through-out the night they came in waves, ensuring no more than 10 minutes sleep before they're next assault and this went on until sun-up when we stumbled outside to see the mess they'd made of out kit. The guides later explained that the badgers were probably wild rats - but I’m not convinced… Tired, filthy and hungry we set off at 7am for the 4-hour jungle trek back to the town. 6 hours later the guide admitted we very lost,very lost, and the best thing would be to climb to the highest peak and get our bearings from there. Climb we did, through dense jungle, our legs and arms being continuously shredded by bamboo and creepers. Two hours later we'd found a disused helipad left by the US forces and our guide found his bearings. We set about beating a new track back down the mountain, hopefully before darkness fell. Looking back on it the night of rodent abuse and the hours of trekking it really was hilarious, but on countless occasions I was close to tears; like the time I took my shoe off to remove what I thought was a stone, and found 5 leeches stuck to my foot. Need I say more. Back in the safety of civilisation and a couple of beers later we hired a minibus for the 7 hr journey South to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City). We arrived in town at 2am, tired, filthy but very happy and now a fairly tight-knit group following our adventure. In just 7 days I’d laughed, cried, seen sights I’ve never imagined and done things I’ve never dreamt of, all with 5 people I met a couple of days ago in a small town 700Kms from here. And I still could not quite believe I was in Vietnam.

Asian Journal - Chapter 3 - This week I have been mostly eating...(March 2000)

FISH! And if I so much as see one more I'll scream!!! Never before would I have thought I'd get sick of eating fantastic seafood but sometimes a girl just has to have steak, chocolate, or Pringles and ice-cream. Unfortunately none of the above was available where I'd spent my last week in Vietnam. Roughly the same size as Singapore, Phu Quoc sits about 15km off the Cambodian coastline and has some of the most spectacular beaches and water I've ever seen. One of the things that makes this place special is that hardly any Westerners get there, simply because its so bloody difficult to get to. Having by now got used to being off the beaten track and away from the mini-bus tours of Saigon, the Danish couple and I left the air-conditioned comfort of the Saigon Tourist bus and boarded the jam-packed, sweaty local bus headed out to the coastal town of Rach Gia. 8 hours later we arrived. Dusty, somewhat bruised and nursing only minor cuts and grazes we discovered the next boat to the island did not leave until the following day so we settled into a grimey hotel to get as much rest as possible before the next leg of our journey. Up at 5am next morning, we made it to the port in an hour and boarded the old wooden boat that was already sitting low in the water. Within minutes we were on our way and quite pleased to see there were only about 50 people on a boat that was designed to happily carry 100. After about 30 minutes of steaming we slowed to a halt and sat looking puzzled as the anchor was thrown over board and the crew put on the kettle. At this point I ventured onto the roof of the cabin to see what was happening and why we’d stopped. Up there in the blazing sunshine I met Bao, an elderly man who explained in reasonable English that because of the low tide we'd left port early and would now ‘tread-water’ for 2 hours whilst smaller boats brought passengers and cargo out to us. As time passed the space we'd reserved for our bums and backpacks got smaller and smaller as more and more people, chickens, boxes and fruit were loaded onto the deck. It seems its compulsory for every piece of Vietnamese public transport to have on board at least 3 chickens and a goat before a journey can begin and only when there was not another spare inch of space onboard did the captain give the order to raise the anchor and start the belching engine once again. At this point I was able to sympathise with the thousands of Vietnamese boat people that fled the country! It took a further 11 hours of sailing across smooth seas before we reached Phu Quoc and in that time I learnt from Bao that he had taught himself English from a book and was now the English teacher at the airport on Phu Quoc. I was the first Emglish person he'd ever met.Because of its close proximity to Cambodia, the Northern half of the island is controlled totally by the Vietnamese Army and Boa now found himself teaching both the civilian and military staff the fundamentals of the English language. By the time we arrived at the port I'd agreed to meet with Bao the following evening so he could practice his English some more. The first morning I awoke and stepped out of my beach hut I couldn't believe the view in front of me, white sand beaches, crystal clear waters and not a sign of another human for miles. 3 minutes later I was in the water, shocked at how warm it was even in the early morning. After hours of lying in a hammock, reading in the shade, I walked the mile into town and met with Bao at the town’s airport. Here I was surprised to find the Director of the airport and also the islands military leader who also wanted to practice their English. Over tea and fresh fruit they explained that although they had good books and plenty of them it was difficult for them to pronounce many of the English words and asked if for a couple of days I could visit the classes and join in their conversations. Curious to see how the education system worked I agreed to join two of the classes the next day. So set the agenda for the rest of my time in Phu Quoc. The mornings I would have to myself on the beach, at 2pm I would take the first two hour class, spend a couple of hours in the town and then take the second class from 7.30 to 9.30pm. Each class consisted of 7 or 8 students, aged between 28 and 60 who did various civilian and military jobs around the airport. Shy at first the students soon got used to me, and me to them, as we read through their textbook conversations stumbling over words they found difficult, like mother, washing and strangely enough, airport. I never realised how different languages use such different sounds and noises. It was totally alien for them to make the SH sound of 'wish', or the strong P in 'airport' so most of the lesson was given over to practising noises to help them with their pronunciation! And to think I was constantly being picked up for dropping my T's and D's at the end of words at home! One of the great advantages about having lots of 'friends' in the military and at the airport is their able to bend a few rules and turn blind eyes to help make life a little easier, so on the 3rd day I hired a motorbike and explored a small section of the North of the island which is usually barred from tourists and residents alike. I then headed South to meet the Danish couple who had discovered a fantastic beach on the gulf of Vietnam where we rode our scooters up and down in the surf and sand. When I went to the lesson that evening I was told the Director had found a way of getting me on one of the ‘fully booked’ flights off the island, saving me the 11 hour boat journey and therefore a full day on my way back to the mainland. When it came to Sunday and my bag was packed I found a huge farewell committee waiting for me at check-in. Once assigned my seat I was taken for more tea and fruit and then up to the control tower. Just the evening before I had been racing the motorbike I hired up and down the dusty strip used as a runway, now I had on a pair of headphones and was listening to Duong (one of the older students) talk in the rickety plane that would take me back to Rach Gia. After more tea with the pilots and goodbyes to my new friends I took my seat and within 20 minutes was back on mainland Vietnam, in a local bus on my way to Saigon. Looking back I really cannot believe I was lucky enough to have had the chance to teach these people. I could easily have spent every day on the island sitting on the beach, swimming or swinging in my hammock but instead I met a great group of people, got closer to Vietnamese life than I have in my earlier 3 weeks and had a totally unique experience to-boot, one that I will not forget in a long time. Back in Ho Chi Minh City I ate my fill of ice-cream and Pringles and integrated back into fast pace of Vietnamese city life. All that was left to do now was move up a gear or two in preparation for tomorrow’s landing in Thailand then say "Tam Biet" to Uncle Ho and all his friendly comrades.