Travel Diaries: Vietnam pt.2
I’ve made a right balls-up of this. I’m nearly two weeks behind schedule. For the past fortnight, Vietnam has wrapped it’s boney arm around my neck in an intimidating, big-brother-like fashion, and said “don’t worry about the diary, nobody reads it anyway - here, drink this.” I’ve never been good with deadlines, not least self-imposed ones, but I’ve shrugged off the headlock, said goodbye to the shoulder devil, and I’m back. I don’t know how long for - but I’m back.
The comedown after the Ha Giang Loop was familiar. I felt similar to how I’ve felt before in my adolescence, after a seminal music festival or unforgettable holiday. I touched on it in the last entry, reluctant to go into some kind of philosophical discourse, but the experience has been significant in my development as a person, and that of the people around me. Mia and Eden had both platonically fallen in love with their drivers, just as I had with Binh’h, and it filled me with pride that I could propel their existence beyond their villages in Northern Vietnam, or at least extended it to nooks and crannies of the UK. I’m not delusional, I don’t think my little diary is going to change the world - I have the joy of seeing how many people read each one, and it’s pretty plain viewing - but I’ve etched Binh’h’s name into the depths of the internet, so he’ll never be forgotten. I’ve kept in touch with him in the couple of weeks since the Loop, and upon first glance, our conversations are far from enthralling, but he always finds a way to surprise me or get me thinking. We generally discuss what one another have eaten for breakfast, dinner, and tea, with Binh’h having rice more often than not. Most recently, I mentioned I’d had a pizza, to which he replied “I have not yet tasted pizza, little brother.”
At the time of writing this, we’ve only got four or five days left in Vietnam, but I really do hope I’ll be able to return to this beautiful country one day, and I’d make it my absolute priority to visit Binh’h first and foremost, with shit loads of pizza.
After the Loop, we weren’t just saying goodbye to our drivers, we also bode a fond farewell to Jade and Niall. It was unlikely we’d bump into them again due to scheduling, but it had been a pleasure getting to know them over the last couple of weeks, and I was sorry to see us go our separate ways. Myself, Mia, Eden, and the now recovered Chloe boarded the sleeper bus back to the capital for a 48-hour pit stop before venturing further south to the Ninh Binh province.
We arrived in Hanoi in the early hours. Chloe selflessly went off to a hotel on her own, not wanting to spread what she had left of her illness, so we checked into a private studio room, which the girls have kindly described for me in the below review:
DO NOT STAY HERE
My fiancé, friend and I booked this apartment to stay in as the description stated two bedrooms. This was far from the truth. “Bedroom number 1” consists of a small double bed that’s most reminiscent of a concrete block inside a cardboard box. ‘Bedroom 2’, situated in the same living space as the former, is merely a carpet with a small pillow, favouring those in which you would find in a cereal box filled with chocolate. These conditions resulted in three fully grown and extremely exhausted adults sharing the concrete block for a bed. The bathroom, again merely separated from the rest of the studio by glass, was smaller itself than a normal-sized bath you would find in the UK. The toilet was facing a wall, so close that we had to perch sideways on the seat, and was also lacking in stock of toilet roll. Not to worry though, as they have made sure to stock up with hand wash and shower gel, which smelled like it had been taken from a grandmother’s bathroom, four years out of date. Safety here is also of no concern, with the passcode to collect the key being left on the correct four-number pin that we used to unlock it, so anybody could have let themselves in. Not that they would want to anyway - I think we would have chosen a doorway in the street over this place if we knew what we were getting ourselves into for £18 a night. The “rules” plastered on the wall stated that no noise must be made or the police will be called on us, but the host must not have considered the hustle and bustle of the main road next to the apartment, which would wake us up at 6am each morning with beeping, people banging pots and pans together, and dogs crying for their lives. I mustn’t forget to add we were left only two towels, resulting in a three-way stark-bollock naked tug of war. Not your typical Valentine’s Day.
I liked Hanoi, and was happy to be back. My mood had improved dramatically, and I was filled with excitement about the prospect of reuniting with an old friend. Joshua Gallacher - the always joyful, exuberant, hilarious Boltonian, who I had shared many an hour with during my time in Liverpool. I hadn’t seen him for a while, but he was travelling South East Asia with two of his pals, Dylan and James, and we’d arranged to meet up that evening. I’d seen he was on Train Street at around midday, and thought it would be amusing to surprise him at the tourist hotspot rather than sit and twiddle my thumbs for a few hours waiting to meet him later. I spotted him perched on the side of the tracks, head in his phone, and rushed over before dramatically impersonating Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. “I don’t remember asking you a goddam thing!” I bellowed, silencing the rest of Train Street. With eyes wide, he jumped to his feet and embraced me like a long lost brother. The staff at the bar he was at completely disregarded the affection on display, and frantically tried to get us off the tracks and sit us down, with the trains arrival imminent. We spent the rest of the day and night reminiscing about old memories and making new ones. It was all very juvenile and fun beyond description, but was short-lived, as the lads were travelling northward the following day to do the Ha Giang Loop. The next morning, I met up with Josh briefly to say “see ya later”, as we’d promised to meet up further down the line. I also gifted him my warmer clothing, now having no use for it.
Myself, Mia, Eden and Chloe found ourselves on a bus later that day, making the short, but apparently dangerous, journey to the Ninh Binh province. The bus driver was seemingly in a hurry to get there, God knows why, as when we arrived we were met with an eerie atmosphere. Not just because the place looked like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock horror film, with the mist and fog swarming the village, but also because the host at our accommodation was rather over friendly, and the rest of the guests we encountered seemed just as creepy as him. We’d booked one night at the Tam Coc Garden Homestay, which was essentially a set of lodges on wooden stilts around a marsh. The cloudy water would move and splash erratically, and we killed some time speculating what the hell could be in there. I crunched up a few fake Walker’s crisps and threw them into the water, hoping to entice the sharks, crocodiles, piranhas, and whatever else we’d guessed lived in there. The bloke from River Monsters would’ve had a field day, as the marsh was actually home to what we think were catfish - more than a couple of times we saw a big, horrible mouth with whiskers come to the surface and gobble up some tenderloin steak flavoured crisps. I bet they couldn’t believe their luck.
It was clean and tidy enough, and if they’d had any availability, we would have actually extended another night. Despite the creatures in reception and in the water, we had a pleasant stay there, and if anyone was looking for somewhere comfortable to watch Steven Spielberg’s Catch Me If You Can on an iPad, we couldn’t recommend this place more. We had to check out the following day though, and back to a shared dorm we went.
The town itself didn’t have too much to offer. Had it been nicer weather, I’m sure we would’ve made the most of the pool, or one of the backwater tours that the tourist offices try and entice you into paying way over the odds for. The reality is, we didn’t do an awful lot aside from eating and drinking in the two days we were there, but this gave ample opportunity for Chloe and I to bond over popular culture; the filmography of Christopher Nolan, Phoenix Nights, “Night Moves” by Bob Seger… I was sad to see her go, but she was on a much tighter schedule than myself and the girls, and needed to see as much of Vietnam as she possibly could. Therefore, it was with a heavy heart we said goodbye to Chloe, and exchanged words of affirmation as if we would never see her again - completely forgetting the fact that she lives in Pontefract.
Of course, “as one door opens, another one closes” or however the saying goes… I’m unsure if it can really be applied to people, but as the comforting, homely, front door that was Chloe closed, the rattly, chaotic, fire door that was Helena and Tanya burst wide open. They’d arrived just in time for Villa to host Ipswich Town - a frustrating match to say the least. The girls remarkably didn’t let the result dampen their mood though, with Mia crawling into the shared dorm at 4am Indochina Time, approximately five hours after Boubacar Kamara got himself injured.
It was a pleasure to have the Aussies back. Originally, we’d only pretended to be friends with them so that they’d help us get jobs when we fly to Brisbane in early April (visa permitting), but now we’ve actually grown to like them, and I should hope they like us too. Together, we treaded through the mud and downpour towards a breakfast place, and had the right royal piss taken out of us in terms of service. We were one of just five or six tables, and waited for over an hour for the food to come. When it did arrive, it was cold and miserable, just like the rest of Ninh Binh. I was happy to be leaving that night on a sleeper bus southward to Phong Nha. I got some fake New Balance trainers and my ear pierced to kill some time, as the rest of the group considered getting a tattoo, but too hungover and lacking imagination, they gave it a miss.
We got to Phong Nha, another village nestled in the mountains, at around three o’clock in the morning. We’d reserved the previous night at our hostel so that we could check-in and go straight back to sleep as soon as we got there. We did just that, and a few hours later, rose again to see what the place had to offer. Fuck all was the answer. I did some washing, Eden went to the pharmacy for one of her injuries (I forget which), Mia considered getting a tattoo (again), I bought some treats for some kids who were playing with a dead cockroach, and we fed and played with some ducks… that’s about it, really.
The following day we’d planned to go to Hue - a historical city considered to be the central point of Vietnam, therefore crucial during what the Vietnamese call “The American War”, and home to significant fighting during the Tet Offensive of 1968. We organised a DMZ (demilitarised zone) tour through the hostel as a method of transportation, killing two birds with one stone, as the operator would stop at the famous Vinh Moc tunnels en route to the city. At seven o’clock that morning, we boarded the mini-bus which was equipped with a TV showcasing a documentary about the tunnels. It explained the importance of the tunnel system, that the people of Vinh Moc had built in order to shelter from the unmerciful and ruthless bombardment from the Americans.
When we arrived at the tunnels, our guide, coincidentally named Hue, took us through the small, cramped, damp living quarters, which, at one point, were home to a whopping six-hundred people. With backs arched, we followed Hue underground by candlelight as she explained the logistics behind the construction and how the Vinh Moc people lived their daily lives. The attention to detail and complexity of the tunnels was astounding; the layout of the three tiers purposely not overlapping each other, the passing points, rooms for families, kitchens, wells - it was remarkable. The most poignant part of the tour was when she showed us to the “maternity ward”, essentially the size of a porch:
“The women delivered seventeen babies here during the six years that the tunnels were used,” said Hue. “And one of them was my father.”
Hue told us about the “suicide squads”, men who would travel by boat to the nearby Co Con Island to provide supplies for the inhabitants there. The term was applied because making the journey was so treacherous due to the relentless bombing. The tunnels were a success though, and not a single villager was killed.
“My grandparents are still alive today,” said Hue.
“They must be proud of you for dedicating your life to this kind of work,” I said.
“Yes,” she replied. “And I’m proud of them - they always remind me that the difficulties we face today are very different to the difficulties they faced back then.”
I asked Hue about the mindset of the Vietnamese people towards American tourists, and if there was ever any animosity:
“I can’t speak for everyone, but once Clinton had lifted the embargo in the 90s and Americans started coming here, they were welcomed with open arms,” she said. “The general mindset of the Vietnamese was to forgive but to never, ever forget”.
We arrived in the city of Hue a couple of hours later, after what was an incredibly educational experience. Whilst enjoying some pork lemongrass skewers after checking into the hostel, I was heckled by a gentleman on a motorbike. He introduced himself as Hung Tom, and he took a keen interest in me and my travel plans, but of course turned out to be selling something. He was offering motorbike tours down the coastline, whereby we’d jump on the back of his and his friend’s bikes and he’d take us on some beautiful scenic routes further south. He was pushy, but pleasant, and I made a note of his phone number to perhaps arrange a tour once I’d conferred with the girls.
The girls all seemed keen on the idea, so we arranged for Tom to take us straight to our next destination, Hoi An, in a couple of days time. During the day, Mia finally got the tattoo fix she was craving, and we all got our arms inked. Mia got an Asian-style fan, I got a small flower to fill a gap, and Eden got a hibiscus flower. That evening, Mia and I found ourselves in a reggae bar with a Kiwi bartender and a three-week old puppy, named Snoop. After some much-needed canine attention, we ventured off to a pub with a pool table and met an array of characters. We drunkenly played pool with Chris, a German chap from “near Munich”, Mateo and Julia from Tuscany, two old Canadian blokes named Steve and Robert, a Vietnamese man who was excellent at pool and reminded me of Mr. Miyagi, and a Bangladeshi man who’s name I don’t know/couldn’t pronounce.
The Bangladeshi took a liking to Eden, so much so that she got sick of his advances and went home prematurely. Whilst Mr. Miyagi was flamboyantly strutting his stuff on the pool table at Chris’ expense, I got chatting with Mateo and Julia, and discussed Italian cinema - namely Roberto Rossellini and Federico Fellini’s filmography. But, after disputing as to why Cinema Paradiso is one of the greatest films ever made, I wandered over to Mia who was stuck chatting to Steve and Robert, who looked like Hulk Hogan and Neil Young, respectively, if they’d both started professional eating competitions. They were a great laugh and had some hilarious anecdotes.
“I was travelling in London alone back in the 80s,” began Robert. “I wanted to go see Buckingham Palace but I’d missed the changin’ of the guard or whatever you guys call it, so I took off down the street. Just as I was about to cross, a police motorcade stopped me in my tracks to let through a flashy car with blacked out windows. I was thinkin’ “fuck, who could this be?”
“Paul O’Grady,” I muttered.
“Who?” He replied, almost angrily. “No. It was fuckin’ Idi Amin! He rolled down the window and said “how’s it goin’ man?”
And on that bombshell, we called it a night.