Sweaty Sai Gon

Mason with city skyline in background

The first thing we noticed when stepping off the train was the heat, the thick and heavy air. It was a departure from the cold of the North and I felt like I was back in tropical South East Asia. Saigon was very different to Hanoi, a huge, sprawling city with high rise towers and wide, motorbike clogged boulevards. In the tourist quarter it was impossible to move five meters without someone trying to sell you sunglasses, tuk tuks or marijuana. At one breakfast we had about 12 sunglass sellers come into our restaurant and try and sell us some shades, despite the fact we were already wearing such items. It reminded me of Bangkok, a busy, bustling international city. Some parts of the city could have been taken from Paris or New York, with high end fasion labels, mega malls and BMW car dealerships. It was clear Sai Gon is on the rise. I found it hard to reconcile that Shu, upon whose dirt floor I had sleept in her smokey, not so wethertight home, could live in the same country as this. North and South, rich and poor are worlds appart.

Entering the tunnels

Mason and I visited the War Remnants museum, a harrowing depiction of the attrocities of the War in Vietnam and the ongoing suffering inflicted by agent orange. This was deeply sadening. Another highlight was the Presidential Palace, the former office of the south vietnamese government preserved just as it was the day the North's tanks crashed through it's gates in 1975,  ending the war. Cu Chi Tunnels, the 200km long network in which the Viet Cong hid out during the war gave additional insight into the war, a particularly tight squeeze indeed.

The real highlight of Sai Gon (and yes everyone calls it that despite it's official name of HCMC) were the friends we met there. At a restaurant on the second night as we munched on some excellent spring rolls we began talking with a group of local students. They were our age, aproaching the end of year 12  and their final exams, an experience all too fresh in our own minds. They invited us for ice cream the next afternoon. It was great fun meeting Kim, Duong and all their friends and finding out more about their lives in Sai Gon, their highschool and their plans for the future. After ice cream we were taken through the Sai Gon night on their motorbikes to an area that reminded me of a flashy Darling Harbour. We had a great night together.

Ice Cream in Sai Gon 

So ended my journey with Mason at HCMC airport. All of a sudden I was alone once more.So too was my time in Vietnam comming to a close. After 5 weeks I have come to love this busy and colourful country steeped in history and with people I  shall not forget.

South by Sleeper Train

The past 10 days were characterised by a marked change in travelling style, no longer solo but together with my friend Mason on a whirlwind tour of Vietnam before he begins his uni course.

Street Life 

Having stayed, on and off in Hanoi for quite some time I had come to know the city well, making me the perfect tour guide through a city I had come to love (depite the cold). Visiting Uncle Ho, the bizzare conceptual museum dedicated to him ("this represents the cave Ho Chi Mihn comanded from, seen in the form of a human brain"), the Temple of Literature, Hao Long Prison, the Lake, splurging on fine hot chocolates in a french cafe overlooking the lake, we did it all. I would also like to mention the hostel we stayed in, The "May De Ville Backpackers" for $6 a night the place looked like a high end hotel just with dorm beds, all white walls and marble floors, not to mention the breakfast. The buffet breakfast  alone could have cost $6 and resulted in some gluttony on my part.

The Sleeper Train

Alas onwards we had to move southwards, aboard a sleeper train headed for Hue on the central coast of Vietnam. Mason was thrilled at the novelty of sleeping aboard a train, despite the cramped conditions made worse by his tall stature. We were on the tops of two tripple bunks with four locals ocupying the beds below us. At the outset this seemed fine, we chatted, they chatted, untill one by one we fell quiet, well, except for one man, who kept talking, and talking...and talking to himself all night long. Once an hour he would rise and walk down the carriage, shouting, followed by his poor wife who trailed after him. I did not sleep at all that night, Mason did, thanks to the lingering jet lag. In the morning the man attempted to touch my face with a finger covered in blood; I was glad to disembark at Hue that morning and be off that train.

Hue was wet and rainy, but that did not stop our exploration of the aincent citadel, Vietnam's equivalent of the forbidden city. We met a man called Doung (im spelling that phonetically) who had family in Marrickville, but the real highlght of Hue for me was meeting the lovely woman who ran the hotel we stayed at. She was so warm, genuine and generous, giving us free extras for breakfast (telling us we must eat more for she has boys of her own), and even a parting gift of a bracelet. I enjoyed talking to her about Vietnam and her life and work as we waited for our bus to Hoi An.

Mason is attacked 

Hoi Ann is a beautiful riverside town of preserved historic architecture with a relaxed atmosphere. It was a joy to wander its lantern lit steets at night and take in the local sights. After weeks of cloud the sun finally emerged in Hoi An, giving the perfect conditions for some photography of the scenic town. While I took photos of Vietnam, the Vietnamese took photos of us, or at least of Mason, who was hilariously grabbed by vietnamese girls eagre to have their photo taken with him (ok, this only happened twice, but it was very funny on both occasions)  Hoi An was also a perfect base to visit the ancient ruins of My Son, Angkor-esque temples of the Cham civilisation, albeit on a smaller scale.

Before long however we were in a Taxi to nearby Da Nang, to catch a train south to hot, sweaty Sai Gon.

Into The Mist

The Hmong Part 2

Trekkers in the Fog

On Wednesday I departed from Sapa once again with a few fellow travelers and a few Hmong guides, this time to stay overnight. A heavy fog had wrapped the mountains in white, limiting visibility to only meters ahead. For the most part the trail was the same as for the previous journey allowing me to imagine the shrouded landscape that surrounded us, but for the others, they were walking blind.

The home of our guide, Shu, lay above flooded paddy fields that terraced away into the whiteness and besides a forest of bamboo. Pigs and chickens milled about the roughly constructed yet large wooden house. The interior was dim yet filled with smiling faces and a warm cooking fire which provided a welcome respite from the freezing cold.

Lunch Is Prepared

 Here we met the family as lunch was cooked before us, tasty fare such as tofu and tomato, lovingly sprinkled, as was all dishes with the prized ingredient, MSG.  It seems not even the Hmong have escaped the craze. One of the most interesting characters was the 83 year old grandfather who sat at his fire smoking opium from a water pipe, casually observing us or else lost in a drug haze. In the late afternoon we went out with the women as they collected fire wood in huge bundles carried in bundles on their back. We met a woman along the trail with a particularly huge bundle on her back and a manic smile on her face, the only explanation for this being, "she is very, very drunk." It seems the rice wine (awful stuff of near pure ethanol) is drunken at all times of the day, even at breakfast. That night Shu's husband returned from several days herding their buffaloes further up the mountain for a dinner that was strangely succeeded by being led to a second house of a friend and offered yet more food and rice wine. We slept that night on straw covered ground, the three visitors, an Australian, a Norwegian and a Japanese man. It was bitterly cold as the house was not sealed from the elements, the fog creeping in from a large hole in the gable above us. Still it was an experience to wake up in a Hmong home in the middle of the fog on the side of a mountain. That day we walked for several hours back through the valley passing tourists on package tourists who had stayed not in homes, but in 'home stays,' basically western guest houses. I knew our experience was richer and more rewarding, two days not to forget.

 

My advice to anyone traveling to Vietnam: Go to Sapa, skip the tour and deal direct with the locals for a more authentic, rewarding experience. The money also goes directly to the people you meet rather than being skimmed by dubious tour operators. 

Mountain Trails

The Hmong Part 1 

Our Guide, May

So Fansipan didn't happen, the price being as astronomical as the altitude. For a while there was no plans, if not to climb a mountain, then what? I was walking with a friend I had met through Sapa when we met May. May was one of the Hmong women, who in their out of this world clothing, can be seen walking up and down the main street, chatting happily to tourists. She was lovely, and together with her friend was to be our guide for the day.

Together we walked out of Sapa, the town giving way to rolling hills and rugged mountains. It was a warm and sunny day with a cool wind, perfect for trekking. We chatted to the two Hmong about their lives and their families, they had learned English at the markets, talking to tourists. Soon we were on a rocky path high above a valley, plunging steeply below us into a mosaic of terraced rice fields, reflecting silver, blue and green. On the opposite side the geometric contours rose to bring order to the foothills before the wilder forms of mountains broke loose and rose sharply into the sky. After a few hours the path, now traversed by pigs and the odd buffalo, descended into a village where May's house stood in a tranquil spot fringed by banana trees and overlooking flooded rice fields.

What we did not know was that today was the last day of Tet, and for that occasion a party was being held. So we were joined by about 20 of May's friends to a huge feast in her living room. It was a raucous affair lasting well into the afternoon.

Unfortunately we had to get back to Sapa before night fall, so we were taken by motorbike back up the valley. By this time the sun was dipping below the peaks casting rays of light across the valley that illuminated the mountains in that glorious evening light found only in the world's high country. Such a wonderful day, such an amazing experience.

Mountain Light

All of a sudden, just outside the town of Sapa, the dense veil of  mist lifted, bringing clarity to the world once more. For the first time since I descended into Vietnam from Laos two and a half weeks ago blue sky lay before me. It was evening, having spent all day on a train from Hanoi, and crimson streaks of cloud clung to the mountains high above us. After the fog and smog of the lowlands everything felt so bright and clear, terraced fields and forested slopes shining vivid green, the mountain air so fresh and clean. It is strange how the weather affects one's mood, the grey sky of Hanoi seemed to hang heavy over the mind, oppressive, closing me in beneath a foggy blanket. I do not think I could ever live in a place cut off from the sky, coming from Australia I yearn for the freedom of  the wide, open expanse of blue with it's infinite depth. Not that I did not enjoy the lowlands, or was melancholy in such weather, but I could definitely discern a change in my mood and a longing for sunshine.  I joyously awoke to the the sun's radiant warmth this morning, from my balcony surveying Sapa clinging to the hillside beneath steep mountains. Clouds were tumbling forth across their peaks and rapidly dissolving ensuring they would not blot out the sunshine.  Hill tribe women clad in a deep purple cloth embroided with brilliantly colurful designs walk up and down the street, trailing tourists with friendly conversation that aims to sell all manner of trinkets, small purses, silk scarves and the like. Dining here is somewhat of an experience, all the restaurants candle lit and with roses upon fine table clothes. Somewhere in the west you might pay $20 a main, but here it is only $2. It would have been terribly romantic had I not been alone. When the clouds part I can see from my balcony the summit of what I think is Fansipan, Vietnam's highest mountain. This challenge I hope to attempt tomorrow.

Ha Long

On Monday I took the train out of Hanoi bound for the coast. A thick, drizzly fog hung heavy over the rice fields as we slowly chugged towards the coastal port of Haiphong. I met up with three British and two Lithuanian travelers (both called Thomas) and caught the hydrofoil over to Cat Ba Island. Cat Ba town was not particularly pretty, being over run with hotels that stood almost empty, this being winter and the tourist off season. I shared a room with the Lithuanians, a TV, a view and hot water for only $3!

 

In the Jungle

On Tuesday we went deep into the island jungle. Half of Cat Ba Island is national park, making for excellent trekking through the pristine rain forest. The rugged limestone landscape provided a steep path that climbed and descended over successive hills that were at times shrouded in cloud. The last decent was the most challenging, the limestone and clay soil becoming slippery in the wet, causing many slips and stumbles. A much needed lunch was provided at a local village, proving to be one of the best meals in Vietnam thus far. Perhaps it was made even better by the long walk but everyone agreed that it was top notch. Return to Cat Ba Town was via a boat ride through a wonderous seascape of forest toped limestone karsts hanging upon a flat emerald sea.

  

The View Over Ha Long Bay



On Wednesday I took a boat out across Ha Long Bay, watching the beautiful scenery unfold from it's top deck. The weather was cold and hazy, making photography frustratingly difficult. There was an hour of kayaking before lunch to explore sheltered bays, gliding through clear, still waters over coral reefs and fields of submerged sand filled baskets of some unknown type of aquaculture (sea snails perhaps?). A less sublime stop on our journey was to a cave that would have been nice were it not filled with a continuous stream of noisy Chinese package tourists, completely spoiling the subterranean ambience. The final stop was to an island (one of hundreds) which would have been idyllic if it were not populated by Rhesus monkeys, the most malevolent of monkey of them all. I carefully avoided them as I ascended to the highest point of the island.  More photos can be found here.

On Thursday I returned to Hanoi which oddly felt like I was returning home. Tomorrow I’m off to the mountains to Sapa.