Vietnam: The SE Asia ‘Can’t Leave Your Self Behind’ Guide

From A to B – Getting Around

Trains

The trains were fully booked when we were in Vietnam which was a real shame as travelling North to South, or vice versa, is both a logical route and well supported by the train network.  The best I can do is direct you, once more, to the Man in Seat 61 website.

Buses

A little known fact is that Vietnam uses 92.6% of the world’s motor horn allocation.  Drivers honk to clear the path, honk to express alarm, honk to express recognition, honk to say hi, and honk when they haven’t honked in the last five seconds.  Sometimes they forget to honk so do a double honk to make up for their oversight.  Bus drivers have the most impressive horns in Vietnam, and the largest predilection to use them.  Biggest vehicle wins in Vietnam so riding a bus is akin to riding in a tank, scattering mopeds and pedestrians hither and thither as the bus motors on down the road, all accompanied by a near constant HOOOONK!  Take some earplugs.

The buses are OK in Vietnam.  We took a 20 hour sleeper bus from near Hanoi to Hue.  It was an experience.  I noticed that westerners were often placed at the back of the sleeper buses.  This could have been coincidence, but perhaps not.  The upside to being on the back row of a sleeper bus is that you get to put your travelling bag down behind the back row and, well, that’s it.  The back of a bus is bumpier, and in our case had five beds lined up next to each other.  Each berth is perhaps two foot wide, and six foot long. I struggled, sandwiched between Helen on one side and a kindly Vietnamese bloke on the other.  Sleeping etiquette in these cramped conditions is quite a skill.  Sleeping on your side requires that you face away from the person next to you so as not to snore into their face.  If everyone does the same then it happily morphs into a strangely intimate five person spooning configuration.

You can avoid this intimacy by not getting a berth on the back row.  Even better, get one on the lower level as clambering up into the upper level decks requires some climbing skills.  Whatever you do, avoid berths near the toilets, for obvious reasons.

To summarise:

• Use earplugs
• Avoid upper level, back row sleeper berths, unless there’s five of you and you’re swingers
• Avoid a berth near the toilet
• Pass the hours by purchasing a child’s toy steering wheel with horn to attach to the seat in front and pretend to drive

Mopeds

You have to be a bit mental to hire a scooter and drive around a big Vietnamese city.  The riding is hard, with few recognisable traffic rules.  Navigating is even harder.  If I’d have known where I was going I’d have done it for shits and giggles.  I didn’t, so I didn’t.

Hiring mopeds outside of the large cities is more realistic.  Just remember; size wins.  You are at the bottom of the vehicle pecking order so be prepared to get out of the way.

Flying

Flying domestically in Vietnam is a feasible proposition; especially with the great value fares Jetstar offer.  The obvious downside is that you miss a large part of the country.  We flew from Danang to Ho Chi Minh City because all the trains were full and I couldn’t face another night of awkward intimacy on a sleeper bus.   

Where the Magic Probably Won’t Happen – Sleeping

Huenino Hotel, Hue: This was probably the best guesthouse we stayed at in SE Asia.  Reasonable rates, slightly above average (approx $18 USD per night), but worth the extra outlay.  This place does very well on Trip Advisor for good reason.  The rooms are small but nicely designed.  The breakfast is excellent but what really sets this place apart is the staff, all members of the same family.  The one act of service that exemplifies this is that they give you a cool fresh fruit juice every time you come back to the hotel, and a cooled flannel.  This is five star stuff at guesthouse prices and I got the feeling that one of the family had been trained in an international luxury hotel.  Or they were just naturally hospitable.  Either way, great place, worth booking in advance.

Beach Club, Phu Quoc Island: If you’re going to this island (and you should) then you may as well stay on the beach.  This place is at the southern end of the long beach and offers beach cottages.  We paid $30 per night for the beachfront bungalow, and $20 per night for a bungalow slightly set back from the beach.  Both were good.  The food is average, but the setting great.  Beautiful sunsets, good swimming.  It’s a bit out of town so you need a moped to get around, but this is a sound investment anyway, and it’s worth negotiating a rental rate for your entire stay.  Take it easy when riding out of the hotel and up to the main road – this dirt track can easily throw you off balance. Not that this happened to me, oh no.

Nmm nmm nmm – Eating and Drinking

Iced coffee – wasn’t expecting this at all, but the iced coffee in Vietnam is delightful.  Rich and chocolaty coffee, sweetened by condensed milk, it’s available pretty much everywhere.

Nina’s Cafe, Hue.  This is another winner on Trip Advisor, and again it deserves the plaudits.  A small place run by the eponymous Nina it offers great food at low prices.  Nina herself is delightful; friendly, kind and thoughtful.  She is also smart, and realises that word of mouth, or of internet, is the best way to make her business a success, along with running a tight ship.  I admired her for this, and urge you to go to experience the great food and to support someone who has justifiably earned a good reputation. 

Random fish restaurant, Rach Gia: Can’t remember the name of this place, or give you directions, or remember the price (it was cheap) yet despite these Michelin-guide levels of information I would urge you to track down this local restaurant.  They seemed to serve only one dish; a huge fish that comes with rice pancakes and other stuff to make your own fishy delights.  I’ve included a picture so that if you cross this place you can dive in.  They were surprised to see us there, which is always nice, and amused at my attempts to squeeze my frame into the tiny child-size plastic chair.  They were even more amused when I tried to get out of it.  

Night market, Phu Quoc Island: This is the place for seafood on Phu Quoc.  Stalls line both sides of the road offering up a wide range of sea treasures.  Pick the busiest place.  We’d befriended some fair dinkum Aussies on Phu Quoc who came from a long line of fishermen and they assured us that the quality of the fish was top-notch.

Other stuff

Riding the Hoi An pass, from Hue to Hoi An

This route was recently made famous by Top Gear’s Vietnam special and though the programme manages to fake pretty much every scene they shoot they can’t fake the splendour of this magnificent stretch of road.  We completed the day long trip with a company called Hue Riders, our guide Mr Dung ushering us through the hairpins and city madness.  I rode myself on an automatic scooter and Helen rode pillion on Mr Dung’s motorbike. Our heavy packs were transported separately to Hue and we picked them up at the end of the day.

The ride takes in several stops along the way including Elephant Falls; a chance to have a dip and wash the dirt away.   Motoring along this stretch of road, Arcade Fire blasting through my headphones, was one of my happiest times in all of SE Asia.

Video footage of us riding this road is available on my YouTube channel

Riding around Phu Quoc Island

To continue with the biking theme, renting a moped and taking off around Phu Quoc Island is a great way to spend a day or two.  The north west of the island boasts the most beautiful scenery as you hug the coastline.  The ride up the north east coast road is the most fun as a rider as you need to cross some eroded sections of road, using impromptu bamboo bridges.  It takes a little experience, and some conviction to ride this, but I’m an amateur and we managed it, with Helen riding pillion.  And spanking my bottom, like a racehorse, to get extra thrust up the steep sections.

Again, video footage of this road is available on my YouTube channel.

Tour into the Mekong Delta from Ho Chi Minh City

I’m in two minds about this.  On the one hand, it’s a very good value way to see the Mekong, and meet other travellers.  On the other hand, it’s incredibly touristy and there is a significant amount of herding that goes on.  I’d definitely recommend against doing a one day trip as the vast majority of your day will be taken up with travelling to and from the Mekong.  I wrote more about it in this previous post.

What I didn’t mention in this post was the charming Singaporean man we chatted to on the tour.  I’d just been reading about Singapore and in particular the suffocating surveillance society that seems to be the price Singaporeans pay for a prosperous, safe and clean home.  Conscious that this was an opportunity to ask about his perspective on this, away from government snitches, we had a fascinating chat on the subject of ‘what price freedom?’  It was his response, however, to my explanation of our year long career break that really made me chuckle, and stuck in my mind.  That’s a very European thing to do, he said, sounds like a mid-life crisis.  I loved his bluntness, his jovial taunting, and we both giggled when I sheepishly added that I had just biked the Hoi An pass so maybe an early mid-life crisis was an accurate summary. 

    

Early morning at Hoan Kiem lake in Hanoi

Get up early and take a walk around the lake before the humidity takes hold to experience how Hanoi wakes up, and to see the most eclectic mix of people exercising.  This experience is so in contrast to the craziness of Hanoi that it left quite a mark on me.

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Introduction: The SE Asia ‘Can’t Leave Your Self Behind’ Guide

Contents: Overview, overall route, budgeting and money, visas and border crossings

Besides, my usefulness here is destroyed because all of my friends think me a man of unsound mind.  Alex Campbell (Canadian politician)

This is that most rare of things for this blog; a useful post, or rather a set of useful posts.  To be treasured like the first pubic hair you sprouted, sealed in a see-through baggie, bought out for special occasions, and eventually sealed in a locket and presented as a gift after a successful date.  No? Just me? Surely not.

A couple of friends have asked me for hints and tips on South East Asia recently.  You know, useful stuff like where to stay, how to get there, what can’t, and what must, be missed.  It would seem that the random brain-farts on naughty train behaviour, the maddening word awesome, the ethics of phone hacking, and discourses on the characters we’ve met don’t fulfil this brief of usefulness.  My tracking stats also tell me that a large number of readers are coming from the Lonely Planet website and I suspect these readers are keen and eager for useful and tangible advice.  Useful and tangible advice from the ‘Because You Can’t Leave Your Self Behind’ blog? Whatever next?

It is, however, important to note that the suggestions and advice below are based on our limited experiences, and is far from comprehensive and even further from objective.  We didn’t go to South East (SE) Asia with a view to researching then publishing a guide book, nor have we left with that intention, although approaches from publishers bearing generous advances are most welcome.  In short, don’t blame me if you follow this advice and end up with an incense stick embedded in your forehead, or worse still, come home sporting hair braids or a tattoo that wouldn’t pass muster in a prison.  I speak from experience on one of these outcomes.  On the other hand, if you do find any of the advice useful then please send gifts, blank cheques and/or perfume scented love letters to me.  Or just leave a comment below addressed c/o Ian’s Self Esteem.

Each country has its own post and includes information on getting around, accommodation, eating, and ‘other stuff’ which will most likely descend into cheap gags and (no promises) funny stories.  I’ve tried to separate these stories out so that those looking for facts can find them quickly.   

This introductory post largely steers clear of country-specific information and instead seeks to contextualise the trip with the overall route and a section on budgeting, and offers advice on visas and border crossings which, by their very nature, cut across countries. 

Well, what are you waiting for? A locket or something?

The overall route

Duration: 10 weeks.  Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia; clockwise.

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• Flew into Bangkok, Thailand
• Sleeper train to Krabi
• West coast island of Ko Lanta
• Ko Phi Phi
• Ferry, Bus, Train combo back to Bangkok
• Sleeper train north to Chiang Mai
• Minibus and short boat ride across border to Huay Xai, Laos
• Gibbon Experience
• Bus to Luang Nam Tha
• Minibus to Luang Prabang
• Flight to Hanoi, Vietnam
• Bus, Ferry combo to Cat Ba Island near Halong Bay
• Bus, Ferry, Sleeper Bus to Hue
• Motorcycle across Hoi An Pass to Hoi An
• Flight from Danang to Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon)
• Organised tour into Mekong Delta
• Bus then ferry south-west to Phu Quoc Island
• Ferry, Bus to Cambodian Border, on to Kep
• Bus to Siem Reap
• Taxi to Thai Border
• Taxi (again!) to Bangkok
• Fly out

Money matters: Budgeting, accessing it, and keeping it safe  

Budgeting

Budgets are personal things, and I suspect you could travel for far less than we did.  Equally, you could spend FAR more. You will, I think, only be paying attention to this information if you yourself are budgeting for a similar trip, and with this in mind it’s useful to have some context about us. 

We probably fit into the category of ‘flashpacker’, much as I loathe that term.  This means we were careful with money, but not obsessively so.  We stayed in either budget or good value midrange guesthouses, tending to opt for air conditioning.  Where possible we chose comfort over price with transport, although one does not necessarily guarantee the other.  We very rarely ate in high-end restaurants, but did eat often.  We boozed it up occasionally, but still remember most of the trip. We bought nice but relatively inexpensive gifts (my wife) and a fair amount of cheap but fun tat (me).  When we negotiated we did so with a view to both us and them winning, but were happy if they won more often than us.

With this context in mind our budget was £80 GBP per day for us both (a grand total of approx. £5,600).  Not including flights in and out of Bangkok or travel insurance.  It does however include other flights mentioned above, plus everything else.  We came in approximately £400 under this budget at the end of the trip.  


This information is not designed to form a budget recommendation, merely guidance.  I’m being cagey on this because I read a car crash of a discussion thread on the Lonely Planet Thorn Tree forum about budgeting for SE Asia which made me acutely aware that (a) budgets are sensitive topics and (b) the internet is full of some real arseholes.

Special offer to prove how fond I am of you lot: If you want an excel spreadsheet with formulas included for budgeting and then tracking daily spends against budget then leave a comment below with your email address and I’ll shoot it over.  If you already know me then you can email me directly or facebook me rather than leave a comment.  It’s free.  Obviously.

Accessing it and keeping it safe

From a logistical point of view Visa debit cards are widely accepted in ATMs – tell your bank where you’re going to avoid getting it declined when you arrive.  Visa and Mastercard credit cards are accepted in a few places, almost always with a 2.5 – 3% surcharge.  AMEX is next to useless. Cash is still king, and the US dollar is still the de rigeur international currency.  Having a $100 bill stashed away is a good emergency plan. 

From a security point of view here’s some pointers from our experience:

• A money belt, one which loops around your waist and buckles (i.e. a normal belt), with a small hidden zip on the inside is great for carrying small wads of notes and a photocopy of your passport.
• This is opposed to the pouches that are designed to be worn on your belly, under clothing, also known as money belts.  These, in my opinion, are daft as they often bulge out from under clothing and are like a flashing beacon to nefarious types.  Ones that have a steel band embedded in the strap to deter a slash and grab job are even dafter – if your assailant has a knife do you really want him thwarted? Better to lose your stuff than your life.
• For extreme security (and we only did this a couple of times in Africa) tubigrip bandages worn on your thigh, under shorts or trousers, are a good method for storing wads of cash, provided it is wrapped in plastic first.
• Something brilliant that Helen thought of was to get security pockets sewn into the inside of our shorts/skirts.  These passport shaped cloth pouches have a zip and sit next to the groin. Not easy to access during the day, but that’s the point.  We had a tailor sew these in when we were in Johanessburg.
• I have a fondness for zips.  A zipped pocket will thwart all but the most skilful of pickpockets.  Similarly, shirts that have buttoned breast pockets are great for storing easy-to-access (for you) cash.

Visas and border crossings

For a more comprehensive set of recommendations I suggest you use the Travelfish website which is an exceptional travel resource for SE Asia.  They have also started publishing nicely designed and useful IPhone apps.

Information below is correct at time of writing, and the visa information specifically applies to UK passport holders.

Visas

Thailand: arrivals by air are granted a free 30 day visa.  Land arrivals get a free 15 day visa.  No passport photo required in either instance.  Visa extensions can be organised in most towns, and a new visa is granted if you leave and then re-enter Thailand.

Laos: Laos visa cost $20 USD, passport photo required. You’ll inevitably pay some random (read corrupt) processing or overtime fee of a dollar or two each at land crossings.  Much as it pains me to say this given my fairly trenchant stand on the issue of corruption it’s probably easier to just pay and fume later.

Vietnam: As a general rule it is necessary to get a Vietnam visa before arrival.  If arriving by air then visa on arrival may be possible if you have applied for an e-visa in advance.  All land crossings require a visa in advance.  Visas are for 30 days, and applications require a passport photo. Cost varies between $40-60 USD depending on speed of processing required.

If doing a SE Asia tour it’s probably easier to get a Vietnamese visa from a neighbouring country such as Laos or Cambodia, or at the Vietnamese embassy in Bangkok.  Most large towns will provide visa services either at a local consulate or via a travel agent (who will charge you a small fee, send off your passport, and return it a few days later).  Vietnam requires you to provide a date for when you wish your visa to start.  That’s why it’s easier to get one closer to the time – you’re more likely to be sure of when exactly you’ll cross the border.
 

We got one in Luang Prabang, Laos.  It was simple.  I wrote about it on a forum on the Lonely Planet Thorn Tree, here (see post # 10).

Cambodia:  available on arrival, $20 USD, 30 days validity, passport photo required (see below).  Again, you’ll pay some random bribes if crossing by land.  Scammers are particularly bad at these crossings.  We got a little scammed, and were a little stupid…

We arranged for a combined bus, ferry, bus and border crossing ticket to get from Phu Quoc Island in Vietnam to the Cambodian border then through to Kep on the south coast.  They also offered a $25 visa service.  We had run out of passport photos and asked the office if they could advise us on where to get some.  They told us not to bother, that the additional $5 we’d paid (on top of the $20 visa fee) would cover that.  So we rocked up to the Cambodian border, the fat border guard pulling on his official shirt over his vest as we drew up.  The bus driver handed over our passports, we filled in the forms, and then he asked us for our passport photos.  Ah, we said, they said it wouldn’t be necessary, turning around to point out the driver.  Who had promptly disappeared.  You’ll have to pay $2 each for a photo he said.  OK, I said, my mistake, realising I was about to be scammed.  Where should I stand for the photo, I politely asked. No camera, he replied. And this is where I should have shut my mouth, handed over the inconsequential amount, and moved on.  But I was hot and grumpy, and just thoroughly pissed off with being viewed as a walking cash machine.  So if there’s no camera how can I pay for a photo, I asked.  You pay fine, he replied, turning my passport over in his hands to clearly show just where the balance of power lay.  Oh, it’s a fine, I said, then that’s OK, but can I have a receipt please?  This was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Exploding with rage he told me that I, just like my government (?!), was disrespecting him and his country, that I had insulted him by suggesting that the money he was about to take would somehow change his life, you think I can buy a car, a house, with this money, he shouted.  Glancing at my passport in his sweaty hands I concluded that perhaps now was the time to back up.  I didn’t mean any disrespect to you or your country, and the relationship between my government and yours is one of friendship, I calmly bullshitted. There has clearly been a misunderstanding, for which I apologise, so please take this money so we can be on our way, I continued, thrusting some notes at him, impatience and supplication mixing in my tone.  I think at this point both of us were secretly wishing that these disputes could be settled in a more medieval way, man vs man. I don’t want your money, he said, now taking the moral high ground.  OK, apologies again for the misunderstanding, thank you, I said claiming back our passports.  His unspoken thoughts: get out of here you jumped up smartass.  My unspoken thoughts: don’t take the moral high ground with me fatty, you corrupt sack of shit. A grunt from him, and a mumbled but cheerful fuck-you very much from me, and we were on our way.

Border crossings

The lesser-spotted blagger

Borders are the natural habitat for blaggers; get your head down, plough on, ignore them.  Visas for Thailand, Laos and Cambodia can be obtained at point of entry, ignore anyone who tells you differently. 

Changing money at borders will result, in one way or another, in being ripped off.  Perhaps not by much, so you pay your money you take your risk.  Get the latest exchange rate before you enter a country, never expect to match this with a money changer, but expect to get close-ish through negotiation.  Only hand over your money once you have agreed a rate and a total exchange value, have counted and checked the proffered notes, then counted again.  When dealing with large denominations be wary of the ‘500’ note slipped in among the ‘5000’ notes, for example.  Only exchange if you are completely happy with the quantity and quality of the notes.  If you’re not, walk away, and keep walking.  If you are, make the exchange and walk away, and don’t entertain any renegotiations from the money changer – this will certainly be a scam; your business was concluded when you exchanged the notes.  Equally, if you suddenly realise you’ve been ripped off then don’t expect the money changer to remember you.  Chalk it up to experience.  Or avoid all this and use an ATM at the next large town, and have some US dollars stashed away for emergencies.   


Update, 1 December 2011, Peru: I re-read the above recently and concluded that it sounds insufferably smug.  Like I actually have any idea what I'm doing when it comes to changing money.  The advice, I think, is still sound, but it seems only right, in the interests of full disclosure, that I'm honest about how I've completely failed to follow my own advice.  I've changed money at borders twice, and been ripped off twice - once in Africa and once in South America.  Both my fault.  I didn't lose a huge amount in either transaction, so it's no great shakes, and it can be put down to a simple inability to calculate figures in my head and negotiate at the same time.  So, that's it.  I'm not that cool, urbane, unruffled international traveler figure that delights in doling out smug advice.  I'm mostly just a naive fool, as fallible as the next man.  Anyway, update over, as you were...  

Thailand - Laos

Chiang Mai (Thailand) to Huay Xai (Laos): We caught a minibus from Chiang Mai with other travellers, dropping us at river crossing at the Thai border town of Chiang Khong.  You hand in your passports on the Thai side for departure stamps.  A very short boat ride takes you across the river (40 baht per person if memory serves).  Complete the Laos immigration forms on the other bank, get your visa, and away you go, up the bank into the main drag with all the guesthouses. 

Laos – Vietnam

Luang Prabang airport (Laos) to Hanoi airport (Vietnam): air border crossings are simple.  We had our visas for Vietnam in advance so breezed through immigration.  Not much more to write on this…

Vietnam – Cambodia

Phu Quoc Island (Vietnam) to Kep (Cambodia): We bought a combined bus, ferry, bus ticket to take us from our guesthouse on Phu Quoc to Kep.  Other than the Cambodian standoff story above this was a simple border crossing, the bus depositing us in Kep from where we jumped in a tuk tuk to a guesthouse.

Cambodia - Thailand

Siem Reap (Cambodia) to Aranyaprathet (Thailand) and on to Bangkok: we caught a 3 hour taxi from Siem Reap ($25 USD) to the border town of Aranyaprathet.  You hand in your passport for a Cambodia departure stamp then take a five minute walk through no-man’s-land to the Thai border.  There are lots of street kids and touts.  I used up my remaining small amounts of Cambodian coinage on buying some food for these kids – I don’t personally hand out money as a rule.  Fill in entry form at Thai border to get a 15 day free visa, no passport photo required. Someone will find you on the Thai side offering transport options to Bangkok before you need to find them.  We were tired and sick of buses so we opted for the offer of a taxi.  The 3 hour ride cost approximately £35 GBP, so not cheap by SE Asia standards, but great value by any other standard, and it deposited us, in torrential rain, right outside our guesthouse door in Bangkok. 


You can also do the Bangkok leg by train or bus.  We didn't, so can't comment. 

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Vietnam – full of Vietnamese

Vietnam – From Hanoi to Phu Quoc Island

I shot a furtive and subtle glance over my right shoulder to Helen, sat at the back of the minibus, that I hoped conveyed the message ‘this is not what it looks like, although I don’t really know what this is’. 

The skinny and feline man who was sat next to me had, sighing contentedly, snuggled sleepily into my shoulder and was gently stroking my arm hair.   We’d spent the previous 45 minutes in a game of eye spy, both of us incapable of understanding the other’s language, but committed nonetheless to exhausting the possibilities of our surroundings.  He’d showed me his I-Phione (sic), a glorious rip-off that even had the Apple apple on start up.  I’d shared with him some vacuum-packed dried fruit I’d pinched from an Air Botswana flight and had kept for emergencies (this, I felt, qualified).  He showed me his tattoos, I showed him mine.  We swapped cigarettes, and I read aloud the Vietnamese government health warning on the side of his package, much to his delight, although I’m certain I heard a snigger from one of the other passengers who, quite fairly, was wondering what the hell we were up to.  I was wondering the same.  I showed him the world map on the inside page of the book I was reading, a chapter of which was dedicated to Vietnam, and we traced our fingers across the different names of cities, repeating them to each other.  He pointed to my copper bracelet and struggling to explain that it was from Zambia I resorted to pulling an old postcard from my bag, never sent, with pictures of a Kenyan safari emblazoned on the front.  What’s the correct African country between new friends? 

Eventually, he pointed to his arm, and simulating an injection, rolled his eyes to the back of his head.  I finally got it.  This guy was off his face.  And who was I to ruin his buzz?  Although I stopped short of stroking his hair and singing him lullabies (“I felt the needle and the damage done…”) I did slump a little and turned the pages of my book slowly so as not to disturb him from his opium dreams.  It was the least I could do – we had a relationship now.     

   

It’s these mini, transient, relationships that often deliver the most joy when travelling.  I’ve written before that it’s the people, and not the places, that inspire.  This is why I was disquieted by the Lonely Planet Vietnam guidebook’s very short opinion-piece on what they consider to be a ‘worrying development’ in the relationship between travellers in Vietnam and the Vietnamese. It suggested, in its brevity, that travellers simply don’t trust their hosts.  Such vagueness is often the calling card of the Lonely Planet – a small box of text outlining a spurious sentiment that raises far more questions than answers.  Lonely Planet are generally reluctant to express firm opinions outside of the stay/eat/do category, but given these guides are written by intelligent and adventurous types it is somewhat inevitable that esoteric opinions do, on occasion, slip through. For me, however, this is the ‘worrying development’, and I think the aforementioned opinion piece neatly captures why.  It fails to mention why there is a tension in the relationship, what opinions exist on both sides of the supposed tourist-resident divide, and how the tension manifests itself.  ‘There be monsters’ it vaguely implies.  One is left to fill in the blanks of this story, entering the country, as I did, with an ill-defined sense of unease, and a ‘no smoke without fire’ logic painting vivid tapestries of distrust, scams, and simmering hostility. Would I feel about as welcome here as I would if I walked into an alopecia clinic?

It made me wonder just how many tourists read that opinion-piece and, just like me, enter Vietnam with a barrier held high, a silent mental refrain saying ‘I don’t trust you, I don’t know why, but I just don’t’.  It’s bad news, and it’s not like me.  Contrary to what you may have taken from previous postings I do actually like people, and happy as I am to spend time in my own head, I struggle without meaningful human contact.  I try hard to assume the best of people, try even harder not to judge people too quickly (because I need to try, this does not come naturally), and I firmly believe that everyone has an interesting story to tell, you just need to ask the right questions sometimes. I’m not naïve so I don’t automatically trust anyone, but I do want to trust; that door is open my friend, I’d really like it if you walked through it, but I’m not coming to you. 

You can probably tell where this is going (no? you’re not following this stream of consciousness claptrap? Come on, keep up).  I shouldn’t have been worried, and I resent the Lonely Planet for triggering this worry, but not as much as I resent myself for assuming the worst.  People, to be bland, are people.   Some are nice, some are devious, some are helpful, some are calculating, some are clever, some are daft.  Most are a combination.  I shuddered a little when a girl we’d met had advised us ‘not to go to that beach, it’s full of Vietnamese’.  I refrained from replying ‘well, we are in Vietnam, you weirdo, and while we’re being open and honest you can tell your boyfriend that despite being charming and interesting and intelligent and someone I’d like to have a beer with he looks like a COCK with those dreadlocks and that stupid hair band and it is because of this that I am being cold towards him, yes I called you a weirdo’.   Contrary to guidebooks and lazy generalisations the Vietnamese people we met were lovely and however brief and transient our relationship may have been with them, it was a good one.

There was Mr. Dung, our motorbike tour leader who led us safely across the Hoi An pass (video below), who was gentle and kind and out of chivalry never allowed Helen to carry her own rucksack.  His chivalry also extended to me. He sat next to me after I’d changed into my swimming shorts to have a swim in the Elephant Falls, just south of Hue, and gently stroking my arm (yes, that again) he quietly said ‘you’re a very handsome man Mr Ian’ proving he was a benevolent liar, and prompting a response of ‘um, thanks’?  He would later hand over his cap to me after I complimented it, insisting that I took it from him, and causing a banknote battle as I offered to pay and he refused – I won, boo yah! 

There was the hotel receptionist in Hanoi who took time out of his day to patiently tutor me on how to say, in Vietnamese, ‘good morning, please can you take us to the bus station’?  I assume that’s what I learnt although it could well have been ‘good morning, I am a fool, please switch your taxi meter to rip-off mode’.  Whatever I actually said, not helped by Helen’s giggles at my sing-song pronunciation, we got to the bus station.  This generated what I think was a completely justified smug raise of the eyebrows from me to the still-giggling Helen.

There were countless other people who would stop to smile and help, explain what was in the tea we were drinking, and gently tolerate our remedial attempts at their language.  Even the security staff at Danang airport were friendly, allowing me to run back through the metal detector clutching my swiss army penknife, walk straight past the check-in desks, and stuff the penknife into our chucked luggage that was still sitting on the conveyor.  All these people had a bigger impact on me than the atmospheric cities and beautiful countryside that this country offers up in spades.

So for those of you who are disquieted or concerned by the welcome you may receive in Vietnam I have a simple message.  Go – it’s full of Vietnamese.         

     

Money in the hat

Vietnam, Mekong Delta

Three of the four tourists wore their tour-inclusive pointed bamboo hats as they were paddled fore and aft in a canoe through the thin, mangrove lined canal just off the Mekong River in southern Vietnam.  The fourth, grumpy at being herded around, harrumph-ing at the trash that littered the banks, and displaying the effects of a traveller’s worst fear; meeting other travellers, mumbled ‘don’t want it’ when the bamboo hats were passed back through the canoe.  Can you guess who this grump was readers?

Passing other canoes heading in the opposite direction, light of load now their tourist meat had been delivered to the waiting boat, the fore paddlers hissed an initially unintelligible phrase to us – ‘teeep morny’.  ‘What are they saying’? I asked Helen.  ‘Good morning, I think’ she responded, as another paddler hissed at us, this time rubbing his thumb and forefingers together.  ‘Oh, right, I see, they’re saying tip money’, I said, the repeated pleas now becoming clearer, more insistent, and frankly more irritating with each passing canoe.  A clever and unequivocal little phrase that one, precluding as it does the waggish response of ‘don’t eat yellow snow’.  Being harangued into tipping is an experience that can sully the most pleasant of experiences, just as excessive hawking and the directive of ‘you buy something’ can ruin a browse through a market.  And yet, irritating as these things may be, I still understand and admire the enterprise of it, perhaps even the necessity of it, for this is a game in which the outcome matters far more to the hawker than the prey.  Nonetheless, a t-shirt that reads ‘no thanks, got enough crap already’ would be a useful wardrobe addition to the market browser in Vietnam.   

The hissing paddlers were part of a two day ‘Mekong Explorer’ tour, run out of Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon), a ludicrously good value way to get to Cat Tho, stay overnight, then reject the return bus journey back to the city (so ludicrously good value and with such small margins that I wondered what the paddlers cut of the take was - not much I concluded handing over a tip). So instead of heading back to Ho Chi Minh City with the rest of the group we have continued west, towards the coast and then on to Phu Quoc Island, where I sit now, overlooking the Gulf of Thailand, a cool sea breeze cutting through the humidity of the day, my writing instruments of beer, cigarettes, notebook, and laptop fanned out in front of me.  The tour made me grumpy at first, but as it went on I became more pensive, the continual undertone of tips, kickbacks, and tourist trappings shifting from an irritant into an insight.  An insight into a nation that has quietly said no the political philosophy of the communist government, and has collectively jumped on to the capitalist bandwagon, grappling over each other to reach the Rolls Royce at the front of the traffic jam.    

On the second day, in a quiet moment, I asked our guide what ambitions young people like him had.  His response, ‘to make money’, does not translate well into the written word, as it implies the kind of shallowness that those who yearn to ‘be famous, just famous’ exhibit.  However, he was saying more than this, I think; he was telling me the chance was there to do something other than just survive, that the luxury of peace and relative stability was a platform not to be squandered.  With an accent and phrases that were a bizarre mix of Seattle and Saigon, his tour guide patter also provided an insight into what exercises the collective mind of the country’s youth.  We weren’t there man, we weren’t there! was his unspoken cry, the war a non-memory, an irrelevance to the young of this striding society.  He spoke of wealth, and non-wealth, of how people made a living, and of international relations between themselves and their neighbouring countries of Laos, China and Cambodia, each trying to harness, in this case, the Mekong River and its banks as a power and revenue generator. His tour commentary, repeated daily and with the same jokes no doubt, seemed nonetheless to have a spontaneous edge to it, as if he was thinking out loud, trying to understand his rapidly shifting country, and his place in it.  The word ‘money’ littered his soliloquies; how to get it, how it has been lost, what it’s like to have little but want lots. 

And I ended up rather liking him for it.  He taught me more than I could ever learn from a book, he revealed a lot about what the national character of Vietnam’s youth is like, and he did so with a charming uncertainty of just how he would fit in, but a rigid certainty that he wanted a piece of this new world pie.  In some ways I think this makes this young lad from Saigon no different from a peer in Seattle.  He wanted to get on, but just wasn't sure how yet, and I liked him for that.

But I’m still not wearing that bloody stupid hat.

People are strange

Luang Prabang, Laos and Hanoi, Vietnam

“Oh, hello, you were on the plane with us from Luang Prabang” she said, scurrying across the busy Hanoi street and leaving her (his eyes seemed to suggest) long-suffering husband on the other side.  Whilst it pays to be just the tiniest bit suspicious of random people claiming to know you in foreign cities, the middle aged north-western woman, with her camera toting husband in tow could, I felt, be swiftly placed in the harmless category.  Harmless maybe, but boy could she moan.  “How did you like Luang Prabang” we asked, wishing five minutes later that we hadn’t as we were treated to a rundown of the numerous failings the city had amounting, if I followed correctly, to there being ants in her room and the boat that transported them there being grubby.  I have no issue with people having higher expectations, particularly if they’ve paid enough to justify such expectations, but writing off a whole city – a UNESCO world heritage site at that – on the basis of a tour company screw up seems a bit disingenuous to me.  “I refused to get in the bed on the first night”, she continued, images flashing through my mind of her hanging upside down from an alcove instead, arms crossed over her chest, her husband ordering extra garlic bread at dinner.  “Oh, well I hope you’re enjoying Hanoi a little more” I politely responded, keen to move the conversation into a moan free zone before I had to get all Buffy on her arse and pull out my wooden stake or fashion a couple of ciggies into a makeshift crucifix.  “Oh, this is much more like it”, she replied, “the hotel’s beautiful, I’ll be two hours tops out here and then it’s straight back to the pool - a bit of luxury, just like we’re used to”.  Our eyes met, sharing a look that I suspect is unique to Brits, indecipherable to any other nationality, that said ‘yes, that’s right, you’ve just slipped into show-off mode, now we both feel uncomfortable’.  Hastily back-pedalling she added “you know what I mean, we’re older, we’ve done all that doss-house stuff before”. 

I should be clear here, I didn’t dislike this woman – I may not want to be trapped in a lift with her, but I didn’t dislike her.  She’d chosen to go on a tour through South East Asia, deciding against numerous more comfortable experiences, and she and her husband were most likely spending a good chunk of the savings they’d built up through the summer of their youth to do so.  But the reference to her age made me inwardly chuckle, bringing to life the irony of a sumptuous passage I had just read in Paul Theroux’s Ghost Train to the Eastern Star:

Luxury spoils and infantilizes you and prevents you from knowing the world. That is its purpose, the reason why luxury cruises and great hotels are full of fatheads who, when they express an opinion, seem as though they are from another planet.  

This woman, in the autumn of her life, had chosen, precisely because of her age, a holiday that would spoil and infantilize her and which was resulting in a grown-up tantrum on the side of a busy road in Hanoi to two complete strangers.  By vowing to spend time by the pool instead of time in the city she was clinging to a comfort blanket, knowing that the only strange foreigners she’d have to deal with would be those serving her Martinis poolside, trained no doubt to international standards and in the international language of the service industry, English. 

This sounds scathing, but it really isn’t meant to.  I genuinely hope that she has a nice holiday, and that she stops stressing the little things (and whisper it, they’re all little things in the end).  I hope that she gets up early one morning and sees how the residents of Hanoi keep fit without access to a five star pool, stretching, tai-chi’ing, and slowly jogging around the city centre lake as the steam dissipates off the surface and before the cloak of humidity takes hold.  I hope that as the sun rises her concerns and fears and frustrations will set, and that the ‘Dangers and Annoyances’ section of the Lonely Planet (which, be honest, everyone morbidly flicks to first) will no longer say to her scam, charlatan and thief but opportunity, understanding and friendship. I hope that she begins to revel in the giddy sensation of ‘otherness’ that travel in a strange land can engender, and that she starts to see this otherness as a blessing and not a curse.  I hope that she realises that it is more often the people, strange though they may be, and not the places, that make for a great experience. 

I hope I can do the same.

(Oh, and I really hope a priest hasn’t blessed that swimming pool water because that would be, well, messy.)

< Competition time! There will be a fabvery little to no valueulous prize for the first person who can correctly identify the link between the title of this post and the subject matter.  Leave your submissions as a comment and if you post as 'anonymous' be sure to stick your name at the end of the comment.  Good luck blog fans and thanks, as ever, for reading! 
UPDATE, seven hours after publication - we have a winner already, and the competition is now closed, although feel free to leave other comments or connections that you see.  Read the comments to see the answers, including Mark's correct answer.>