Wanderlust Heaven!

Vietnamese trains show American cartoons, in English. The locals seem to love Tom & Jerry – a show which I outgrew at the age of 6, but hey, it’s probably a fun way to learn English. So I withhold all judgement and say bring it on.

The train pulled into Nha Trang an hour late. And it was raining hard…I suppose I shouldn’t have been cranky, given that until a few weeks before I’d never heard of this place, and was now getting the chance to expand my horizons. But I was in a black sort of mood – 10-hour train ride, crappy weather, hungry, and had been slowly sweating in the ‘aircon’ train car for the better part of the day.

Got to my hotel, which wasn’t too bad. Went out for a bite and stumbled across a Tex-Mex place called El Coyote. Mediocre stuff…later I learned that the owner is French, which may explain things. I do love the French, don’t get me wrong – without them there might not be a USA today. And their own cuisine is exceptional…but Mexican food should be in the hands of actual Mexicans or Americans from border states.

Went diving the next day, with Vietnam’s biggest shop, Rainbow. Turned out to be ‘pickup the trash day’ and we went to some sites which were just so-so…but which did feature large amounts of rubbish. I wondered precisely who took the time to wind several kilometers of string around large rocks and corals? It certainly took us a long time to unwind them…I could have used a dive-knife to simplify the task. Then it rained on the way back to shore. Start of the rainy season around here…oh well.

All that said, Rainbow seemed to me to be the best-run dive operation in the region, and perhaps anywhere. Rainbow has all the usual certifications, and then some (never knew that National Geographic had anything to do with scuba). It’s also a bar/café, an equipment sales/repair shop (and does the critical Suunto battery replacements – a real godsend), and seems to train dozens of foreigners in Divemaster and other courses. Nha Trang would not be a bad place to do more training – it’s a real medium-sized city, right on the ocean, with a nice beach and good night scene, and apparently there are loads of dive sites better than the two I visited.

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Hue, the old imperial capital, was a pleasant enough place – except for the touts who wouldn’t leave me alone for a minute, even while on the middle of the bridge taking a picture of the river. The potential profitability of cadging a foreigner out of his cash must be unimaginable….there seemed to be more xe om (motorbike cab) drivers around than the rest of the employed population combined. Why grow rice and do little more than fill your belly, when you can move into town and perhaps get 1-2 decent scores a day?

Hue’s sights are spread out such that it makes sense to take an organized tour of them. I heard about a good operation run by a local woman named Thu – called Café on Thu Wheels. And she employs most of her 10 or so siblings, making it a very Vietnamese family affair. Thu’s tours are, as the name suggests, on motorbike – so there’s a bit more adventure than the usual stuff ‘em in the bus deal.

I got my own bike – the rest of the 5-6 foreigners rode on the back of a bike, with a local driver. The Honda Wave was fun enough…but seemed like a toy compared with the 160cc version I drove around the North just a few days before. Our tour leader, Minh (one of Thu’s many brothers) was a real joker – at the tomb of Emperor Tu Duc, a man who had 104 wives, countless concubines, but no children, Minh told us that Tu Duc must have been ’shooting blanks.’ His random English – peppered with dated expressions that he emphasized to prove his language skills – reminded me of the Moustache Brothers in Mandalay. The lead brother in that act had told us that his brother (or perhaps cousin, I forget) had been ’sent up the river’ by the junta…

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Returned in one shiny happy piece from my 5-day motorbike tour of northwest Vietnam. The initial outlook was not auspicious – getting out of Hanoi proved to be the trickiest part of the entire journey, and Offroad Vietnam’s manager Anh Wu rode alongside me for a few kilometers to ensure that 1) I didn’t end up pancaked between neighboring bikes on Hanoi’s crazy streets, and 2) I didn’t damage his motorbike – not necessarily in that particular order. But once I got the hang of the bike, a solid Honda 160cc model, I zigzagged in Hanoi’s traffic like a pro – I am, after all, a born and bred Boston driver.

Our gang consisted of guide Chi, an upbeat 29-year-old, two Kiwis – Andrew and Brian, and myself. And it proved to be a very good little ensemble – if I had gone by myself, things might’ve gotten a little dull, and conversely, a group of 10 riders might have been messy. Someone’s bike would very likely have required service, or someone might have been a weak rider, etc. With just 4 of us, we kept things simultaneously tight and loose.

Day 1 saw us riding a hell of a long way – from Hanoi to the town of Nghia Lo. Chi gave us the option of stopping earlier and staying in a town en route, but it was only 3 p.m., and given that it was our first day, we felt pretty strong. Andrew and Brian are both longtime riders, and are accomplished offroaders and dirt bikers…whereas I’m more of a pavement sort. But we found roads that suited all our desires and all felt challenged from time to time.

Hanoi to Nghia Lo was almost 300 km. A full day of riding, starting with Hanoi’s choked streets, moving on to the industrial suburbs of the capital – still quite a challenge, and finally to far more relaxed roadways considerably to the northwest. I can recall a couple bizarre sights from the day:

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My father served in the US Air Force during the Vietnam War. He wasn’t a soldier, mind you – that would have been far too risky. No, he was on the medical staff at March Air Force Base in Riverside, California.

The few stories he’s recounted of this period have to do with the limited intelligence of his ’superiors’ and the amount of time he spent at the canteen, between cases, drinking subsidized draft beer. Actually, I think my mother told me about the latter. Anyway, there are a couple other things I recall about my father’s time in the service. First, he has a signed, framed photo from his commanding officer (a general of some sort, I believe) upon his demobilization. This photo hangs right above his private toilet in his office, because it reminds him of how far he’s come and what’s he left in his rearview mirror. As if the graphic itself doesn’t suffice, the signed phrase at the bottom of the photo reads, ‘To Dr. Slone – a real proffesional.’ Too bad this officer wasn’t using Microsoft Word…he would have gotten that one right.

The other thing I recall is that he was nearly sent to Vietnam itself to serve in a field hospital. He was at most a couple weeks away from heading over when my sister was born – and that allowed him to sidestep the Vietnam assignment and stay in California. Fortuitious, indeed, because the Vietnam hospital was apparently attacked and perhaps even overrun by the VietCong not long after.

I probably haven’t given my sister enough credit for her birth, but allow me to do so here. As for my father, well, the Vietnam War was a long time ago, but perhaps he’ll read this entry and he’ll be touched by the spirit of his 20-something self, always there lingering in the background, ready to come forth with old stories and memories from an odd time in history.

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I left Vientiane in a hurry and under a cloud of suspicion…again. Of course I had read about and laughed at the prohibition of foreigners sleeping with locals…initially to my benefit. For the past few days I’d be kicking back at my guesthouse, reading or sleeping, when my lovely young friend would stop over to indulge in some merrymaking en route to work (hers, not mine). During my final night in town, Lana had come by at 8 p.m., unannounced, and we lost track of time…when we finally got around to checking the clock, it was 9:30 and she was late for work. Reminded me of my business school days, when I’d stop by my (law student) girlfriend’s apartment before going to my study group at school; that was to our mutual detriment, at least in terms of (academic) performance.

But the long arm of the law eventually catches up with you, particularly when you can’t read the local lawbooks. And so after visiting Lana at the disco that night, I returned to my guesthouse for a short snooze before she showed up again. I was the last one back, and the guard locked up behind me – I noticed that and got concerned. What if Lana couldn’t get in later on? I waited till the guard laid down on his cot, took off my flip-flops, and walked down to reverse his machinations. And sure enough, he’d barred the way – both the outside gate and the guesthouse door. I got ‘em both open and went back upstairs.

Woke up randomly at around 2:30 a.m. – oddly, no Lana yet. Went back to sleep, then woke at a slight knock some time later. Opened the door – there she was. Cool. But it wasn’t to be – the guard had heard her come in. And he’d seen her come round before, and was on alert for her next visit. He wouldn’t let her stay – she only had a few minutes to tell me this before she had to leave. I was furious…and thought about bribing the guard, or perhaps giving him a beating…who the hell was this guy to tell me what I could do? But I counted to ten…during which time I remembered that I was in a Communist country, with laws against my favored sort of lifestyle, and I was in a shaky position – as was Lana, who actually had to go on living here ad infinitum. So I calmed down…we said our goodbyes…exchanged contact info…and I vowed to come back sometime soon and find a more friendly residence that wouldn’t involve this sort of nonsense. Or perhaps a good local lawyer who could run interference for me. After all, we American citizens do have our rights.

I had had my fun in Vientiane – no doubt about it. I had burrowed my way into the city’s underbelly and struck gold, at least for a short while. I had ignored the larger forces at play in this chilled yet authoritarian state’s society. But an equal and opposite force had predictably arisen, as I had feared it might. And it was telling me to move along before things got out of hand. I was not pleased about the parental guidance here, but I suppose it was fair enough.

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