Travelling Each Other Mad

Saigon

Vietnam has many French infleunces; the architecture, their crazy driving (different, but as mad as each other), even the quoc ngu script still used for written Vietnamese was developed by Alexandre de Rhodes, a French Jesuit missionary.

And like France, Vietnams pedestratian crossings are a wonderful presentation of black and white but provide little aid for crossing the road. This leaves getting to the other side of the road an exercise in tragic comedy. Think and you get run over. Look and you get run over. But here’s the trick – walk like your blind and the river of mopeds will flow around you. Fortunately we got a lesson from a hotel manager when being taken to a parent hotel of one we’d found through the Lonely Planet book (but was full). We followed this local man into a wall of fast moving traffic in good trust, but this was our first lesson so whilst he apparently had his eyes closed and walked like an enlightened man, we were watching the mopeds darting around us and jumping about with our hands flapping like we were trying to fly out of there. And wishing we could.

We survived however, and are now not only walking across Vietnams busiest roads like Moses walked through the sea, I have now mastered the art of staying alive and, of equal value, staying calm when riding a moped down the road whilst other mopeds ride around me oblivious to my existence, locals walk across the road looking at the ground, and small yields to big, or else, which puts me at the bottom of the food chain. Go with the flow and it’s easy riding, try to go to fast or make a turn to quick and things get complicated and frustrating.

We fell in love with Saigon on the first day we arrived. The karaoke bus ride (the tour lady felt compelled to sing a couple of songs and then tried to get us involved. No chance lady, you’re on your own) kept us in a lively mood so we had plenty of energy to hunt for a clean and cheap room for the night.

The next day we took a tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels, which were used by the Viet Coms during the war. They lived and fighted in these tunnels for years. After crawling through one of these in pitch darkness I had much admiration for these people for doing this every day, and staying thin enough to get through all the little secret passages.

LEFT: On the way to the tunnels we stopped by a rubber plantation. RIGHT: Shoes made out of car tyres; before they had all those rubber trees.

LEFT: The rubber trickles off into this coconut bowl and the workers have to come around and empty them every day, usually very early in the morning. There are thousands of these trees, I wouldn’t want that job. RIGHT: Laura’s fat arse.

LEFT: Chatting to one of the regulars at the underground kitchen. He wasn’t the most talkative chap I’ve met. RIGHT: One of the bamboo traps used against the Americans – the spikes had snake venom on every tip. They’d be dead within half an hour.

Somehow I managed to fit in this small secret passageway. At first we were all crowded round what appeared to be nothing but leaves on the floor. Then our tour guide felt around the earth below his feet and up popped this hole. I thought he was kidding when he said “so, who’s first?”. He wasn’t. Some of the tour group couldn’t fit down – those Viet Coms were little people (guys and girls)!

After the tunnels it was time to shoot some stuff. We had a change of heart at the last minute and decided just to watch and laugh as others dislocated their arms with the kick back of the fire arms.

I have a video of one guy using the machine gun, I’ll try to get it on here soon. Ten bullets gone in an instant, it was over before he knew he’d pulled the trigger. Scared the crap out of him.

Mui Ne

Apart from being blagged out of ten thousand dong by some five year olds for a go each of sand sledging , walking along the dunes feeling like we’re in the Sahara, and riding a moped around town for a day, we didn’t get up to much here. The Lonely Planet book promised climbing opportunities but the highest peaks were made from sand and we climbed those and got bored quickly. So we moved on.

Da Lat
Rupert writes
It’s as French as the name sounds. Two thousand, four hundred metres up in the mountains and it’s cold enough to be a Pyrenees town. The contrast of this place and the hot and humid South of Vietnam is like being in another country. Locals have thrown out the traditional Non La hats and donned their woolly beenies – with a little imagination you can almost see snow on every roof top.

Laura writes
We have just made our way in from the rain and settled into our favourite restaurant. V Cafe. It’s warm and cosy in here, with it’s red balloon shaped lights hanging from the ceiling and it’s chequered table clothes reflecting the typical French environment.

As I sit here, soaking in the gentle atmosphere, I realise just how much this restaurant reminds me of the world outside – Veitnam, yet it’s so French. Same same, but different. It has every table full, with guests waiting at the bar for seats, but yet it’s peaceful, welcoming and breathable.

I have spent most of the day wrapped up warm in my woolly jumper and snuggly scarf, feeling positively French, carrying around a delicate pink rose. Today Vietnam celebrates ladies day. I’m not sure of the meaning behind it, but I certainly felt special.

Da Lat is the city of flowers. Aside for their flower festivals and town centre pieces, local market stalls and street venders have an array of colourful varieties grabbing your every attention.

I was woken yesterday morning to what sounded like carole singers outside my window. It felt as though Christmas was in the air; people shopping in their wollen hats and mittens, the taste of the freash mountain air and the sense of everyone coming together.

It was then that I realised home isn’t just a house, or a neighbourhood, but a place you hang your hat.

Rupert writes
We hired a moped for two days and spent the first day trekking around the huge amounts of market stalls in the centre of town to find Laura some warm clothes (she was snug as a bug in a rug by the end of it!), then went for a posh hot chocolate and biscuits over a few games of pool at Cafe De La Poste. The second day we rode to the Swiss maintained (as the manager of V Cafe reassurringly pointed out) cable car that took us over the tree tops and down the mountain to a Pagoda over looking a romantically scenic lake. Photos to come when we can upload them.

Perhaps it’s the freezing temperatures but I know if we stayed any longer than the three days we were there we would feel right at home. I wore three tops. All three every day for three days and I was starting to smell a little (plus my personal launderette was having a few days break), so it was time to move on.

Laura writes
Another coach, another experience. This morning we wait in anticipation for the chasing moped to catch us up. The poor French girl has left her passport behind and we’re not going back. We are already an hour behind schedule!

As we meander our way down the moutainous roads I can feel the morning sun creeping it’s way through the overcast clouds. My winter woollies loosing their use by the minute as we make our way to hotter climates.

Another few more harsh beeps of the horn and we’ve already made our way around two motobikes, a rickity van and a few Vietnamese women crouched at the road side in their triangular hats. We passed thirteen colourful fruit and veg stalls, a man hosing down his patio, a lady filling up an iron bucket with water and children making their way to school in their blue jumpers and red scarfs.

It’s now eight fourty five in the morning and crops are already being harvested, men with their pic-axes are already at work and cows are loosly standing at the road side. The red flag with the yellow star proudly waves in the garden to my left side and lush green mountains smile down on me from my right, with little trucks, houses and gardens faintly appearing in the distance.

We pull over towards a few trees and a quarry, picking up a couple of Vietnamese, they appear to be just hitching a lift with our driver. One has the contrast of his woolly hat and lose flug flip flops, while the other looks like he’s set for a day ploughing the fields.

Hundreds of butterflies, maybe even thousands float around us as the landscape steepens and baby waterfalls sparkle at an eyes glance. The feeling of euthoria sweeps over me, like gentle birds in the open sky, as my heart rises and my eyes widen more than ever before. Alice had found her wonderland.

When you find yourself sat on a coach for endless hours, sometimes even what feels like endless days, you find yourself thinking more than ever before. I have spent a lot of time in my life thinking, about my life, my aspirations, my weaknesses. Worrying about things which may never even happen or the way in which people perceive me. But it’s not until you have time for endless thinking and far too many thoughts, that you realise, sometimes it’s better to not think, to deliberate or worry, but to instead take time to enjoy some of the simple things in life. A deep breath, a morning yawn, a stretch from an aching back and to accept and enjoy each and every day as it comes.

It’s no good wanting to change tomorrow, but to work on changing today. For I have changed more today, than I did yesturday, but not half as much as I will change tomorrow.

Nha Trang
Rupert writes
Rubbish. The town has it’s charm, and had it not been raining for the entire duration of our stay we may have made the most of it. We were planning on visiting the local islands but the town was flooding fast and eating and drinking was expensive (“you can’t tell us it’s two for one then charge triple the amount for the damn beer!”). So we moved on, hoping things would be hotter and a little less wet further north.

Hoi An
Laura writes
The rain followed us through the night, all the way to Hoi An. Apparently, we really did bring the bad weather with us. The rain only started here this morning as our coach pulled up and hasn’t stopped.

With word from England the postal system is fast and reliable, we are being tempted even more to splash out and spend our dollars in one of the thousands of tailor shops! You show them a picture, give them a twirl and your made to measure desire is ready for collection the next morning.

We will be here for another day or two and then it’s off to Hue.

What, no more pictures?
Yes. Why? You guessed it, internet here isn’t up to it so we’re leaving your imagination to run wild. Isn’t that more exciting anyway?

Now go away, we’re off to have a beer.

Tags: Travel, Vietnam

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 23rd, 2005 at 1:24 pm and is filed under Travel, Vietnam. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.