There’s such a lot of world to see

We got back to Hanoi unhindered by shoddy journeys (a first, perhaps, for me?), and went to the same hotel in the Old Quarter that Dean, Rich, Pete, James and El were staying at.  Our plan was to go and see Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum that morning, followed by an afternoon at a swimming pool (Doireann was running out of time on her trip and wanted some last shots of sunshine).  Great minds obviously think alike, as we bumped into Pete at the hotel who was in the process of rounding up the troops to go and see Uncle Ho as well.  We had a rushed breakfast, then Pete, James, El, Doireann and I set about comandeering some motos to take us down there.  We had a quick clothes check before we set off, as we’d heard they were really strict about visitors’ clothing.  No cropped trousers, no vests.  Marvellous in high-30s temperatures!  I fear that, were Uncle Ho not already dead, he would surely die of the fumes emanating from his millions of visitors every year.

To get to see Uncle Ho, you have to get used to queueing.  Maybe it’s a communist thing (and further supports the reasons Bill Bryson gives as to why the British would have given communism a decent shot – man, we love to queue).  We queued to get through security checks, James and El having been given strict instructions to get rid of their bread and water before we got in, we queued to put our cameras and phones (strictly verboten anywhere near Uncle) in storage, we queued just to get into the place.  Fortunately, the queue moves pretty quickly – a combination of no-one being allowed to linger in the mausoleum, plus everyone being pretty cautious around so many soldiers with guns.

Even once through the security check, they pull random people over for bag checks.  And riddle me this – do I have an extremely guilty-looking face, maybe?  Do I look like a rabid supporter of the capitalist system?  Do I look like someone who would take offence at seeing a dead communist dictator and damage the decorum in some way?  Yes, according to the soldiers.  I got stopped by every single soldier.  The others got stopped once or twice, but I got stopped by every one.  Hmm.

The queue does move quickly, but the soldiers have no sense of humour whatsoever.  Just infront of us, a little girl – about two – got spooked by a soldier and started crying.  He then ducked right down in her face and started telling her to be quiet.  Which of course made her cry even more.  How compassionate this system is!  We then got through to the main room, and saw Uncle Ho lying there, looking for all the world like a Madam Tussaud’s waxwork.  It’s closed every Monday and Friday, for reasons that have yet to be explained to me… Makeup, perhaps?

We bustled through and paid our respects, then came out blinking into the heat and the sunshine.  It was still quite early, so we headed over to the Ho Chi Minh Museum for more dead communist dictator fun!  The museum was…confusing.  There were very few descriptions or signs in English – and those that were there tended to give the facts, rather than any background information.  Downstairs seemed to be pictures of his visits to China, whereas upstairs seemed to be anything and everything – including pictures of Charlie Chaplin, a totem pole and, my personal favourite, a big display of oversized plastic fruit.  Que?  Not too sure.

The guys and El were leaving that evening for Laos, so they set about packing and doing last minute essentials, while Doireann and I tried to find a pool – we were thwarted, though.  The Lonely Planet had promised us we would be able to swim at one of the big posh hotels, but either we looked far too shabby to darken their diving boards, or the Lonely Planet was lying.  Not that I’d say a word against the Lonely Planet, but we were looking particularly fetching that day.

Still, the walk back gave us a chance to take in a bit more of Hanoi.  It’s such a charming city – built largely in the French Colonial style, with the wide boulevards that that implies, in the centre is a beautiful, peaceful lake that seems as popular with locals as with tourists.  The Old Quarter, where most of the action seems to take place, is a crowded, chaotic jumble of streets, thronging with backpackers and street vendors.  Each street seems to have a speciality, often quite random, so you will see a street full of zip sellers, next to a street full of tombstone sellers, next to a street full of toy sellers.  It’s fantastic.  Something I’m discovering more and more on this trip is, as much as I enjoy the peace of the countryside, I actually find I have more energy in cities.  Surprising, perhaps, but interesting.  My favourite places are some of the most energetic that I have been to.

After seeing the guys and El off on what turned out to be the ultimate journey from hell to neighbouring Laos, Doireann, Rich and I headed out to Bia Hoi corner, legendary throughout Vietnam.  Bia Hoi is a local fresh brewed beer, which is sold for insanely cheap prices – 2000 dong per glass, which works out about 7p for a big old glass of the stuff.  Added to the fun is that people sell it out of shop fronts, so you sit on children’s plastic furniture on the street corner and drink away.  Every single night the police drive past and, as it’s illegal to drink on the street round here, everyone jumps up, holding their chair and their glass, and stands inside the shop front, waiting till the policeman’s back is turned to sit back down.  Before they have even driven away, everyone is back on the pavement.  There’s one crossroads here in Hanoi where shops on all four corners sell, and it’s a very convivial way to spend an evening.  That’s exactly what we did now, bumping into Dean and Ashley, and Elaine and Red before too long. 

Hanoi rocks indeed!

I was really looking forward to getting up to Sapa, in the mountainous north-west of Vietnam.  It was gaining almost ‘The Beach’ – like mysticism about it – I’d never met anyone else who’d been, but almost everyone knew someone who knew someone who’d been, and by all accounts it was beautiful.  It’s where a lot of indigenous hill tribes live, so was promising to be very interesting indeed.

Because my foot was still ridiculously sore for an injury that happened a few weeks ago, any walks around the area was off limits – I couldn’t wait, though, to get there and soak up the views and the peace.  After just one day in bustling Hanoi – albeit with no sleep – my batteries were well overdue a recharge. 

Our first stop after getting off the train was the train station ticket office to book our ticket back.  That sounds really negative but actually it’s necessary, being Vietnamese holidays at the moment, to book tickets as soon as possible.  We were extra-wary as well, having met a couple who were in our (hard sleeper) carriage who paid $70 each return for soft sleeper.  They’d obviously been scammed by their travel agents, so we wanted to cut out the middle man and the chance of a scam, and book direct through the train station.  However, the mean woman behind the counter was having none of it.  “No”, she kept snapping at me, “no”.  “You must book in Sapa”.  I told her this was crazy, why couldn’t we book here, but she just kept replying “no”, and shaking her head at me viciously.  Hmmm.  Despite smelling a very large, less than fragrant rat, we had no option but to head to Sapa, one hour away by bus, and try to book when we got there.

Even though it was early, we managed to get a room with a view – and how – overlooking the beautiful Sapa hills and terraces for the bargain price of $5 a night.  Our balcony was spectacular, and we couldn’t believe our luck.  We needed fortifying before we headed out (or before Doireann headed out, and before I sat and read – listen, it’s a tiring business), so we mosied through the small town (uphill – everywhere in Sapa is uphill) to a place we’d read about and fallen in love with even before we graced its hallowed portals.  Called Baguette et Chocolate (how authentically Vietnamese!), it’s run by a French NGO with a view to helping disadvantaged young people get training and a foothold in the catering industry.  Two hefty sarnies, plates of chips, hot chocolates and cakes later, we were just about done.  We lounged about in there for longer than was decent – it was just impossible to leave. 

Doireann finally dragged herself away though (she’s a better woman than I am), and went up a walk to the nearby radio tower – although she never actually found it, due to a severely confusing map, I’m assured that there were plenty of other distractions on the way up.  I would take her word for it.

We had an enforced early night – trying to get something to eat after 9pm was nigh on impossible, we were looked at like a couple of hedonists – and so were up bright and early the next morning, determined to make the most of our last day in Sapa.  But first, maybe a spot of breakfast?  We got talking to Kenny (fae Glasgow) in our hotel, and told him all about Baguette et Chocolate.  He showed an interest in going, and well… we couldn’t leave the poor guy there by himself, could we?  Like the pure troopers we are, we accompanied him, and proceeded to stuff ourselves silly again.  Sapa was turning out to be my kind of place indeed.

Looking guiltily at each other over the crumbs, we determined a plan.  We would rent three motos and three moto drivers, and head out into the hills.  Wow, was that the best thing to do.  The first stop was a waterfall, and as we sped up the hill, overtaking each other on the way, my breath was taken away – and not because of the high speeds, but because of the spectacular views.  It was completely stunning, like the opening scene from ‘The Sound of Music’ or something.  (And as an aside, fact fans, did you know that because they used a helicopter to film the opening scene, St Julie Andrews kept getting knocked over from the wind, but like the consumate star she is, she just picked herself up time after time.  And don’t worry, there’s plenty more facts where that one came from).  We kept stopping for numerous photos, literally drinking in the amazing clean air and stunning views.

The waterfall was in fact one of the best ones I have seen so far – about 100 feet tall I reckon (though I’m an appalling judge of heights and distances, so be warned – it might have been about 6 feet).  We were amused at the start when we tried to go up the wrong staircase, and had a whistle blown at us for breaking the rules.  Such rebels!

Our second stop was Cat Cat village, where one of the hill tribes live.  Just 3km away from Sapa, it was nevertheless down a very steep road, and my foot and I gave thanks for the moto drivers who dropped us off at the top and collected us at the bottom.  Cat Cat is beautiful, and incredibly interesting to see, but I’m afraid to say it has a touch of the Disneylands about it.  I took a photo of a girl, and was strongarmed into buying a bracelet because of it.  All the people open up their homes for tourists to wander in to (we didn’t).  I suppose they are just incredibly poor, compared to the tourists, that they are prepared to go to such lengths.  I don’t know, it just didn’t sit quite right.  Nevertheless, it was beautiful and interesting and peaceful.

It was then time for us to return back, as Doireann and I had to get the minibus to the train station.  All the way there I was apprehensive, I’d envisioned a scam like the couple on the way up – we’d managed to buy soft sleeper beds but for $18, which was a bit of a leap of faith.  Our couple of days were finished off beautifully though, when we got to our lovely plush carriage, truly an airconditioned soft sleeper, shared with a lovely Irish couple, and we even got free water! 

I had no problem dropping off on this journey at all, refreshed completely by the soothing mountain air and the gentle, rhythmic noise of the train on its tracks heading back for further adventures in Hanoi.  This time I was more than ready to take on the city.

Getting on the night bus from Hue heading for Hanoi we should have known it was too god to be true. For ages we were going great guns. We were having actual fun (unknown on night buses), with the five of us (Doireann, Rich, Elaine, Red and me) laughing away, taking wicked photos of sunsets, and me showing off my party trick (fist in my mouth. Yes, I do have a very big mouth indeed). After a rest stop, we were all stretching out and preparing to get some much needed sleep, at about 1am, when suddenly the bus stopped. Doireann, who was sitting on the backseat, came up to me and told me to move from where I was sprawled over two seats. I refused, naturally.

“Well, there’s about 30 people getting on the bus, and there’s not 30 free seats left on the bus, so either I sit next to you, or twelve other people get in this seat.”

“I don’t care. I have my ipod on so I can’t hear anyone, and my eye mask so I can’t see anyone. They can’t move me if they can’t wake me”.

“Seriously, look.”

I looked. She wasn’t exaggerating. Grudgingly, I sat up, and settled in for a long night of sleeplessness. I was a bit bemused when one of the newly arrived people got on and asked us to move further down the bus, as there were 11 people in their party who all wanted to sit together. I refused, on the grounds that there were 5 of us, who all wanted to sit together, and we were here first. Elsewhere on the bus, a guy who’d had a seat to start off with ended up lying down in the aisle. Six sleepless hours later, we rolled into Hanoi. My eyes felt as if they were going to pop out of my head with tiredness.

We bid a hasty goodbye to Rich, Elaine and Red, who were going off on tours of Halong Bay, and asked the guy in the travel agency where we’d arrived about booking a ticket on the night train to Sapa that evening. He made that sucky-teeth face that you often see being sported by plumbers and mechanics, and told us how very difficult it would be to get a ticket. However, he could arrange a soft-sleeper for us for $23. We’d looked it up in the Lonely Planet and knew it should cost about $11. While I wasn’t averse to paying a dollar or two commision, $12 seemed a little bit excessive. We asked about hard sleeper, and were told it was $19. This was plainly ridiculous, so we got motos down to the train station and booked hard sleepers ourselves for $7. I’d travelled on hard sleepers in China, so reassured Doireann that they were fine. No problem.

There was a problem, though, when we got back to the travel agent’s, where we’d left our bag. Obviously miffed that we hadn’t booked our tickets through him, he decided to get awkward. We asked him if we could take a shower there (they advertise that you can have a free shower if you travel with them). No, he told us, we would have to pay. OK then, what about leaving our bags there? Of course – if we paid $5 each. We could have got a (good) hotel room for that. We went into Western complainer mode, and told them that they’d lost our business for a three-day trip to Halong Bay (a lie, but they don’t have to know that), that I’d be writing to the Lonely Planet about them, and that we’d be putting all about them on the interweb. Now the first two weren’t strictly true, but the last one I can do. If you ever come to Vietnam, don’t travel anywhere with TN Brothers, Camel, or F Tours (all the same company). They are bad and mean people!

We stormed out in as much style as we could muster with our heavy backpacks on, and went straight to another travel agents, ODC, who we’d heard good reports of. The lovely lady there let us leave our bags AND have a shower, before we’d booked anything with her. To thank her, we booked a three day tour of Halong Bay, for the day after we arrived back from Sapa. We arranged to go back later that evening to pick our bags up for the train. We’d be there at 8.45pm – she closed at 9.30pm, all cool.

Feeling distinctly ropey, we spent the rest of the morning sitting in a cafe, recharging our batteries. We then decided to get a massage, to try and un-knot some of the muscles that had been going into spasm overnight. The chances of getting a good – legitimate – massage here in Hanoi are slim to none, so we went to a hotel recommended in the Lonely Planet. And what a waste of money it turned out to be. Very unprofessional – think I could have done a better job myself! Still, I fared better than Doireann, who had the last 10 minutes of her massage getting her hair french-plaited.

We were both feeling rotten by this point – in fact, I nearly keeled over out of exhaustion at one point – so when we passed by a supermarket and headed in for snacks for the train, we were on the verge of hysteria. This wasn’t helped when Doireann asked to see some moisturiser that was in a cabinet, only to be told that the lock had gone out. This was then added to when I upset a display of chocolate bars, to have the assistant come over, knock them out of my hand and sneer at me, “You have enough”. Oops. By this time we were bent double with laughter, so got out while we could.

It was nearly time to collect our bags, so we wandered up to the travel agents, noticing on the way that a big power cut that was affecting much of the Old Quarter. And we shouldn’t have been surprised, from our bad day, to see the travel agents doors firmly shuttered and closed. The day was going from bad to worse. We banged and yelled. And banged and yelled some more. Some people came to help us, and tried calling the number on the sign. No answer. More banging and yelling. The clock ticked by. I started mentally writing Sapa off, which I was gutted about – I was really looking forward to going. After what seemed like hours, with the train departure time getting closer and closer, someone eventually woke up the old lady who lives above the shop. She came down and unlocked the doors, we rushed in and grabbed our bags, and the two of us (me and Doireann, not me and the old lady) threw ourselves onto a passing moto – three on a motorbike plus bags is not an experience I want to repeat, especially as the driver saw it as his duty to get us there as soon as possible, despite me yelling in his ear to slow down, for the love of all that is pure and good and holy.

Still, we got there, with a little bit of time to spare. Looking through the window of the train, though, my heart sank a little bit more. Where the hard sleepers in China had been six bunks with mattresses, these were just wooden boards. There goes a chance of a decent night’s sleep. Still, I would be lying down, and that, after the day I’d had, would be a relief. I climbed up ungracefully, lay down, and didn’t move for the next 10 hours, at which point we rolled into Sapa.

Things could only get better.

After our emotional goodbye to the gorgeous family at Diem Diem, we crawled onto the 8am bus with a heavy heart.  Nothing we’d seen or done so far in Vietnam could come close to that; we were also in some kind of clothes-frenzy hangover.  Luckily we were surrounded by friends on the bus; Rich had caught back up with us again, and also with us were Elaine and Red, an Irish couple that Doireann had met earlier.

The bus was crowded, but at least we had a seat each.  However, when we stopped for a lunch break, I managed to jinx it with my very special kind of magic, and it refused to start again.  In a spectacularly sexist display (but for once I wasn’t complaining – it was hot out there), all the men on the bus push-started it until it suddenly revved up.  “Hmm, sounded like the starter motor” I mused, with all the sageness of one whose starter motor started going just before I sold my car.  To my mum.  And yes, I feel guilty!

Following this, the driver evidently decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to turn the airconditioning back on (and who am I to question his wisdom?), so we suffered for the rest of the journey in the baking heat, fanning ourselves silly.  The heat didn’t let up when we arrived in Hue – it felt by far to be the hottest place that I’d been to.  After wandering around for a while, we all managed to get rooms in the same hotel.  Tired from the early start and the bus journey, we didn’t do much more that afternoon and evening.

Except for one momentus happening.  We went for a meal at the DMZ Cafe, just round the corner from our hotel, and after an average spaghetti, I made a move that was to become legendary.  I ordered chocolate mousse.  I was only after a chocolate fix, but I got the most delicious dessert – rich, very chocolatey, and plentiful.  So plentiful that there was enough to go round the table and give everyone a taste, and soon everyone was swooning along with me.  A happy end to the day.

The next day, seven of us – Doireann, Rich, Elaine, Red, me and another couple whose names I can never remember – had decided to hire a private boat to take us down the Perfume River.  Not as swish as it sounds, it cost us less than $2 each and I guess you get what you pay for!  Having been stung on badly organised tour buses before, we thought this would be the best way to go – we were promised complete control of where we went and stopped.  Hah.  Fools.  As soon as we got on, they were shoving menus in our faces, telling us to pick what we were to eat for our (not included in the price) lunch.  Whatever we were choosing, though, wasn’t available, or would cost more to order.  Doireann, Rich and I decided not to bother, knowing that we’d get better value on land.  We then had a minor altercation with the boat driver (what’s the name?  I know there’s a better name than ‘boat driver’), who tried telling us where we were going to stop.  We put him straight, though, and told him to take us straight to the tomb of Minh Mang, who ruled Vietnam from 1820 to 1840.

The tomb was spectacularly big.  It was surrounded by lakes and various pagodas, and the king himself is buried under a big hill towards the back.  It’s a very peaceful resting place – definitely fit for a king!  The architecture there is very much in the Chinese style, and it’s hard not to notice the Chinese influences here in Vietnam now I’ve seen that.  I could have been back in Beijing.  Even all the colours are just like the Chinese classical styles.

Our next stop was at the Thien Mu Pagoda.  This was a surprisingly political site during the 1960s and 1970s – it was from this Pagoda that the monk Thich Quang Duc came from – he became immortalised by the world’s media as he burned himself alive in Saigon to protest against the President Ngo Dinh Diem.  Apparently the car that he drove himself to Saigon in is usually on display here – however, we couldn’t see it, as the Pagoda is currently being renovated.

Running from a sudden shower, we got back onto the boat for our final stop, the Citadel.  My only previous experience of a Citadel is attending a couple of concerts in the St Helens one a few years ago – now I’m a veteran of Citadels, I can safely say that St Helens is nothing like Hue.  The Hue Citadel is huge – the perimiter is 10km all round.  Hue used to be the capital of Vietnam, and the Citadel is a big reminder of that time.  Or it would be, had it not been blown to bits by various invaders and wars.  It’s a sad legacy of the wars, I guess, as it’s possible to imagine how spectacular it would have been in its heyday.  The Purple Forbidden City, like its Beijing counterpart, was reserved for royalty to flounce about in – regular commoners wouldn’t have got near.

We didn’t have long enough to explore the Citadel, as we had to dash back for yet another night bus.  Rather than walk back, we took our first trips in a cyclo (I’d taken a few in India, it was Doireann and Rich’s first time).  We spent the whole journey creasing up laughing and taking photos of each other – I was perched between Doireann’s legs, and Rich, in a separate cyclo, somehow managed to look like an invalid – the cyclo looked like one of those old fashioned wheelchairs, a bit like the one used by Clara in ‘Heidi’.

We’d managed to leave enough time for dinner before the bus arrived, and this time everyone ordered their own chocolate mousse.  This was only marred by Rich noticing the bus waiting for us down the road.  Elaine went over to investigate, and was told they’d drive round the block, then collect us – she came back looking not too happy, as the bus was chocka already.  Panicking, and yet not wanting to jeopardise our chocolate mousse (priorities!), we got them to put it in polystyrene boxes for us to take away.  And let me tell you now – sweating, carrying a heavy backpack, and trying to eat a chocolate mousse that’s rapidly melting – even the most accomplished multi-tasker would have trouble with that one.  I only wish I’d have taken a photo of us.

By the time the bus turned up again, we’d finished our chocolate mousse.  We were delighted, though, to notice that this was a different bus.  It was far from full, so we spread out over the back seats, looking forward to what promised to be, for once, a relatively pleasant overnight journey – we were with friends, the aircon was working, we had lots of room.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.  Things never turn out like you expect…

Hoi An was the place I was most excited about going to in Vietnam.  Not only, I’d heard, was it a gorgeous, quaint old town (a world heritage site, no less) with apparently the best beach in Vietnam, but it was also the epicentre of all that I hold sacred – namely, clothes and shoes. Yes, I really am that shallow.

Getting there, as always, was an experience.  Dean, Pete, James and I had booked on the overnight bus from Nha Trang to Hoi An, about 12 hours.  If you’ve read my blogs from India and China you’ll know what a very special place night buses have in my heart.  This was to be no exception.  On a couple of buses so far, we’ve ended up with two seats each, and when Dean and I were picked up, it looked as if it was heading that way.  However, by the time we’d got to the last stop – Pete and James’ hotel, it was chockablock, with people in the aisles, so we were grateful to have the four seats between four of us.  Could have been a lot worse.  I still didn’t get much sleep – gone, alas, are the days when I could sleep on a clothesline – but after a couple of hours of bouncing my head off the window, sleep was a blessed – if brief – relief.

By the time we arrived in Hoi An and found a hotel, it was 7ish in the morning, so all of us went for a much-needed breakfast and then decided to experience the real Vietnam, and go for a swim in our hotel’s sister pool.  Being blatant backpackers, we were definitely getting sneered at, none more so than one young French guy who Pete mistakenly thought worked at the hotel and asked if it was alright to smoke at the pool.  For the rest of our time there he sat, shooting daggers at us, arms crossed, and I swear at one point he was actually muttering.  If I were Pete, I’d be extra careful everytime I stepped into the already-crazy Vietnamese traffic from now on. (Incidentally, the way to cross roads in Vietnam, is to slowly walk across.  The motorbikes are relentless and drive at you, but if you keep walking, slowly, they at least make some attempt to miss you).

The guys are on a much shorter time frame than I am, visa-wise, so were only staying in Hoi An for one night.  They set off on a walking tour while I set off to do what I do best…shop!  I already had a couple of outfits in mind – a chocolate brown and pink creation that I dreamt up (with a little bit of help from lovely Lou) for Andy and Sam’s wedding next year, and I’d also decided I wanted an Ao Dai, the Vietnamese national dress that is just stunning – wide silk trousers worn with a long, fitted, silk tunic.  I ordered these, and was told to come back the next day for a fitting.

I also wanted some more casual things that I can keep with me – four months of wearing the same clothes over and over again has done neither me nor the clothes any favours, so the time had come to splash out.  On my way up to the posh silk shop before, I had passed a shop, called Diem Diem (which I later found out means Lovely Lovely), with loads of signs outside written by previous happy customers.  That seemed to me as good a recommendation as any, and so I ventured inside.  This was one of the best decisions so far on this trip (maybe so far in my life).  I was met by the gorgeous, young, funky Diem, who knew exactly the kinds of clothes I needed and had the beautiful fabric all ready to make creations with.  I went for a black and white summer dress, a pair of tailored shorts, a blue and white vest top, and a black pencil fitted dress.  I was measured and the fabric dispatched in no time, and I was instructed to come back at 7.30 that evening for a fitting.  Before I left I mentioned shoes, and Diem walked me along to their sister shop, where I had a fitting for three pairs of shoes that would be ready the next day.  Just to give an idea of how reasonable the prices were – the two dresses, top, and shorts were $59 (less than 30 pounds), and the shoes were a tenner each.

I arranged to meet the guys at Bamboo Bar for dinner after my fitting, so they went along there for a drink while I was being pampered.  However, after I tried on the first dress (perfect), I found a bottle of beer waiting for me.  “You drink” instructed Papa Diem.  I didn’t argue.  After the next outfit (yet again perfect), I found a big plate of delicious fish curry waiting for me.  “You eat”, I was told by Mama Diem.  Again, I was wolfing down the food before an objection could form in my mouth.  Hurrying along the road to the ATM, I passed the guys and told them to go ahead and order, as I’d already been fed.  I could see that this was the kind of shopping that guys could get on board with – if only they had more time.

Clothes collected, I slipped into my new black and white dress for a night out in Hoi An.  By this time we’d met back up with Doireann and El, the guys had got talking to an Aussie girl, Ashley, and soon we saw Mike and Charlotte from Nha Trang walking along the road – they joined us for dinner again.  Yet more familiar faces!  Hoi An shuts up pretty early, so seven of us piled back to James and Pete’s room.  At 5am I made my escape, having arranged to meet Doireann for a day of more fitting and shopping.  I waved the guys off on their bus to Hue – they were on major fast-track now and the next time I would see them would be in Hanoi, just before they left – and my new shopping buddy and I set off for the day.

We both had previous fittings to sort out – my wedding outfit was ready and lovely, thank god – but Doireann wanted some more clothes made, so I took her along to Diem Diem, where I was greeted like an old friend.  She was fitted for a dress, a skirt, and two tops, while I got a new pair of combats – my old pair were truly on their last legs.  Same story as the day before – we were told to come back later for my trousers.  I collected my shoes and they were a perfect fit (doesn’t often happen on account of my fat feet).  At the allocated time, we headed back to the shop where we were sat down and given a bottle of beer.  After a couple of sips, I asked about my trousers.  “Oh, I’m sorry, they won’t be ready until tomorrow morning”.  “No problem.  So we’re just here to drink beer?”  “Yes!” 

The next day, again, centred around Diem Diem; we’d been asked back for breakfast (a delicious bowl of noodle soup), and we’d both been promised that we could get boots made in just one day – we were planning to leave the next morning, it seemed the only way that we could stop the spending.  Over breakfast I asked for a wrap-over white shirt.  Again, Diem knew exactly what I wanted.  By this time, more and more freebies kept coming our way – purses, bags, so much stuff.  She even altered my jeans for me that had been too long since Beijing – for free.  Such a total sweetheart.  They told us to come back for lunch as well – at this rate, we’d never pay for a meal in Hoi An.  Again, over lunch, I saw a dress in a magazine that I fell in love with, and Diem promised it would be ready for that evening.  It was, and it was just as lovely as I’d imagined.  And my boots – one pair is gorgeous soft brown leather and the other pair has to be seen to be believed!  Knee high turquoise suede.  I was sad already thinking soon I’d be separated from them when I had to post them home.

After a final stop in Diem Diem, we waddled along to the post office with our multitude of bags, ready for the serious damage of the postal charges.  And let me say now – posting 7 kilos home from Vietnam – not cheap!  Still, cheaper than buying another case and a mule to carry all of it round with me for the rest of my trip.  I took photos of me wearing all my haul (not at the same time, alas!), so I won’t forget it all. 

Papa Diem had made us promise to go round to see them and say goodbye over breakfast before we left the next morning.  We were getting so sad at the thought of leaving them – we had truly been welcomed into the family, and felt like old friends.  Yet another big bowl of noodle soup was waiting for us, along with even more presents – necklaces, more purses, along with tons of hugs and kisses.  The kindness they showed us was outstanding, and, if you ever visit Hoi An in the future, go and see Diem and the lovely lovely family.  Before we left we asked if we could write a sign for them to add to their collection outside.  I think this sums up what we felt:

“COME IN HERE! Not only are the clothes gorgeous, fabulous, and well-fitting, but the family are the most hospitable, welcoming people we have EVER met.  This shop is our favourite place in Vietnam!  We love the clothes and we love the family.  Suzanne (England) and Doireann (Ireland)”

Rarely has shopping been such a pleasure – and not just because of the clothes.

1. Of course I didn’t sleep on the mattress on the floor.  Dean offered, and it was barely out of his mouth when I gushed, “Well, if you’re sure…”

2. I must make an amendment.  I said that only in Vietnam could someone get mugged – or almost mugged – by ladyboys.  I have it on good authority that the same thing happened to a good friend of mine – let’s call him Jon for the sake of argument – in Borneo.  I stand corrected, as the man in the orthopaedic shoes once said.

The tone for our few days in Nha Trang, the ‘party’ beach of Vietnam, was actually set when we got on the bus from Dalat to head down there.  An Irish guy, Dave, had been out with Dean till the early hours the night before.  He slept in until the bus was about to leave, and just managed to haul him and his bag out in time.  He sat down, just as Dean turned to him and asked him if he had his passport.  “Jayzis”, he shouted, and launched himself back down to the hotel.

Yep, this was going to be a heavy one.

We got to Nha Trang a few hours later, and had a bit of trouble finding a room – it’s the Vietnamese holidays at the moment, and Nha Trang is one of those rare places that is popular with both locals and backpackers alike.  We were also looking for a room for three people (me, Dean, and Dave), which is always problematic – trying to explain to Vietnamese hoteliers that we needed three beds, not two, was like banging our heads against a brick wall.  Finally, when we were incredibly sweaty and exhausted (well, the guys were – obviously I was most fragrant and full of beans), we found someone who offered us two double beds and a mattress on the floor for $10.  We took him up on his offer – it was at such a stage he could have offered us a bed in a stable with donkeys and lowing cattle and we’d have snapped him up on it.  Now, where have I heard that before?

It was quite late in the day when we arrived, so we chilled out in the room until it was time to go out and eat.  We found a lovely cheap place that did good vegetarian food (Dean’s veggie), and had a few beers there before heading on to the busiest spot in town, the Nha Trang Sailing Club.

Now this was a place that we’d heard all about.  It was the place to go – the only place to go in Nha Trang after all the other bars shut.  Apparently, everyone ended up there at the end of the evening.  So we were a bit surprised to arrive there and see what, from the outside, looked like a flash restaurant.  Even looking at the menu posted outside scared us – prices were similar to UK restaurants (unheard of over here, especially on our budget).  Still, we were undeterred, and pushed on in.  And it turns out that by day it’s a flash restaurant, by night it turns into backpacker central.  They even serve drinks out of jam jars.  Called, imaginatively, a Jam Jar. 

Within a short time of being there, we’d bumped into everyone we’d met on the bus – two Australian girls, an English couple, and an English and Canadian guy.  It was so much fun to catch up with everyone, and have a few jam jars to drink.  I went home relatively early (by Sailing Club standards), but Dean and Dave were more hardcore, staying until the early hours.  Apparently on their way home they were almost mugged by a group of ladyboys.  Only in Vietnam.

Dave was flying out of Nha Trang early the next morning, and had set his alarm for 6.45am.  However, by that time he’d only had about an hour’s sleep, so didn’t wake up, even with me shouting at him and hitting him to turn his alarm off.  I’m such a sweetheart when I’m woken up early.  Eventually, after about three attempts to wake him, I gave up and rolled over.  The next thing I heard was Dave asking “What time is it?”  I looked at my watch and grunted “7.40”.  “Jayzis” he shouted, and launched himself out of bed.  He was meant to be checking in for his flight at that very moment.  Still, he never came back, so presumably he got there ok.

I spent the rest of the day sunning myself on the beach.  We were expecting it to be raining, or at least overcast – it’s the rainy season here at the moment – but we were really lucky and only got the sun.  Dean joined me later on that day and we were soon joined by Pete and James, two guys he’d met earlier in his travels, and Doireann and El, who in turn they’d met in DaLat.

It’s funny, but I suppose obvious – because Vietnam’s a long country, everyone either goes all the way north or all the way south, so you keep meeting the same people all the time.  This is fantastic, and means that you get to know people pretty well, and that there’s always a familiar face around.  Here, more than anywhere else, I’ve felt part of a big group of people, and it’s making a real change.  I don’t know if I could keep it up in every country – in fact, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t, as it usually involves some fairly heavy partying, but it’s ace just now.  Over the next few days we met back up with Owen and Pamela (from HCMC), Rich, who’d been to Mui Ne for a couple of days, and my two favourite Canadian brothers, Jamie and Jason, who I’d met in Phnom Penh.  Soon it seemed like everyone knew everyone, and it was hard to keep track of how long everyone had been around. I felt like Frenchie at the end of ‘Grease’, when she sighs, “Oh, all the gang’s together again”.  Except my hair’s not pink.  My bikini is though – will that do?

And so the days panned out.  Beach, meal, out with a group of friends.  I actually didn’t do any other sight seeing in Nha Trang, although there were a few things to go and see – I was happy right there on the beach, to the manor born, laughing with people who by now feel like old friends.  I had a lot of reading time, and I also had a lot of thinking time.  This was good.  I needed to do some creative thinking, because my next stop, Hoi An, was the clothes capital of Vietnam.  The mother ship was calling me home…

I’ve never been a big fan of motorbikes. Even when, as an impetunious teenager, I spent time on the Isle of Man, world mecca for bikers, I always resisted offers to be a passenger – I mean, the TT Course? People die there! Proper bikers and everything. So coming to South East Asia, where motorbike taxis are very often the only way to get around town, was a bit of a shock to the system. I survived my very first time on a motorbike, in Battambang, and haven’t looked back since. Although now I know not to wear a short skirt. I’m now fully au fait with the rules of the road (there aren’t any), and have even bridged the ettiquette minefield of do you hold on or not? Local people just balance on the back of the bike with their hands on their thighs or by their side. I’m not that foolish – yet – but I don’t want to grab my unknown moto driver round the waist (not unless he’s very cute, anyway), so I hold on to the bar at the back and try unsuccessfully to look cool, while not falling off. Nobody here wears a helmet or biker gear, so it’s a relief when you have a driver who goes at a sensible pace.

I’d first heard about the Easy Rider Motorbike tours in Dalat from Brad, when I met up with him in Cambodia. He handed me a card, and told me all about the trip he took for a week or so with a driver. It sounded like such a wonderful journey – an amazing way to get off the beaten track. However, at $50 a day just for the tour (no accommodation included), it was way over my budget. When I got to the cool, rainy hill station of DaLat, though, I was delighted to find I could take an Easy Rider tour just for one day, and at $15, it was definitely affordable.

Dean and Richard had signed up for a bus tour of DaLat, while I set off in search of an Easy Rider. The promise I’d heard of “Don’t worry where to find them; they’ll find you” indeed was true, as I heard a call from over the road and there was Sinh, ready and waiting with his big shiny motorbike to take me off into the hills. But first, he dropped me off at an ace place so I could have breakfast while he went to get me – joy of joys – a raincoat and a helmet. This was boding very well indeed.

I told Sinh I trusted him to take me to all the best sights in and around DaLat, and this was a wise decision. First stop was the Crazy House. This has been designed by a Vietnamese woman (now 62 but looking flipping fantastic – plastic surgery, surely) who studied architecture in Russia. It’s built to be a series of tree houses, with surprises thrown in, like spiders webs, giraffes, nekkid lady statues. It’s a guest house (although I saw no guests there), and each room has a different theme. Most wonderful, and I loved it. I couldn’t help laughing, though, when Sinh said to me “She designs this crazy house because she is not married. She is crazy. Are you married?” Me: “Erm, no”.

DaLat, being up in the hills, is blessed with gorgeous views, so my next stop was at a cable car. The ride took about 15 minutes and was ace, nothing to see for miles and miles except greenery. That is, when the howling gale outside wasn’t making me think that the car would just flip off the cable (is that technically possible? I’m not sure and couldn’t work it out when I was up there). Sinh met me at the other end with the bike, waving at me from the bottom when he saw me coming.

Next stops were a couple of waterfalls around DaLat – one of them had the steepest path to and from it, but I was too cheap to pay to go on the strange ride that would take you there, and so wheezed my way back up. It’s the Vietnamese holidays at the moment, so the place was very busy, but great to see people enjoying the sights in their own country. At the second waterfalls, I got to walk behind the sheet of water for the first time in my life (it was lovely, but wet) – also, bizarrely, there was a small zoo with crocodiles and bears. Animal rights in Vietnam aren’t exactly top notch, so it was quite distressing to see the bears huddled in a tiny stone pit. The crocs, though, were so still that at first I thought they were faux, until I saw their eyes moving. They were just the other side of a flimsy fence, so I kept moving sharpish, especially when a guy poked one of them with a stick to get a reaction. Clever crocs did nothing.

I saw lots of other things that day, including some Buddhist pagodas (one of them looking like a theme park: The Life Of Buddha!), a farm where they grow flowers for Buddhist donations, and coffee plantations (Vietnamese coffee is some of the best I’ve ever tasted), but the thing I enjoyed the most was just being out in the open air up in the mountains. And that, obviously, is where motorbikes have the advantage over buses. The day ended up in a fruit shop belonging to Sinh’s friend, where I was given – for free – a huge bowl of delicious, locally-grown fruit with ice-cream. I’d had an amazing day, and just wish that the funds would allow me to go further up the country with Sinh – what a way to travel.

I don’t think I’ll be taking up biking myself – I am, after all, the person who can’t even handle electric bikes – but next time I’m offered a go as a passenger, I think I’ll be saying yes.

OK, to those of you who’ve seen Miss Saigon, I’m sorry for putting this song in your head.  You’ll be humming it all day, except for the fact that you won’t be able to remember any other lines apart from that one, so you will hum that over and over and over again until everyone around you muffles you with your wastepaper basket.  You’re welcome!  To those of you who’ve not seen Miss Saigon – go!  There’s a helicopter and everyfin!  I was torn on the title of this post – the other would have been ‘Cu Chi Cu Chi Coo’ but even I wouldn’t allow myself that bad a pun.

You see, we went to the famous Cu Chi tunnels, just outside Saigon.  This tunnel network was originally designed to work against the French Colonials during the war against them – and was basically an ingenious response used by the poor local people against a sophisticated, rich army.  The tunnels are an extensive network in and around the land underneath Cu Chi that were so well designed that people could basically live down there – there were air vents every 30m, they could cook down there and the smoke was released elsewhere to avoid detection, and they drilled down to a well so they could drink.  Best of all, though, was how small they built the tunnels so that small Vietnamese people could slip through them easily, whereas Western aggressors would likely have a bit more difficulty – or, as our tour guide put it, “Your fat Western asses would get stuck”.  He speaketh the truth.

We went to Ben Duoc, where sections of tunnels have been reconstructed for the benefit of visitors – bigger and wider, for the benefit of our fat Western asses.  First up was a video that we watched – it would have been interesting, were it not a sightly hilarious piece of propaganda (and so, by its own virtue, was necessarily one-sided).  It was a grainy black and white film showing the peace-loving people of Cu Chi, who spent all their time hugging flowers and who had never hurt anyone in their lives.  Fair enough.  The best was yet to come though, when the voice of the announcer turned harsh and described how (and I quote) the “hysterical American Devils” reigned down millions of bombs on the area.  According to the woman, they bombed the men and women, they bombed the children, they bombed chickens and ducks… they even bombed the pots and pans.  Unfortunately after that, I pretty much lost the ability to take in the rest of the information.  Bombing pots and pans – that’s harsh.

We set out on our walk round the tunnel site (after first I bumped into two of the guys from the Lakeside in Phnom Penh – small world), me hobbling along in pain after the rest of the group (and no, if you’re wondering, I’m not going to let you forget that I’M IN PAIN.  I suffer, you all suffer with me).

We stopped at a hole in the ground which could be covered by leaves, and so hide the snipers that were hiding inside.  The thing was tiny.  Only a child in our group, aged about 6, felt confident enough to get in it.  One of the staff then did, but I’m not convinced there wasn’t some camera trickery going on – he had somewhat of a fat Western ass.  We passed by various exhibits, including a particularly gruesome mock-up of traps that would be set for enemy soldiers, all utilising spikes in not very pot-and-pan friendly methods.  Trust me, get yourself stuck on that and you’ll be wincing for a lot longer than a few minutes.  Interesting how that wasn’t mentioned on the video.

And then, we were up to what we had all been waiting for – the tunnels.  Now, I’m not claustrophobic in the slightest.  In fact, I display a worrying lack of phobias including no fear of heights, no fear of flying – nothing that could be construed as relatively normal (except those damn sharks – I swear I’m the sane one on this, and anyone who swims in the sea is asking for it).  But.  When we got down in those tiny little tunnels, I could, for the first time in my life, empathise with claustrophobic people.  Despite knowing how small the tunnels were (crouch down to half your height, keep your hands in front of you), it somehow didn’t prepare me for just how awful it was.  There was no air down there, and the only light was provided by electric lamps that would not ordinarily have been there.  The first section was 30m, then there was an exit.  I was both disappointed and relieved in equal measures to have to duck out after this one – the pressure on my foot was not helped by crouching, and then waiting in a crouched position for minutes at a time while the people in front moved on.  By all accounts, the tunnels got even smaller after that one.  Still, I got my fat western ass down a tunnel, and that’s enough for me.

We celebrated our victory over the tunnels by hitting the curiously subdued night life of Saigon.  We were delighted to – finally – find Bia Hoi sold somewhere, a locally, fresh-brewed beer that’s about as cheap as fresh air (and not much more alcoholic), even though the place that sold it bore an uncanny resemblance to a waiting room of a long-distance bus station, then we were turfed out of Apocalypse Now (disappointingly tame after HoD in Phnom Penh) at midnight – before ending up in the only bar still open at that time, Allez Boo, which was a dispiriting mix of old Western guys and sad Vietnamese hookers.  Still, it was good enough for us until 5am. 

We drank enough beer to ensure our asses remain reassuringly Western-sized, or at least for the near future.

There were a couple of things that all three of us (Richard, Dean and I) wanted to see for definite in Saigon (officially it’s Ho Chi Minh City, but everyone still calls it Saigon).  There was a walking tour recommended in the Lonely Planet, but my swollen and painful toe put the kybosh on this for me, so I took a moto to the first stop, the Reunification Palace, sat on a bench, took out my new book (White Teeth by Zadie Smith – review coming soon), and waited for Dean and Richard to get there.  I actually spent a lot of time just people watching – the Palace is opposite a park where tons of Vietnamese people were just mooching around.  It was good to see.

The Reunificaton Palace, built in 1966, is both a prime example of 1960s architecture (other examples include the high school I went to.  Ish.), and a living memorial to the South Vietnamese government.  It’s preserved almost exactly as it was in 1975 when, watched by the eyes of the world, the first communist tanks to arrive in Saigon crashed through the wrought iron gates and the VC flag was unfurled from the top balcony.  In the grounds you can still see the tanks that took part in the raid, although we weren’t allowed to climb on them, more’s the pity.

It was fun being inside – almost like an upmarket version of the ‘Abigail’s Party’ set, all G-Plan furniture (well, that’s what it looked like, although I imagine it might have been a tad pricier, what with it being the President’s Palace and all).  My favourite room was pure 1960s with low circular chairs, shag pile carpets, and a circular bar in the corner.  Made me want to swish about with big hair and a long evening frock on, offering people another cube of beetroot and maybe a silverskin onion on a stick.

We spent longer than we intended to at the Palace, and had to walk (or, in my case, hobble) quickly round to the War Remnants Museum in order to give ourselves a decent amount of time there before it closed, for it was that which we had heard most about in Saigon.

The War Remnants Museum used to be known as the Museum of Chinese and American War Crimes.  The name has changed – presumably because of the amount of Westerners who visit these days – but the tone of the museum is clear from the start.  It was so very fascinating and heartbreaking at the same time – war atrocities, and the sheer folly of the Vietnam War, have been pretty widely publicised back home, but seeing the story come directly from the mouths of the Vietnamese victims put a whole new slant on it – the message that I took away was, from the Vietnamese point of view, the USA became involved in an internal struggle that should never have concerned them, and came down crushingly on the side of the South Vietnamese.  Even people who, for whatever reason, supported the war, could not fail to be moved by the pictures and stories of civilian victims – especially children, of whom many were distressingly hurt by Agent Orange and napalm.

Some of the exhibits were stomach-churningly graphic – but I wholeheartedly support the decision not to shy away from displaying them.  I understand that not everyone would want to hear in detail about the particular methods of torture and particular disfigurations that are shown here, so I won’t describe them in detail.

One of the most poignant displays in the whole museum is the room dedicated to photographers, from many countries – not just the USA and Vietnam – who lost their lives while recording the scenes.  Such a vital job, a real vocation, and yet how often do we recognise and commend the people behind the camera who bring us the pictures while we sit safe in our homes?  Not nearly often enough.

The museum ended in honour of all those who supported the peace effort throughout the world, and who continue to do so.

I’ve said before that this isn’t going to be a political blog – those of you who know me will know whereabouts I stand politically, and I’m guessing that no-one really cares apart from the people who get my ‘X’ come polling day!  If I can be allowed the liberty, though, I’ll leave you with the following quote from Lonely Planet that made me smile (though not in a happy way):

“Australia, New Zealand, South Korea, the Philippines and Thailand also sent military personnel to South Vietnam as part of what the Americans called the ‘Free World Military Forces’, whose purpose was to help internationalise the American War effort and thus confer upon it some legitimacy.  Sound familiar?”