Going where I’ve never been

So, Sapa. Considered the destination of the country, Sapa was more of an overexploited disappointment than anything else, a disturbing trend that we’ve noticed in all of the “highlights” of Vietnam (ie Hoi An, Halong, Hanoi). We escaped Hanoi (the eight bia hois and street stall kebabs that we downed beforehand made the place more tolerable!) on a night train to Lao Cai, where we would have to get further transport (along with every other tourist in Vietnam) to Sapa in the morning. We opted for soft seats rather than a sleeper car and, while Gabe had no problem passing right out, I spent the night staring at the brutal flourescant light above my head (the only one that stayed on allllll night!) and listening to the grungy Australian backpackers next to me crunch beer can after beer can.

We arrived around 6 a.m. and naturally were immediately greeted by calls of “Sapa? Minibus? We go now, you follow! Sapa?” I was in no mood to talk to any of the touts, so I didnt – just kept walking until we reached some minibuses and someone told us that it would cost 50,000d. That was about what we’d expected to pay, so I paid the guy (“hurry, money now, money now!”) with a 200,000d bill. He said thankyou and started to walk away – we grabbed him and demanded change. Reluctantly he handed me a 50.000d bill and said “ok?” I shook my head and he counted 40.000 more into my hand – I shot him a look saying that wasn’t okay either and he finally handed over the last 10.000. Not a good introduction.

The minibus soon left and, apart from finding out that several fellow passengers paid only 30.000d, it was a gorgeous ride up the side of a mountain, looking out over terraced rice fields and raging rivers and waterfalls. The higher we climbed, the foggier and colder it got; by the time we were dropped in Sapa, you couldn’t see more than three feet in front of you and the temperature was near freezing. Luckily a really friendly lady approached us saying she had a room for $4 a night – we followed her there and were shown a perfectly good room with hot water, right above an internet cafe, and moved in.

 Our first order of business, of course, was food. Soup had never sounded better, so we squatted at a street stall and downed a couple bowls of pho before searching the vendors (took all of 30 seconds) to find a pair of gloves. I picked up the most basic pair on offer and was quoted 125.000d (about $9) – it took mere seconds to agree on 30.000d and I made a mental note to bargain everything in this place!

With warm hands I had the patience to browse the “market” which was in fact nothing but hill tribe women trying to sell everything they owned to you, along with the standard spread of souveniors and postcards, every second, at ridiculous prices. This happens, of course, because many people are more than happy to pay for them! It didn’t take long for the calls of “you buy from me!” and old ladies forcing handwoven hats onto our heads in some sort of twisted sales tactic to send us running the opposite direction.

We paid a bit extra to put a space heater in our room (Asia hasn’t discovered insulation yet), and I found out the hard way that there wasn’t enough water pressure to have a hot shower; rather, we had a hot tap and a cup. I won’t go into too many details of the manuevers we had to make in order to bathe, but picture an ice-cold tile bathroom (unsealed windows of course) with a tap in the wall, large plastic bucket underneath and the cup intended for mouth-rinsing. It sucked.

We decided to walk to nearby Cat Cat village and see what there was to see. The main reason that people come to Sapa is for the Hmong minority tribes; everyone joins “treks” and does homestays in the villages. We already had our doubts and had no intention of joining a trek (nothing will ever be as pure as our Cambodia experience was, and there were faaarrr too many indications of gross exploitation here), but figured walking on our own couldn’t hurt.

It was only a couple of miles and there was a ticket booth halfway – red flag number one! The village itself felt like a theme park; “traditional” dance performances every afternoon, paved sidewalks, souvenior stand after souveniour stand and very traditional Heinekin and Cocacola for sale. The only redeeming factor was a gorgeous waterfall – we took a few photos of that and escaped the place.

We decided that we would trek ourselves down to the Lao Chai village the next day – it appeared to be about a five-hour roundrip hike and surely would be fun if we did it independently! We set off and almost immediately had three Hmong girls trailing us, one with an infant on her back. They asked if we were going to the village and wanted to walk with us. We agreed and had a really enjoyable hike down the mountain; the tribe people give off a really good vibe, they laugh a lot and joke with you as best they can given the language barrier. Eventually they motioned us to a turnoff and we followed them down a dirt path – no one had asked us to buy anything yet, so I continued to give them the benefit of the doubt.

The lower we travelled the more beautiful it became; thus far we could only see dense white clouds when we looked down the mountain, but once we were below the cloud line we were treated to postcard-perfect images impossibly steep terraced farmland, rivers and villages.

(Gabe here) – Since most of you know how “graceful” Allison is…let me paint a picture.  The hilltribe woman with the child on her back in a sling, wearing plastic sandals, and weaving a crown out of bamboo/reeds that would later be a gift to dear Allison, happily helped her, with her only free hand, through the muddy, rough terrain 🙂

(Allison’s back – and I didn’t need help for once!) We soon ran into the back of a small tour group and one of the girls mentioned that we were headed to “many people visit” village – I figured we’d be getting the hard sell soon enough, but enjoyed myself all the same. When we finally reached Lao Chai it was more genuine than the village we’d seen the day before,  but still had comfortable restaurants full of white people, soda stands and various crafts being shoved at you every other second. Our companions finally said the magic words, “You shopping now?” and we said no, just walking, and kept walking.

 They weren’t too insistent but kept following us, which I didn’t have a problem with. We departed Lao Chai and soon came upon Taveng, another village. This one had less for sale but was big into the homestay business; we immediately had a girl trying to convince us to stay the night, “very cheap for you!” We did our best to ignore them all (a shame since there was a lot I’d like to browse, but it’s next to impossible to glance at anything without an assumption that you’re committed) and asked our girls where a good place to eat was.

 They led us to a small shack where we squeezed ourselves in among the locals and were served some soup. We were quoted 20.000d after being asked where we were from –“Oohhh, America. Many dollar!” – we knew it was high for such a place, but not exorbiant and it was good soup. We decided to pay for the two girls who were still with us, as we knew we wouldn’t be buying anything and that they were probably expecting us to. We also knew that thier soup definitely didn’t cost as much as ours – hopefully they could just pocket the extra. They seemed very grateful and happy when we paid, and we left with every intention of jumping onto the main road and heading back to Sapa.

They followed us right out, however, and while the baby-lady didn’t say much and seemed content, the other girl immediately jumped into her “I follow you long time, now you shopping!” script. We insisted that we weren’t shopping, she insisted that we were, and so on for a good fifteen minutes. These people know persistence! I’m sure that many people would give in and follow her to her home for some shopping, but we’ve been here long enough and know how to hold out.

Eventually they gave up and we were able to head in the direction of Sapa on our own. After hours of walking we returned, treated ourselves to some hot drinks and discussed the effect of tourism on these native cultures – not a good one! We decided the next day would be devoted to renting a motorbike and striking out alone.

Sunday dawned fairly clear and noticably warmer – perfect! After a breakfast full of fighting off the 10-year old Hmong salespeople, we bundled up and took off for what we though was the Muong Hum market, a place with little to no tourists, about 30km away. The road was narrow, gravelly and wound its way up and down mountains; within 30 minutes we’d escaped the fog of Sapa and were gawking at some of the most incredible scenery I’ve ever witnessed! We had more than a few scares in the form of buses/construction trucks barrelling at us headon (Mom, not to worry), but Gabe is a pro at driving like an Asian by now and everything was just fine.

We never found the Muong Hum market, but we found a sleepy little town called Tuong Duong with a market that was just winding down. We parked and ate some lunch – no one was interested in charging us anything beyond what it cost – then bought some fruit off the street (again, no hint of gouging, just smiles) before settling next to a river to write some postcards. We’d crossed a mountain pass on the way that serves as a weather line – it was now warm and sunny with spectacular views of the surrounding mountain range. We very easily could have been in Switzerland, and were reminded of how we loved Vietnam before hitting all of the “highlights.”

The trip back to Sapa was breathtaking as well, though the closer we got, the colder and foggier it became. We were ready to leave the place, and didn’t do much beyond dinner and bus ticket-buying before huddling in front of our tiny space heater. The north is unbelievable, but I dont think I could ever encourage anyone to visit Sapa of all places! There is real life, real hilltribes all around it, far more fulfilling…

Yesterday we boarded a minibus bound for Dien Bien Phu, our base for crossing over to Laos. It was an interesting trip with an interesting assortment of characters – there were about 11 Vietmanese including our daredevil driver, the flirtatious teenage couple who incessantly shoved their bags under their seat and onto our feet, the lady with the baby who incredibly didn’t make a single sound the entire time and the skinny guy next to me who kept blasting Asian pop music and looking at girlie pictures on his cellphone. There were also six foreigners – aside from Gabe and I, there was the older German couple who somehow squeezed their long legs into the back row and took photos of everything and two Brazilian girls who were far from shy and demanded multiple toilet stops on the side of road (luckily Gabe saved the day with his knowledge of the word “toilet” in Vietmanese!). Ten hours, one food stop, one roadblock, one towing incident and one government opium search later, we arrived in Dien Bien Phu, a town where not a single moto driver approached us.

We quickly found a room then beelined it for a bia hoi place, where the moto drivers out front welcomed us instead of harassing us for rides. We were served a plastic liter bottle full of fresh (?) beer and quickly downed two of them. Feeling much more relaxed, we enjoyed being in a small town where no one is all too interested in us – everything is business as usual, no matter who you are.

We cannot go to Laos until Wednesday, so we’re spending today in Dien Bien, taking care of a few last-minute errands. We just had one of the most memorable lunches in recent memory, and it had nothing to do with the food! We stepped inside a little place (someone’s living room, as per usual) and were warmly greeted by an older woman and her daughter. They gestured at us to sit down and started to cook up a feast. The husband got up from his spot in front of the football game and, with the biggest grin I’ve every seen, came over to greet us, shake hands and pat Gabe on the back. He gestured that he’d be right back and rushed for a backroom, quickly returning with a bottle of beer. We hadn’t really been interested in beer, but you can’t turn it down! Still smiling and laughing, he poured us each a glass then proceeded to take a teacup full of some brown liquid, pour us each a portion and then we all clinked glasses – one of the most memorable whisky shots I’ll ever have! He rambled a bit in Vietmanese, still grinning and repeatedly patting Gabe on the back, then left us to start on the food that his wife and daughter had enthusiastically been piling in front of us.

It was a large spread of soup, rice, stirfried beef, tofu and veggies – every few minutes the man would say something to us, excited beyond belief at our presence, and show us the latest on the television screen. Soon he returned with another whiskey shot for all three of us, then after another minutes in front of the game got back up and brought over a half-empty Aquafina bottle.  We assumed it was water and let him pour it into our teacups, but of course it was vodka – all three of us clinked once more and the smiles grew! He was evidently once a high-ranking officer in the military, judging by the photos all over the walls, and he was proud to show them to us, his enthusiasm never waning.

Eventually we were stuffed and paid before being given any more alcohol or any more offers of hits from whatever he and his son were smoking out of a big bamboo pipe. There’d been no more than four or five communicable words spoken between all of us in that hour, but I felt like we’d communicated with them better than any of the clever english-speaking tourist-industry “professionals “that we’ve encountered over the past few weeks. It’s nice to depart the country with a highlight!

Halong Bay began in Hanoi, a city that rivals Phnom Penh in terms of transportation chaos (and more than outdoes it in terms of sketchiness). We’d expected Hanoi to be the more subtle and enjoyable of the two major cities in Vietnam, but Saigon seems to be an oasis of calm in comparison to the absolute madness in Hanoi! It’s a beautiful city with a beautiful lake in the Old Quarter, but the roads are unbelievable – motorbikes by the hundreds of thousands, buses, taxis, pedal rickshaws, bicycles, touts, souveniour stalls, roaming vendors, confused tourists from all over the world and a scam at every corner!

We’d been determined to “do” Halong Bay on our own despite numerous warnings that it just ends up being way more complicated and expensive than signing up for a tour. Once in Hanoi, however,we started to think that given our time and money crunch for the month of November, a tour might be an okay idea. We did our homework, determined not to be screwed over; every other establishment in Hanoi is a tour agency and 99% of them sell dirt-cheap tours and then pack you onto a boat with tons of people from other agencies. For example, our hotel (which was the shabbiest we’d seen in Vietnam anyways) claimed to be THE Sinh Cafe, a “reputable” company, and offered (ie pestered us everytime we walked downstairs) us a three day, two night trip, all inclusive, for $45 apiece. In reality, our street alone had nearly ten “Sinh Cafes” and apparently the real one is actually located in Saigon. Asia certainly specializes in cheap knockoffs!

We ended up going with Vega Travel, an agency who had to recently change its name due to the lack of copyright laws. We handed over $98 apiece and hoped for the best – luckily this was one place where you really did get what you paid for!

We were picked up Tuesday morning and taken in a minibus to Halong City. There was a reststop along the way where every other tour bus in Asia had stopped; we were ushered into the warehouse-sized souvenior shop and encouraged to enjoy the silk/gems/statues – “all original, very good price!” The dining area was at the very back, offering an exotic menu of hamburgers, hotdogs and fried rice at exorbiant prices. Gabe spotted a back room where all of the Vietmanese guides were eating soup; he asked the girl how much it cost and, as a patron handed over 15,000d for his meal, she informed him that soup costs 35,000d. I broke down and bought the most expensive bag (funsized, mind you!) of M&Ms on the planet – damn that running appetite – and escaped back to the van.

The port was about as chaotic as the roads in Hanoi, but Tuon, our guide, quickly got us onto our junk boat (an type of ornate Chinese ship, not actually junk). Incredibly, there were only four guests on our tour! Aside from Gabe and I, there was a girl named Margaret from Chicago who was travelling alone after teaching gigs in Prague and Korea and also a Belgian guy named Paul who was a bit awkward at first (“so…Americans?”) but who quickly warmed up.

We were shown our cabins – extremely nice – and had some time to sit up top while we pulled out of the port and into Halong Bay. Lunch was soon served – an absolute feast of prawns, sauteed squid, chicken, veggies, rice, baked fish, spring rolls and tons of fresh fruit. Things were looking good…

The afternoon consisted of a cave visit, viewpoint hike, kayaking and swimming. Itineraries tend to make me cringe, but with only four of us it was very tolerable and the scenery made up for any complaint that I could have possibly had! Dinner was another delicious, massive spread of food and the four of us spent a lot of time savouring it (or maybe just making room in our stomaches). As is always the case when sitting with Europeans or Australians, conversation was dominated by American politics and trying to explain how our healthcare system (dys)functions.

Gabe and I had planned ahead and brought a bottle of Dalat wine (the going price is $2, the boat was selling it for 12), but forgot our corkscrew. When we asked to borrow one we were informed of a $5 fee for “services” if we wanted to bring our own drinks. We declined, Gabe worked his magic and removed the cork with his camera tripod (?!?), and we were soon enjoying the night and the bottle (sans glasses) on the top deck.

Day two started off with a breakfast of noticably lower quality (the westerner’s “favorite,” toast, fried eggs and bananas) and a transfer to a smaller, though still nice, boat. Margaret stayed behind as she was on a two-day tour and the three of us were soon spending the day “trekking” in Cat Ba National Park and kayaking. The 6k trek was about the difficulty level of our typical walk to breakfast (wasn’t so easy for Paul), but the serene Jurassic Park-like surroundings were incredible and we thanked our lucky stars that we weren’t in a group of 20 people!

By 3:30 we found ourselves on Cat Ba Island where we were to stay in the Holiday View Hotel for the night. We were both relieved to escape from the schedule and our very friendly but overly helpful guide. After Tuon was convinced that we knew how to use our key,  that the hot water worked, that we had directions to the english-menu restaurants (riiight) and that we wouldn’t forget breakfast in the morning, we were finally able to lock the door and marvel at the unfamiliar luxury surrounding us!

Most of our guesthouse rooms have been nice enough, but there’s always that “something,” be it a leaky sink or hard bed or karaoke bar next to the window. This room was a welcome change – huge, soft, freshly laundered bed, big spotless bathroom, refrigerator, a sea view, large television and all those cute little free extras like coffee and soap. We spent the evening enjoying some bia hoi on the waterfront and eating dinner before lounging on our amazing bed with a movie – very refreshing, and definitely the nicest place we’ll stay!

The next morning started with a huge fresh hotel buffet breakfast that was of very good quality (no deep fried eggs this time!), and we were back on the boat by 7:30. It was a four hour trip back to Halong City, and the lack of itinerary was nice – we were able to just sit and bask in the sun and scenery (Gabe spent his time dreaming of rock climbing). After one last huge meal at a restaurant in the city, we boarded another minibus and (tourist stop included of course) found ourselves in Hanoi by 4:00.

The traffic and touts were grating after such a peaceful few days, and the overcharging and calls for “hello! moto? no? marijuana? where you go? moto?” were getting to us both. Luckily we had an amazing Halong experience to reflect on, and were out of Hanoi by the following evening. One more stop in Sapa, then onto Laos where we’ve been promised a quiet, laidback country where no one wants anything out of you. Perfect for the holidays!

We’re back from Halong Bay and the photos are up – please check out both of our Flickr sites! The written account will follow shortly…

A quick word on the Vinh Moc tunnels, so that there is some background for the photos that I posted. Dong Ha is a small town that is the base for visiting the Demilitarized Zone, or the DMZ. There are quite a few relevant sites in the area, American bases and war cemeteries and whatnot, but the Vinh Moc tunnels are the main attraction.

We hired two moto drivers, both of which were South Vietnam vets and invaluable sources of information. The Vinh Moc tunnels were dug on the northern side of the Ben Hai river during the Vietnam War (American War, as it is referred to over here) as shelter for the locals to protect against American bombing. They are located right next to the ocean and were absolutely imperceptible – no one ever knew that it existed until long after the war was over.

Innumerable tunnels snake through the land and occupy three different levels. The place is absolutely amazing; entire families lived for over four years in dugout niches the size of small closets, there are water wells and many “rooms” for operations, baby delivery, school and more. There was one “toilet” (ie hole in the ground) for everyone – well over 1,000 people – and could only be used at night. Likewise, there were two cooking areas for all of these people, where a tunnel to ground level was dug in order to create ventilation. Cooking could only be done at night, for the fear of the smoke being seen, and next to each cooking area is a loooong room where women would line up and wait hours for their turn.

They lit the place with oil lamps and had supplies snuck in, again, at night. Soldiers would guard the entrances, which were absolutely invisible to anyone outside, making sure that no one left and gave everyone away. It just blew my mind to crawl through this damp, dark, endless maze of tunnels and know that this was life for so many people for over four years! It was well-conceived, however, as all of the land in the area is absolutely covered with bomb craters – the tunnels were completely secretive and did their job.

Seeing this was just another indication of how absolutely resourceful and resiliant people are in this part of the world. No matter how many bombs or tanks or guns we may have had, there’s no way we’d stand a chance against people that are not only capable of creating such a place, but are willing to do so. All in complete secrecy. Amazing.

It was definitely one of the (many) highlights of our trip and we were very happy that we got over our guide-aversion for a day and went with the drivers. They both assured us that, amazingly, there is very little anti-Americanism in Vietnam and that it’s mostly seen as a horrible, senseless war on all sides, with everyone at fault. They did say that the American chemical warfare was a terrible tactic and absolutely senseless – I don’t think anyone could argue with that, especially when you’re here, seeing the effects of it on countless beggars.

In any case, it was another important history lesson where I received more information in one hour than in 12 years of school – it’s been interesting to realize what we’re never taught at home…

The harbour town of Hoi An is a poster child for the ugly side of tourism. Don’t get me wrong, there were many, many things about the place that we thoroughly enjoyed, beginning with our guesthouse that not only had hot water, it also had a bathtub, a television, a top sheet (a first in Asia!), a real bedspread (they tend to have a strange preference for giant beach towels), a refrigerator and a swimming pool. They also cleverly stocked the fridge with (non-complimentary) beer/soda and filled a basket on top of the TV with candy bars – our willpower didn’t last too long!

There were other wonderful things about Hoi An; by avoiding the tourist area we were able to find 50 cent street pho, and the place is known for a local dish, cau lau, which is incredible and is made nowhere else (the water must come from a certain well). Bia hoi, or fresh beer, is served everywhere at 25 cents per chilled mug – this homebrew is light, but much tastier than any of the bottled options!

There is a beautiful beach only 5km away and a nearby island, Cam Kim, which hardly anyone visits. Cam Kim is home to several craft villages including several woodworking families that have been there for 14 generations – their workshops were unbelievable, the talent and dedication that these people have are amazing. The island was quiet, rice paddies crisscrossed with a maze of sidewalk-type streets and many colorful homes where friendly hellos would be shouted from as we bicycled past. Wonderful.

Hoi An’s old town is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and that is where the ugly tourism problem begins. The area is postcard-beautiful, made up of narrow cobbled streets, old yellow European-style buildings with vines growing up the side and balconies full of flowers – it looked like many of the old villages I visited in Italy and again can only be described as “quaint.” Unfortunately the beauty, physical and atmospherical, is completely lost in the face of absolutely rampant tourism.

The streets themselves are overrun by tour groups, many of the senior persuasion, who are bussed in and herded around like cattle, everyone snapping pictures of the locals as though it’s a zoo and looking nervously at any food not served in a fine-dining restaurant. They spend their days indulging in “great bargains” at the myriad of tailor/jewelry/art shops, taking breaks for overpriced boat trips down the river and eating in table-clothed restaurants serving “local specialties” like fried rice, pancakes, pizza and pasta. This is the ugly (in our eyes at least) side of tourists.

The biggest problem with the tourists, however, is what it does to the locals. Basically it takes all of the wonderful things about a culture and turns it for the worst. The people in Hoi An have a tourism-based economy, and they are pros at taking full advantage of that in any way that they can. The buildings in the old town house nothing but nice restaurants (that you’ll never find a Vietmanese person in) and the aforementioned shops.

There were most likely many things there that I would love to have purchased, but the second that you so much as glance their way the salesperson pounces: “Hello, you, lady, you buy? Come look in my shop, you buy!” That right there is enough to make me run away without thinking twice (I hate shopping to begin with), but heaven forbid you give in and touch something for further inspection; in their eyes, you are committed, and it takes strong will and quick legs to get away!

We headed to the market on the first day, hoping for a respite from the madness and maybe a dose of actual Vietnam. Unfortunately, the market was nothing but souveniors and photo-snapping white people – I barely saw a single Asian person in the entire place. Gabe stopped to buy some postcards and they wanted nearly $1 apiece, suggesting that there are many people happy to pay this! He let them know that it was ridiculous and we had no problem getting the price dropped to 25 cents. You couldn’t walk past a single stall without the calling and often the arm-grabbing – we didn’t last too long.

The real ugliness set in when we went to the wonderful Cam Kim Island and realized that the tourism industry has a problem with giving change in Hoi An. There is a tourist boat and a local ferry  – the local ferry has a sign where it’s clearly posted (luckily we can decipher Vietmanese) that each person costs 1000d (about 6 cents) and each bicycle costs 500d. We boarded and sat on the roof, laughing at the tourists paying upwards of $5 for a seat to endure the 5 minute trip in. We were well aware that our fare should be 3000d. When the collector came by we handed him a 10000d bill and he took it, not looking as though he intended to return with anything. We gestured enough to eventually get 5000d back – annoying, but immediately forgotten.

The island was great, and before returning we stopped at a roadside place for some soda. A can of soda tends to cost around 8000d, maybe 10 in restaurants. After finishing them we stood to pay and the old woman held out her hand, demanding 30000d! We gave her the ‘you’re crazy’ look and tried to give her 20, but she stood firm until she had 30. We shook our heads – a can of coke cost more than dinner! – and hoped she’d use that 75 cents wisely.

The ferry ride back was the most blatant example of double-pricing, and thus the most irritating. We boarded again, wishing we had an even 3000d but not too worried about it. The collector this time was a bent little woman who approached us and held up two 10s – she wanted 20000d for what was rightfully a 3000d trip! We laughed at her and refused, holding up three fingers. She shook her head and waved the two bills at us, we shook our heads, it went back and forth. Finally Gabe shoved a 10000d bill at her and held out his hand for change – she was apparently satisfied with 10 and disappeared to the back of the boat. The locals looked on with somewhat uncomfortable ‘that’s how it goes’ expressions.

We were both fuming a bit when we got off, and pointed at the posted prices just to make a point when we arrived, but she just shook her head again and went on her way. The money is not the issue – we were overcharged a quarter – it’s just the principle! Double-pricing is a fact of life in developing nations (national park fees in Thailand are multiplied by ten for foreigners) and if you’re white, you’re stuck with it, but it’s rarely that blatant. Insult was added to injury when I stopped to use the public restroom on the street and the lady sitting directly under the “1000d” sign took my 2000d bill then sauntered off with no plans to return.

We soothed ourselves with some bia hoi and enjoyed a vendor dinner on the other side of town (where people are happy to treat us as people, not ATMs) before giving up for the night. The next day we bypassed the bus that the guesthouse wanted to book for us ($10) and took the local bus ($1) to the train station where we bought tickets to Dong Ha. While waiting for the train to depart, we headed outside looking for some lunch.

There was a restaurant on the corner whose owners started waving translated menus at us as soon as they saw my blonde hair – we oh-so-cleverly ignored them and sat at some plastic chairs at the street stall next door. We were served very good bun bo hue from the pregnant lady running the stand, and prided ourselves on ‘going local.’ The fact is, however, that you can never really go local in such a place. As we finished our tea and stood to pay, she walked over and held up 5 fingers. We stared in confusion for a moment, thinking that 5000 was unreasonably cheap and that surely she didn’t mean fifty – that would be downright robbery for soup!

Naturally, she meant 50. We gave her the now all-too familiar “are you crazy?” look and handed her 30. She shook her head, and although she looked embarrassed (she knew exactly what she was doing), stood her ground, those five fingers waving at us. We gave her 10 more, hoping she’d give up, but no luck. We finally gave in, grabbed our stuff and stomped off as she hid back in the cooking area waiting on us to go. Again, the money is not the problem  – would you really fight some poor pregnant lady for 50 cents? – but the principle is maddening and is absolutely exasperated by the sort of tourism that Hoi An sees.

In the end, what bothers me most is that I absolutely love 99% of what Vietnam has to offer –  nearly all of the people have been wonderful, friendly and more than welcoming – but these incidents leave such a bad taste in your mouth and you can’t help but dwell on them.

We had a great experience in Dong Ha today, visiting the DMZ with a phenomenal South Vietnam vet, which is quickly erasing the Hoi An fiasco from our minds. I will save it for the next post, but we now have a new rule – no eating, drinking or riding before knowing today’s going rate!

…and honeymoon capital of Vietnam. That is Dalat’s claim to fame, and it’s easy to see why! The place is beautiful and can really only be described as romantic; as I said before, I immediately thought of southwestern Europe and Gabe could’ve sworn he was in Colorado. We spent four full days there, quite a chunk of time on this sort of trip, and were both hesitant to leave.

It was just such a nice change from everywhere else that we’ve been for the past six months. The nights were cold, the days absolutely beautiful, and palm trees were replaced with towering pines. The whole city is built into the mountains with stairs connecting the various levels and narrow cobbled alleyways, and there’s no word for the houses aside from ‘quaint.’ The market is now at the top of my list, several levels and streets full of everything you can imagine and a food stall area that just begs you to eat 8 meals a day! Soup, the number one food in Vietnam, is especially wonderful in this town and the numerous cafes are a welcome sight with their steaming cups of locally grown coffee.

We spent the first day hiking up Lang Bien mountain, a volcanic peak with incredible views of the countryside. There was unfortunately a large cloud occupying the top, but we made it up high enough to enjoy endless views of surrounding farmland, vineyards and coffee plantations. At night, we’d enjoy a bottle of Dalat wine (less than $2) and whatever treats we could pick up while roaming the market in search of brand name bargains (resale, anyone?)

We drove our motorike out to Thoc Voi, or Elephant Falls, on the second day. The route was off of our map and it took a lot of asking fellow drivers and turning around to find it, but it was more than worth it! The drive itself was breathtaking, full of steep, winding mountain roads and valleys absolutely bursting with vineyards, lakes, farmland and flowers. The falls were huge, crashing down over massive boulders at the bottom; we spent time climbing around at the bottom, priding ourselves on being the only ones there without a guide. Afterwards we stopped for some pho at a roadside home where it seemed no tourist had stopped before – they got a kick out of it and served a delicious, memorable meal.

On the third day Gabe went mountain biking while I explored (code word for walked) the town a bit more. I finally headed over to the lake, and immediately kicked myself for not having done so sooner! The lake was huge, surrounded with perfectly landscaped trees and flower beds and lined with a wide, clean unbroken sidewalk. In short, this was probably the best running I’d find in SE Asia! I walked a loop to test the distance (5K) and enjoyed the crisp, sunny day and hundreds of other people out doing the same. Refreshingly, Dalat is full of tourists, but they are all Vietmanese. Somehow this place hasn’t really made it onto the standard foreigner circuit, and we loved it all the more because of it!

Needless to say, I was up at five the next morning and headed straight for the lake. I immediately noticed (when will I quit being surprised by this?) that we miss out on a lot while we sleep. As I passed above the market area, I couldn’t help but notice that the streets resembled Times Square on New Year’s eve. They were packed, with thousands of people browsing around what is apparently the best all-night market in existence! I tried to push away my regret at not having experienced it and continued on.

The lake was surrounded by innumerable runners, walkers and cyclists, and the chilly air was enough to allow me a hard nine miles, something I was quite proud of after my rather dodgy running schedule lately. I enjoyed a euphoric walk home where I dragged Gabe out of bed (so what if he had a grueling 35km bike ride the day before?) in search of food, pronto (I’m so lucky that he manages to be so agreeable in the morning…)!

We had to leave at 4 p.m. on a night bus to Hoi An. We had one more lake visit, got one last market meal, savoured one last bakery treat and somewhat sadly waited on the bus to show up.

We were even more hesitant to leave after we realized that we (the only people with “Europe-legs” on the bus) had picked seats above the wheel carriage. As the guys in front of us leaned their chairs faarrrr back, we looked at each other, acknowledging that it would be a looonnnggg night. 14 hours and four pee stops later (one of which was on the side of a mountain road, involving lots of shameless, squatting women) we arrived in Danang, boarded a school bus that looked like it’d been through a few world wars, entrusted the driver (who had one good eye and no passable English) with our life and soon found ourselves in Hoi An.

Hoi An is a beautiful place as well, though absolutely overrun by white people. We’ve done a good job of keeping our distance and straying from the path,  as usual (finally found our 50 cent soup!). I’ll save my description for another post in a day or two, after the longing for Dalat wears off a bit more…

…but check out the new photos! I tried to restrain myself, but to no avail. This country is wonderful! Will write tomorrow…

Vietnam is fast becoming the highlight of our trip, consistently putting smiles on our faces. We started out on Phu Quoc, a large island not too far from the Cambodian border. Phu Quoc is 90% mountainous forest; there is a small guesthouse/resort strip and a main town with some paved roads, but otherwise the entire place is remote and crisscrossed with dirt roads. We had a beach-front bungalow with hammocks for $8/night – the beaches are gorgeous, there are no crowds and the waves were wonderful. We rented a motorbike and spent an entire day exploring the north end of the island. We got caught in one downpour while passing through a village and were immediately ushered into a small bamboo hut by the guy that lived there – we couldn’t communicate via words but he was happy to have stay until the storm passed. The rest of the day was spent driving alongside miles and miles of absolutely pristine,deserted beaches and ended with indescribably fresh seafood. We really didn’t want to leave, but luckily we pulled ourselves away and headed to the next place!

Stop number two was Can tho, on the Mekong Delta. We foolishly agreed to buy minibus tickets from our moto driver – “very nice bus, fast, air conditioned!” In reality it was a large van that should have been retired years before, with one fan and nearly 20 people (someone with a bag of fish) crammed in. Within an hour we got a flat tire and it took over an hour to fix…luckily there was a bia hoi place to keep us occupied. Anyways, Can tho was a really nice little town and we headed out at 5:30 the next morning to some floating markets. We had a longtail boat with a woman to drive it down the Mekong, and it was great.

We’d done the floating markets in Thailand, but those are so overdone and exist only for the tourists. These markets are actually functional, there were few other foreigners in sight and certainly no boats selling souveniors! Our driver spoke no english, but she made incredible sculptures out of palm leaves as she motored along and took us down lots of rural, beautiful back canals where the resident kids would run out and scream their hellos – we loved it! We were back by lunch, just in time for an afternoon of thunderstorms…luckily we were blessed with a hot water shower and a wrought iron balcony (and, okay, the Discovery channel) that made our room a perfect place to spend such an afternoon.

Next, we headed to Ho Chi Minh City, or Saigon. We weren’t anticipating enjoying it, expecting it to be another huge, crazy, dirty city and were going to stay for a day, see a museum then head north. However, we were pleasantly surprised! We arrived at night again and at first glance, it resembled Bangkok quite a bit. Once we were settled in our guesthouse (another great, clean, hot-water and balcony room on the second floor of a sweet old lady’s house) and went out to roam around, we realized that the atmosphere was a lot nicer and the city was unbelievably clean (a rare thing in SE Asia). The traffic was impressive, but had nothing on Phnom Penh – I mean, come on, Vietnam actually has helmet laws and stoplights!

I got up at 5 the next morning to run, as there was a large park across from our place. From our back alley location, I couldn’t tell if it would be too early, too sketchy, etc, and headed out tentatively. Stepping onto the street was like stepping into a time warp! I’d expected it to be dark, quiet and to feel a bit jumpy until the world started to wake up. What I was greeted with, however, were bars still full of foreigners, breakfast soup vendors everywhere, Vietmanese men already at the cafes with their iced ca phe and cigarettes and a park absolutely packed with runners, walkers, handball games, soccer games and mass aerobics groups in the center of it all. I was the latecomer! Running around that park was akin to being on a carousel at a carnival, it was super entertaining and a perfect start to the day.

We explored the market for breakfast (and snack and lunch), where we found a mindblowing spread of new things to try, then headed to another park to sit, write and enjoy the absolutely perfect weather. Saigon is a beautiful city, very green, very clean and full of French architecture – hands down the nicest city we’ve seen in Asia. We headed to the War Remnants Museum in the afternoon. I won’t go into too much detail on it, but it was another harsh dose of reality. The photos were shocking, things you never see or hear about in history class (or anywhere else), and while it was obviously presented from the Vietmanese point of view, there’s no arguing some of the things we saw. One of the most overwhelming sections documented the effects of Agent Orange on later generations; it put me near tears and both of us felt as though we didn’t want to speak and have anyone in there hear our American accents. I have no doubt that I have learned more history on this trip than I could’ve learned in 30 years of school at home.

I was sort of sad to leave Saigon so soon, but we only have a month and time is flying; the country that began as our lowest priority has quickly become the highest and there is so much ground to cover! This morning we both went running, checked BBC for election updates, had another soup (the current front-runner) at the market, checked BBC for election updates, then boarded a bus to Dalat. Dalat is in the central highlands and the descriptions were wonderful; waterfalls, mountains, lakes, cool climate and lots of French influence – we anticipated wanting to spend a few days in such a place.

First of all, the bus was light years ahead of anything we’ve been on recently. Lots of leg room, tv, a/c, good food stops and amazing scenery. The further we went, the more breathtaking it became; mountains covered in vineyards, huge pine trees, gorgeous waterfalls. Arriving in Dalat was the climax; if it weren’t for the motorbikes and laughably cheap food/accomodation, I’d think I was in France or Switzerland!

The town is built into the mountains, the roads are steep, the buildings are French, it’s immaculately clean, the trees are huge, local wine is sold everywhere, bakeries are at every corner and it is COLD. I don’t mean that there is a chill in the air, I mean that it’s COLD! We have not experienced this since winter in Austin and finally, finally it feels like November!

We already had huge grins on our face when the bus pulled in, and they got even bigger when it dropped us in the town center instead of a distant station. We got out and a girl politely asked if she could help us (compare this to the usual onslaught of moto drivers all pulling and shouting at you). We asked about a guesthouse that was listed in our book and she offered a free ride to it, but said she had a room right there if we wanted to look- she’d discount it to make it the same, $8. We agreed to look and stepped into the hotel. She led us up four flights of stairs to a spotless room with real bedcovers, hot water, television, complimentary tea and a great view.Our grins got bigger and we moved in – cold weather, real hotel…we felt like we were on vacation from backpacking!

We went to check in and she showed us the newpaper declaring Obama as president – my grin hit its limit! From there, I needed a coat as my rainjacket is hardly protection against chilly weather. We headed up the steep streets and were immediately confronted with a bakery that had our names written all over it. We spent a lot of time gawking and drooling, then finally bought a bottle of wine ($2) and cheesecake. My grin suddenly found room to get bigger! The cake made it all of five feet from the door before it was devoured (they always give you spoons), then we headed towards the market. Coats and winter gear are the specialty in Dalat, and within minutes we were drowning in choices.

As you probably know, Vietnam is the place for clothing production, which means it is the place for bargains. There is the market, where coats/sweaters/wool hats/scarves are piled on the ground and it’s a free-for-all bargain fest. Near the market are shops with more upmarket choices, and this is where I found my deal!

There was a super nice Northface coat that I immediately saw, and Gabe, former outdoor-gear professional, informed me that it retails for at least $350. We asked the girl what she wanted for it, expecting maybe $100…she responded with “$24.” Twenty four dollars! I let Gabe do his expert inspection and it all checked out as genuine and intact, so I happily bought it and am now contemplating Craigslist opportunities…I may be buying several!

To sum this up, Vietnam is breath-taking. Thailand was great and Cambodia made what will probably be the biggest impression on me, but this place is just all-around wonderful. It’s gorgeous, there are so many drastic differences between the different regions, it’s not overrun by tourism (as is Thailand), the food is amazing, it’s clean, it’s taken care of and the people are phenomenal. There’s much more of a Chinese influence here and you can see it in the relative orderliness of things. I’m sure I’ll have lots to write after a few days in Dalat, and things should only get more beautiful from here; the grand finale will be in the far north mountain town of Sapa, where snow is a very real possibility. I have a feeling that these grins aren’t going anywhere…

We have entered another culinary wonderland! As much as we enjoyed Cambodia, it was a tough place to be after being spoiled by the edible delights in Thailand – food in Cambodia was far more bland, less readily available and significantly more expensive (they also don’t have chocolate or icecream anywhere!). Vietnam, however, has been nothing but one great discovery after another!

I don’t have time for the type of food blog that this country deserves (I’ve also only been here for less than a week), but I did want to make note of the most prominent dish in Vietnam, pho.

Pho, for the uninformed, is noodle soup. Noodle soup sounds bland and is found all over Asia as a staple breakfast food (each country has certain variations), but in fact is is fact incredibly tasty and is one of our new addictions.The quintessential version is Pho bo, beef noodle soup. Like I said, it’s the standard breakfast food, but people eat it 24 hours a day – it is always available and always dirt cheap.

Your basic bowl of pho bo consists of flat rice noodles (in no way related to pasta, these are lighter than light), slices of braised beef, sliced white onion and chopped green onion in what is probably one of the most aromatic broths in the world. It comes in a huge steaming bowl (little to no wait time), a variety of garnishes are placed on your table and then the fun begins!

First, you add heaps of fresh bean sprouts onto the top of your soup.Then you tear up fresh basil and a cilantro-like herb, filling your bowl (to your taste) with the leaves. You squeeze a lime or two into the mix, then add fresh chopped chilies. After that comes scoops of various chili sauces; the most common seems to be a ground chili/sugar/chili oil combo, though the variety is half the fun! You then add fish sauce as needed (for salt) and fill a tiny dish with hoison sauce for dipping the pieces of beef into.

After mixing the contents of your bowls around with your chopsticks, it’s time to eat! With your soup spoon in your left hand and chopsticks in your right, it’s best to taste a bit of the broth (make any necessary adjustments), then get to work on some noodles. The best part of the whole ritual (this is not merely “eating”) is when your chopsticks have finished their job and it’s time to savour the spice-filled broth that awaits you at the bottom. There is always a free pot of Vietmanese tea on the table with glasses of ice, a perfect cooling accompaniment to the heat of the chilis.

At most, pho cost $1 and rumor has it that Saigon (where we are headed today) is full of fifty cent street pho, 24 hours a day. I will never, ever open a can of soup again.

The adventures just keep coming! We had everything planned out perfectly for our journey to Phu Quoc Island in Vietnam. We would take the 12 hour bus to Phnom Penh on Saturday, spend one day then leave the next morning on the 7 a.m. bus for Kampot, which would put us there by 11. We’d then get a ride to the border, deal with immigration and be at the Ha Tien boat dock in plenty of time for the 3 p.m. boat – surely we’d be having drinks on the beach by 7!

As things go in countries where you’re a glowing white target for clever transport touts and unfortunately they are usually the only English-speakers, it didn’t quite happen that way. We got to Phnom Penh as planned and luckily the guesthouse that we tried had a room for us. We checked out a bar called the “Lone Star Saloon” just for kicks (nothing but a few Australian expats, some oldwest photos for decor and a  menu of chili-dogs) then turned in fairly early. We spent the next day taking care of internet things, then were ready for our bus at 6:30a.m. on Monday.

The four hour bus ride ended up being six (I guess four hours is the dry season estimate) and we rolled in Kampot around 1:00. Being the only foreigners in a little town that only sees a slow trickle of tourists, we were absolutely assaulted by tuktuk/moto drivers before even stepping off of the bus, all of them waving guesthouse fliers and reading off the prices/amenities/tour opportunities, all at the same time. Poor Gabe gets the brunt of it, being the guy (ie “in charge”), but we are pretty good at dealing with these guys by now – smile,laugh and ignore them until you have your bags and are ready to discuss options.

They all claimed that there are no 3pm boats, only 9a.m., and then all started yelling their various offers for tuktuk/moto/share taxi transport the next morning. We both suspected that there was a boat (if we got on it, how could they earn guesthouse commission on us?) but it was already late and we decided that we’d stay and go in the morning. The guy who took us to our guesthouse promised to be back at 6:30 a.m. to take us the hour to the border.

It was a nice little town, quiet and mountainous, and we had a relaxing evening. The next morning (note:no breakfast) we piled into the tuk tuk for what turned out to be a two hour, bumpy, sloppy push through more incredibly horrendous roads the consistency of melted chocolate. We worried about the 9a.m. boat, but the guy was doing all he could. Eventually he stops on the side of the road and tells us that the tuktuk can’t go any further, we have to take motobikes through the border. This is a common thing, it’s something of a transport mafia, so we got off and had no choice but to agree to $5 apiece for the two moto drivers to take us.

We tell him that we’re going to Phu Quoc and he immediately tells us “oh, no boat today!” then quickly showed us a card advertising some boat in another town that apparently was going at noon. Natually, he’d be happy to drive us there for an extra$6! We said no thanks, just take us to the docks in Ha Tien. He didn’t push it and we were soon on our way and making our way down the long row of windows at the Vietnam border control, waiting until they’d spent enough time staring at our documents to make it seem as though it were something important -in reality, they weren’t really interested, and we were the only people in sight.

Vietnam had refreshingly paved roads and there was instant change from Cambodia. They took us to the docks in Ha Tien (we rode on an actual freeway…Cambodia does not have such a thing!) and then tried to convince us that there was no boat – but they could take us to one. We told them no thanks and paid, finally they left and were immediately replaced by a couple of other drivers. These guys also insisted that there was no boat today (it did look that way) but the older man said he knew ofa “family boat” that he could take us to for $3 – it was a friend of his and they’d wait for us. We asked how much the boat was, he said $10 – we shook our heads and he responded with my favorite phrase: “How much you want to pay?”

We decided to just go and get there, (note: no lunch) and 20 minutes later we found ourselves sitting at some low plastic tables with a Vietmanese family. Soon the first boat came – a low wooden boat which everyone piled onto, supposedly to take us to the “big boat.” Gabe and I smiled, thinking that at least we were staying off of the tourist trail! We had no idea…

Just as the sun was becoming unbearable, we pulled up beside a big wooden fishing boat piled with crates of produce, bags of rice and hundreds of live ducks. Everyone tossed their bags on board then climbed from our small boat up onto the big one, carefully balancing themselves on the ocean swells. There was a ladder to the top deck and we followed the others up. The deck was already quite full with an assortment of people – a few men, several young mothers with toddlers, one with an infant in a hammock and a few old ladies. They welcomed us in and we took off our shoes, scooting to the far end (the ceiling was barely four feet above the floor) – apparently this was going to be quite a four hour ride!

Four hours, naturally, turned into more than six. The ride became somewhat enjoyable after they strung up hammocks for us and a storm on the horizon dropped the temperature. At some point we pulled up to an anchored fishing boat where our guys traded cabbage and squid for some tanks of oil – I read, napped, watched the little kids and laughed at how far off the tourist trail we were! I stopped laughing around 2:00 when the boat engine slowly died and I watched some of the guys dropping an anchor.

Gabe and I had no clue what was going on – not one single english -speaker on the boat – but no one looked too concerned. We tried to ignore the fact that we hadn’t eaten since 5:00 the day before (note: no snacks) and did our best to figure out what was wrong.

We could see Phu Quoc from where we were, but it was still a good distance away and the storm brewing behind us made me a big uneasy – this boat was far from meeting any sort of safety standards! We floated for what seemed like hours (a few people made calls on their cellphones) until we finally noticed the men draining oil from the motorbikes onboard into a big bucket. Suddenly it all made sense…but there’s no way that could be enough for a boat!

It was enough to eventually get us going again, although we started to idle again about halfway to the harbor. Luckily a small boat had been called and after being waved down, a kid anchored beside us and handed over yet more oil. This was finally enough to get us to the harbor, just in time for 5 p.m. rain.

We ignored the drivers, intent on eating before dealing with finding a room, but we quickly realized that we had no dong and there were no ATMs at the harbor. We reluctantly jumped onto two more motorbikes who took us to get some cash before dropping us at “their” guesthouse – the rooms were fine, are on the ocean and we quickly agreed to stay. Finally, 24 hours after our last meal, we got to eat some of the best seafood I’ve had since Phuket!

We had our first bowl of Pho in Vietnam for breakfast this morning and, once again, it all seems to be worth the journey (although maybe we’ll play tourist on the way back)!