Wanderlust Heaven!

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

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

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

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

As for myself…I was always a voracious reader and fan of history, and at Tufts University one of my two majors was International Relations. I took a couple of classes about the Vietnam War and the political/social/economic events of the 1960s and 1970s. I recall reading some classic texts – Dispatches by Michael Herr, Vietnam by Stanley Karnow – and watching the superb PBS series on the Vietnam War, a 7-piece set of VHS tapes which I have to this day. I remember getting stoned with a college buddy and getting an audio-visual room in the school library so we could watch the Fall of Saigon from 1975.

So now I was finally here, in Vietnam, a place that beyond all odds dominated the US political and social landscape for a decade and more. And I thought back to my father’s stories and my own education, and about the effect our involvement had on this country and on us, seemingly so long ago but perhaps still enduring.

After a month in the mellow paradise of Laos, Vietnam felt completely different. Language – I had learned a bit of Lao, although the script itself was beyond me. The Vietnamese used a Romanized script…but it was like looking at a random series of letters, so odd were the words and accents. I could read the words for a few foods, that was about it. And the pronunciation is murder, plain and simple. Ordering a bottle of water wasn’t easy – and that’s my general benchmark for a language.

Temperament – the Laos were a relaxed, happy, joking bunch for the most part. The Vietnamese, while friendly enough, seemed to be made of tougher stuff and didn’t seem like the right people to cross. And the feel of the country itself was not as gentle – the number of Vietnamese ‘red star’ flags waving from buildings and cars bespoke a feeling of nationalistic fervor that you just don’t see in the Lao People’s Democratic Republic, as un-democratic and un-republican as that nation is.

As mentioned in my last post, I got lucky in finding a ride all the way from Nameo, at the Lao border, to Hanoi, arriving the same night. I’ve subsequently spoken with others who also crossed the border at Nameo – all of us wondering why we chose that place. None of the others had such an easy time getting to Hanoi – most had to ride a xe om (literally, ‘motorcycle hug’) for quite a while to get to a major train station, then had two different bus rides to reach Hanoi. Ugh. Over time that border crossing might get better served, but for now it’s a real adventure. Bring money and patience…

I had the driver drop me at Spring Hotel, one of dozens of little places in the Old Quarter. They had a couple rooms, I chose a US$14 one with aircon and bathroom. Vietnam is pretty cheap, as was Laos, and that made me feel better about going out and drinking lots of draft beers around town. And the draft beers – at least the local ones – are perhaps the cheapest in the world. ‘Bia hoi,’ or ‘fresh beer,’ is made that day and distributed to ‘bia hoi’ establishments around town. These establishments are generally dives with stools and tables on the sidewalk…but the beers are between 2,000-4,000 dong apiece – that’s about 12-25 US cents per. And they serve pretty good food too. I braced myself for a thickening of my gut during my month in country.

It was already pretty late by the time I checked in, so decided to just walk around see see the area. I was near a bar area called Bao Khanh and walked over there to see what was what. I should mention that my guidebook and various websites were full of stories about scams perpetrated in Vietnam – I took note of that. And I quickly noticed that Hanoi wasn’t a particularly kind or gentle place – there were motorbikes all round driving like maniacs, people everywhere, and the other aspects I mentioned above. Felt like a place where keeping your guard up would be critical…so I put my Swiss Army knife in my pocket before leaving the hotel.

An hour later I was throwing said knife into a large wooden post at a local bar. Hanoi doesn’t seem to have lots of dartboards, but a dive bar I found in the Old Quarter did have a crude target carved into a post and they let you toss your knife at it. My knife isn’t actually a Swiss Army model, it’s a ‘Leatherman,’ which is quite large and full of features. Not that great for tossing, but I managed to stick it in the post a few times. Then I put it away before injuring myself or someone else.

As I walked home that night a motorbike came over with a guy and girl on it. The girl beckoned…this was a scam right out of the book, where the girl gives you a hug or similarly distracts you (probably by grabbing your pecker) while she or the guy relieves you of your wallet. I just laughed at them and walked on.

Hanoi is a weird mix of chaos (you wouldn’t believe the insanity of the motorbike drivers – who are, in the final analysis, the best drivers I’ve ever seen) and control. In some places the traffic cops are so robotic I was reminded of Tokyo. In other places no cop would dare venture, and teenage boys on Hondas are the boss.

One of the reasons I had rushed up to Hanoi was to see the embalmed body of Ho Chi Minh before they carted it off to Russia for its annual embalming procedure, which apparently takes 2-3 months. I had heard that early September is when they close down the mausoleum, hence I had to get to Hanoi before then. And on August 31, my first day in Hanoi, I went over to the Ho Chi Minh Mauseoleum and Museum to taste a bit of history. I put on long pants and shoes, as they’re quite picky about that sort of thing. I didn’t bother shaving – after all, Ho sported a pretty cool wispy beard.

But the Mausoleum itself was closed, for some reason on Mondays and Fridays that’s the way it is. I wasn’t too put out, as it would be open the next morning, and I visited the museum for another dose of Communist propaganda. And I got just that. But at the same time, the story is complex…and no one would argue that Ho wasn’t a real, and effective patriot. He loved Vietnam, and without his personality and drive this country might be in a very different place than it is today.

I recognized this as I viewed the photos and read his speeches in the museum. Ho was an effective leader and even now, 38 years after his death, locals swarm his mausoleum, revere his name, and consider themselves his children. I, naturally, am full of cynicism about the man and his project. Ho wrote no fewer than 8 letters to Harry Truman, and the Vietnamese Declaration of Independence, delivered by Ho in Hanoi in August/September 1945, was largely borrowed from the US version. Apparently there were American officials at his side when he delivered it – after all, this was at the very end of WW2 and we wanted to ensure that the Japanese – and Russians – would be out of the picture. What irony. But some balance must be added.

After the Geneva Accords in 1954, when the French were finally booted out of Vietnam, Ho presided over a North Vietnam that ended up arresting and executing thousands of ‘landlords,’ many of whom were small shop owners and farmers. Depressingly familiar to every other Communist ‘nation-building’ experience. And when the VietCong took the southern city of Hue during the war, and held it for 3 weeks, they came in with lists of their enemies and began going house to house arresting and executing right away. Thousands of Hue citizens were murdered before the US and South Vietnamese troops regained control. Perhaps Ho didn’t have much to do with these crimes…and I do generally believe the patter about him being more of a nationalist than a Communist, whatever that means…but a fish rots from the head down and he was far less of a kindly uncle than he’s given credit for being.

But we Americans should be good losers. And hey – we lost the war, but the world didn’t collapse thereafter, and today Vietnam is a very commercial place with a varnish of authoritarian paint on top of it. Our way of thinking and living has won the day – it’s just named differently here. And one would have hoped that the USA would have learned a valuable lesson…but it appears we did not.

Visited the Temple of Literature after the Ho Museum. This place was Vietnam’s first university, established by the king around 1000 A.D. There are 82 stelae of university doctorate holders – made me wonder how long my Darden diploma will hold up.

Also visited the Fine Arts Museum. Nice enough stuff – with the usual heavy dose of patriotism. It is hard to escape the ‘red star feeling’ here – the flags are everywhere and it’s a bit like Big Brother, with a star instead of an eye.

Hanoi is one of the most humid places I’ve ever been. I swear I sweated every minute I was outside. Those of you who know me well won’t doubt that.

Had heard that several outfits run motorcycle tours of the north. That sounded like fun…I wasn’t too interested in doing the usual ‘hilltribe trekking/homestay’ exercise, but bopping around on the back of a powerful motorbike was intriguing. So I checked out the various companies – there were the usual guidebook mistakes and changes in companies to contend with, but I found some opportunities. More on that later.

My hotel is right near the Hoan Kiem Lake, which is one of Hanoi’s landmarks and a great place for meeting friends, going running, etc. I’ve heard that gay men hook up there…and that gay tourists are often picked up there by locals, who offer to show them round town, take them to a rip-off karaoke bar, and then cheat them out of US$100 or so. Charming. Vietnam makes Laos look like the Garden of Eden.

Meant to go for a run around the lake. Instead, took a long nap. The days of hard traveling had caught up with my 40-year-old body, and I slept for 3 hours. There are many forms of exercise, I suppose. Refreshed, I got up and went to check out a few spots around Hanoi. The first – the Terrace Bar at the Press Club. Apparently there’s a happy hour on Fridays at 6 p.m., you order a drink and can then partake of the snacks going round, eating your fill. That’s what I used to do back in university and it sounded like a good idea now. But the Terrace Bar was completely dead – two fat Aussie girls sitting outside, no staff to be found, so I left straightaway. Hanoi’s nightlife was looking a bit weak – but it was only 7 p.m. so I gave it more time.

Went over to Finnegan’s Bar – a more typical, dependable choice. This is where the Hanoi Hash House Harriers hang out and from where the runs start. I was the only customer in there. Hmmm. Had a couple beers and a sandwich, chatted with the manager who told me the Hash now meets elsewhere. My guidebook – the August 2007 Lonely Planet – was already feeling dated. Of course, the research is probably a year old by the time of publication, but I was still feeling cross about the errors and outdated info in there.

Moved over to Highway 4 – where the infamous Minsk Riders’ Club hangs out. Turns out there are 3 branches, I was in the wrong one. So I drank a few glasses of xeo, Vietnamese rice wine. One type of xeo is called ‘5 times all night,’ and is taken from a poem that reads ‘5 times all night, 4 sons born’ or something like that. I ate some brilliant catfish spring rolls with wasabi-like dipping sauce and talked to a waiter who knows something about motorcycle tours. He gave me some info, I ate and drank, then took off.

Friday night partying in Hanoi was looking iffy. Went back to the dependable Bao Khanh bar area…went into GC Bar, which looked fairly full and happening. Just a regular bar – but at least there were patrons and some music playing. I found a seat at the bar…a local was next to me, playing air drums and attempting to mimic English lyrics…The Wall started playing, the guy was having difficulty following along with Roger Waters and I briefly considered garroting him. The only other white man in the bar, a Frenchman, seemed desperate to start a conversation with me. I made no effort – he looked annoying. Eventually he remarked that my forehead was damp and I was slow to cool down – I ignored him and started playing air guitar to Start Me Up by the Stones. The large television above the bar was showing the Fashion Channel and advertising cruiseboat tours with models on board. Watched that for a while. What would Uncle Ho think of that?

A waiter rushed by with a full bottle of Jack Daniels. A painted lady leered at me from the far end of the bar. I finished my beer and went outside. A severely epileptic lady tried to sell my cigarettes. A cyclo (bicycle with carriage in back) went by, with two fat white girls in back. I considered writing a poem but lacked pen and paper. Clearly this was the place to be…

Next morning made my second assault on Ho’s Mausoleum. Lengthy line, but succeeded. I was the only foreigner around and got lots of looks. Shuffled past Ho’s body – four guards posted around the vessel, annoying guards forcing people to move along (very Communist). Ho’s body was eerily illuminated and curiously waxlike. Could have been a wax version for all I knew. But it did look like the photos of Ho…wispy beard, white pajama outfit, wizened face…and it was a singular experience. Here was the guy who defied the Japanese and Chinese…kicked out the French…and outlasted the Americans. A decent day’s work, you’ve gotta agree.

A few shots from the Mausoleum and surroundings – obviously no shots of old Ho himself are allowed:

The Army Museum was next up. This place was nearby, so got a chance to walk and not reply on moto drivers. This museum had loads of stuff to see, including a slew of captured US hardware from the war – feast your eyes:

Certainly felt weird to be touring a museum that proudly showed off captured US military hardware…but at the same time I didn’t feel particularly emotional. It was a strange war with a strange outcome and it was all so long ago…

And I believe this is a tank that was involved in the famous assault (unopposed) on the Saigon Presidential Palace on April 30, 1975 – you’ve probably seen the video/photo:

After that, went to the infamous Hoa Lo Prison, known unaffectionately by its American POWs as the Hanoi Hilton. My moto driver was a bit hard to understand – but at one point he put his hand on my knee and squeezed hard. I didn’t think he was asking for directions and I swatted his hand away. I briefly considered strangling him, but we were in moving traffic. Should I feel pleased that Asian gay men find me attractive?

A section of the prison has been preserved and is leveraged for full propaganda value today. Perhaps appropriately, most of the exhibits and attention is given over to the brutal treatment of the locals by the French authorities. And the sign outside the prison does read ‘Maison Central.’ Not that much about the American prisoners, although there are two small rooms devoted that that period. Of course the current authorities claim that all American POWs were treatly well and fairly, and paint their life as bucolic if basic. We know otherwise…John McCain can barely raise his arms today from his torture in Hoa Lo.

And McCain is the star on stage in these two rooms. A photo of the young McCain graces one of the walls, along with another of Pete Peterson, who eventually became the first US Ambassador to Vietnam in 1995. At one point I came to an exhibit with the full uniform of a US pilot who was shot down over Hanoi – this turned out to be McCain. Eerie. Here’s McCain’s photo, his flier’s uniform, and an image from his return some years ago – really felt like an important piece of history:

Went to the History Museum next. Hanoi does have a lot of museums – you need 3 days to get through ’em all. This one was a bit boring – stunning colonial building, but the contents are less compelling than the military museums, in my opinion. Lots of old pottery and explanations about the ascent of man in the Mekong Delta. Mildly interesting, but I just stayed for 30 minutes or so.

My next moto driver was cool. His name was Vuong, and after discussing the heat we decided to go get a beer. I wanted to try out the bia hoi (fresh/draft beer) places, but felt weird going in as a solo foreigner, so Vuong was my ticket in. We went to a well-known place, and proceeded to drain about 8 beers apiece. Actually, I think I had more, but he had to go back to work – yeesh – so he stopped ‘early.’ We ate some amazing river catfish and shrimp, and I took care of the bill. Vuong probably thought he was in heaven – I don’t think he drinks and eats like that too often.

After lunch I had some stupid errands to run. Went to a nearby ‘supermarket,’ which didn’t have everything I needed. So took a moto to another area. The driver, a young guy, tried to be helpful by taking my plastic bag and hooking it onto the bike, so that I wouldn’t have to hold it while we wove around other bikes. Upon reaching my desination, had a misunderstanding with him about the price – he wanted an outrageous sum, I refused and gave him half, and walked on. About 15 minutes later I realized I had left my bag on his bike. Nothing valuable…except for the leggings to my ‘sahara pants,’ shorts that have zippable pant legs. Torture. I love my REI saharas, and have two of them. Now I have one and a half. It’s not a huge problem, but I do hate losing things, especially after drinking heavily at lunch. Sometimes I lose sight of the important (belongings) when I try to deal with the minutaie (moto fare). I tried to kick myself, and walked on. Finished all my errands – didn’t feel like much progress. Went back to the hotel and took another long nap. That helped.

Went to have a drink at Salsa, a nice little place near by hotel. Chatted for a hour with a Brit named Steve, who works in financial services. Gave me lots of tips about Hanoi/Vietnam, and the name of a guy who runs motorbike tours of the north. Also told me about a couple late-ish bars around Hanoi. Checked them out that very night – one, the Lighthouse, was a real dive, only about 20 people there, half of whom were hookers. The other, the ‘Nutz Fun Pub’ at the Sheraton, involved a semi-hairy moto ride to the outskirts of town. We went right through a huge market that was closing down for the night – fascinating look at the mechanics involved with shutting down an operation like that.

The Sheraton bar was OK – crowded, loud music, mixed crowd. But it felt like 20 years ago, or even more. Lots of locals with shirts unbuttoned to stomach level, (imitation) gold chains glaring. Slightly devolved, misshapen foreigners hovering around local girls. Was this the Hanoi version of Saturday Night Fever…or perhaps a guido wedding gone wrong? To top it off, I was still sweating, and no amount of Carlsberg beer (grossly overpriced at US$4 per) could cool me off. It wasn’t that the girls were super-fine – I’ve actually been disappointed about that here in Vietnam, I think I’ve seen cuter Vietnamese woman in other lands. So at 1 a.m., before closing time, I went home. And finally I cooled down…

The next day was Vietnam Day, the anniversary of the day in 1945 when Ho read the Vietnamese Declaration of Independence in Hanoi. And Ho died on September 2, 1969. Coincidence? Sounds dodgy to me. Anyway, there were even more red stars flying than previously…and as it was a Sunday, loads of people milling around. Took a moto out to the Museum of Ethnology, a place which celebrates the ethnic diversity of Vietnam, or something like that. Everyone raves about this place – I found it pretty boring, except for a temp exhibit on the period of Bao Cap, or ‘Subsidy Economy,’ the period from 1975-1986 where everything was rationed and times were hard. This was quite interesting…there were replicas of rice-rationing stores, coupons, testimony from ordinary families, etc. Sounded like hell on earth, although after my time in Cambodia nothing could shock me.

The Bao Cap period ended in 1986, with the new policy of Doi Moi (opening/glasnost/perestroika/market economy) coming into effect. And a placard announced that ‘a profound lesson about the laws of social development had been learned.’ Really. Sounded like precisely the same lesson that every single other Communist country had gone through. Of course, all of these countries were ‘different’ and ‘unique’ so they each had to learn the lesson on their own. Right. Vietnam seems to be 5-10 years behind China in virtually every respect and perhaps they should just copy China verbatim. That might be a good idea…

Wanted to get out of Hanoi and see nearby Halong Bay, famous for its limestone mountains/islands in the bay. Arranged a 3-day/2-night tour with a tour operator. I generally despise these sorts of packaged tours, but had heard that it’s brutal to arrange this trip on your own, so sucked it up and signed aboard.

Went to see the small temple of Ngoc Son in the middle of Hoan Kiem Lake. I was sick of temples and pagodas, but heard that this one had a preserved lake turtle that was gigantic, something like 2 meters long. Hoan Kiem is famed for having huge turtles that only emerge now and then…the last one was seen in 2000. Went and saw the turtle – it was truly huge – here it is:

On my way in, felt a tug at my pocket. No, it wasn’t another gay local, a fellow was trying to nab my camera. I spun around and grabbed his shoulder, and yelled at him – I have a feeling he understood me. But I didn’t press the point – it was Vietnam Day, after all, and I was in the midst of hundreds of proud Vietnamese who, when push came to shove, would have been more than happy to beat me to a bloody pulp. I didn’t want to be responsible for kicking off the Third Indochina War, so moved along, complaining to the ticket salesperson about this fellow. I doubt she had much sympathy for me. I made a note to be more careful with my stuff while here.

Visited one more museum, the Revolutionary Museum. More photos from the French and American wars, interesting enough but by this point I was zonked on museums and only stuck around for the requisite 30 minutes.

Went to the nearby Mediterraneo Ristorante that night. Had met the ower, Leo, the previous night at Salsa. Leo has been in Hanoi for 10+ years and his joint is perhaps the oldest foreign (non-French, at least) in Hanoi. Met a local who manages the American Club – nice guy, graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in the States. He helped me get a SIM card for my mobile, as I needed to make some calls. Then I went to bed, needing to arise early to head to Halong Bay.

Our guide was Tuan, a funny fellow who spoke good English, with a strong Viet accent of course. ‘Bus’ was pronounced ‘bu’ and I found that I kind of enjoy the way locals speak English – not that many do, of course. But the local English, like that all over Asia, is pretty humorous – witness my tour company’s minivan:

The ride to Halong City was three hours. Wasn’t feeling too social, so listened to my iPod rather than chat with my fellow tour-mates – there would be more than enough time for that, I was certain. Listened to ‘Prime Time’ by the Alan Parsons Project – a longtime favorite of mine that I had for some reason only recently purchased from iTunes. The first time I had ever heard this song was in 1984, when the Celtics were playing the Lakers in the NBA Finals. It was tooth-and-nail, and the Celts were losing the series when they pulled it together and got deadly serious. Probably the critical juncture was in Game 4, I believe, when Kevin McHale corralled Kurt Rambis from behind on a fast-break layup attempt. McHale grabbed Rambis by the neck and threw him to the floor – and all hell broke loose. Eventually things calmed and Rambis got his free-throw attempts…but the Celts had been energized by McHale’s raw display and they eventually won the series. A video highlight of the series was put out soon thereafter, with McHale’s play set to the very mellow ‘Prime Time’ and ever since then I’ve loved the song.

The tourist operation in Halong City is impressive – must have been 75 boats in the harbour waiting for vanloads of tourists to pour in.

Halong Bay means ‘where the dragon descended to the sea’ and it kind of does look like a massive beast flew through the land and carved out weird karst islets from a continent. Reminded me of El Nido in the Philippines. Here’s our boat, and incredible Halong Bay:

Got on our tour boat, where we’d spend the first night. Went out to an island with a huge cave, known as ‘Surprising Cave,’ surprising in that it’s large and has some odd features – like the following photo of what appears to be a rock penis, helpfully illuminated by spotlight:

I won’t bother with other cave photos as they’re not that great – caves are difficult to photograph, at least with my limited skill.

Went for a kayak after that, with tour-mate Vaselio from Rome. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but I was in the back and was able to quietly guide us from place to place while he randomly chose which side he felt like paddling on.

As the sun set, all six of us passengers went for a swim while dinner was being prepared. The boat’s captain, a young guy, joined us. He was a happy-go-lucky guy – always smiling, always trying to push the booze that was the only a la carte aspect of the tour. I was in the water – I felt a nip at my foot. I shot right up out of the water…then the captain emerged, having pretended to be a shark. Everyone laughed…but I got my revenge by nicknaming him Captain Shark. He loved it – I do have some skill in naming people, and was happy to have come up with another moniker.

After dinner that night, got into some heated political arguments with Luana, a 23-year-old Swiss tour-mate who had spent a few months in Saigon (sorry, Ho Chi Minh City) and was both switched-on and well-educated. She had worked for a small Swiss NGO, and said she was happy that the Communist government had in place some institutions that were ready partners for her NGO. That made sense…but I didn’t really buy the bit about the government caring for the average person and being dedicated to the peoples’ quality of life. My position was that 1) the government had mismanaged the 1975-1986 period, and had only gotten it together when it realized that a market economy (i.e., capitalism) was the right path, and 2) the government’s aim is to control the people, not to help them.

Luana pointed out that the 1975-1986 Bao Cap period was in response to the devastation of the war. I understood her point, and agreed that the war had created scarcities – and the USSR had invested a lot in helping Vietnam get back on its feet. But my response was that the USSR was hardly knowledgeable at that point about economic prosperity and the paths to it, and in any event freeing the farmers and tradespeople and letting them do their thing would in all ways be preferable to having the government create and enforce a rations system.

Eventually the wine and beer kicked in and we put arguments aside. We had had a full day…I had been nipped in the foot by Captain Shark (see below, he’s the guy at the wheel)…and it was time to turn in. I like sleeping on ships, and was soon out cold.

Awoke to dramatic rains. A sizeable storm was raging…the bay was cloudy…wasn’t sure we’d get to do and see much today. But after an hour or so the skies cleared. We transferred to another ship – most of our group had only booked a one-night tour and were heading back to Hanoi. Vaselio, the Italian, and I were on for two nights and stayed with Tuan, the guide, who took us hiking on a very muddy, slippery trail on one of the islands in Cat Ba National Park. After that, went for a nice cool swim, and by then I was exhausted. Vaselio went for a kayak – I snoozed on the roof of the boat. Some good views of life and fun in the bay:

There are fish farms in the bay – little floating enclaves have nets in which they farm fish – see here:

After that, went to Cat Ba Island, the largest in Halong Bay, for a night. Small town, here’s what it looks like from the approach. Lots of fish farms and floating restaurants in the bay.

Stayed at a nice 3-star hotel – not that the # of stars is that helpful, as Vaselio and I discussed, 3 stars in Italy means the place is a dump. But this was quite nice, and I wondered how the tour company was making much on us. Walked around Cat Ba Town while Vaselio rented a motorbike – I didn’t feel up to riding around. Had a bia hoi and some fried rice. Got lots of stares from locals – do they stare at all foreigners so intently? There are a fair few tourists on Cat Ba, and I can’t imagine a foreign face is that remarkable. Anyway, walked back to the hotel to take a snooze before meeting Vaselio for dinner at 8.

When I entered the lobby, I saw Vaselio and Tuan at the front desk. Walked over to them, and immediately saw that something was off. Vaselio looked devastated – I assumed he had crashed the bike or something along those lines. But it wasn’t that – he told me in a pained tone that his mother had fallen ill in Burma, and was now in a Bangkok Hospital. Shit. He had gotten a text from his father, but knew no more than that. He was now trying to ring his father in Bangkok, using the hotel’s phone. So far, no luck.

I had tried to use email a few minutes earlier, and knew that the lines were down due to the storm. Vaselio and Tuan wanted to get online to try to learn which hospital Vaselio’s mother might be in. My guess was Bumrungrad, the largest international establishment in Bangkok, and quite reputable. We walked over to town…Vaselio then got another text from his dad, with the name of the hospital. It wasn’t Bumrungrad, it was Samitijev Sukhumvit. Hadn’t heard of this one…but compared to the offerings in Burma, anything in Bangkok was bound to be top-notch. Still, Vaselio had not been able to speak with his parents and was not holding up that well. We are, after all, talking about an Italian boy.

I went with them to try to help out. Vaselio said he was OK and I should just relax in my room. But that didn’t feel right – I thought I could help him 1) keep things together, and 2) connect to his parents in Bangkok. I knew what he was going through – I lost my mom back in 1995 and empathized with him completely. He was biting his nails and pacing back and forth. All understandable.

We went to the local telephone company office. Lines were down. Ugh. And email wasn’t possible, it was the same line. I got Vaselio’s dad’s mobile # from him and rang it – it went through. I gave Vaselio the phone and he was finally able to speak with his dad. Turned out his mother had an intestinal blockage and would likely need surgery very soon, probably the next afternoon. I also texted friend Bob in Bangkok, he got on the Web and got me the telephone # of the hospital, which Vaselio used after that – cheaper than using mobiles. Vaselio arranged to head out ASAP and get a flight from Hanoi to Bangkok. We had dinner that night – he was having a tough time and I was happy to force a couple beers down his throat and cheer him up a bit.

He took off early the next morning – I’m not sure how things turned out. I just emailed him, and am really keeping my fingers crossed that his mom is OK.

Tuan, our guide, seemed to be impressed by my resourcefulness. Was second nature to me – I’ve solved lots more difficult problems every day at work. But I was happy to support Vaselio – he’s a very nice guy (despite being a lawyer – you’d never guess it, he’s so gentle and mellow), and was out of his element in this case. Let’s see what happens.

Finally got online that night. Noticed that my YouTube video with the Manila cockfight was deleted due to ‘objectionable content.’ Give me a break – we’re not talking Michael Vick dog brutality here.

Walking around town, got various offers for ‘karaoke and massage.’ Lethal combination – must get plenty of Chinese tourists here.

Headed back to Hanoi the next day. A couple hours in the boat, three in the minivan, then back in the city. Checked back into Spring Hotel, felt like I’d never left. Went to dinner that night in the Old Quarter at Cha Ca La Vong – cha ca means ‘grilled fish’ and you cook it yourself in a little stove on the table. A couple middle-aged Kiwi woman were at the next table over – they’d been there 3 times already. They liked my notion of endless travel and we chatted about Vietnam for a while. My fish was awesome and I waddled out of there feeling happy about things.

Decided to go with a company called Offroad Vietnam for my motorbike tour of the north. Was prepared to go solo, with a guide, and pay US$110/day – but went to the office this morning and it turns out two Kiwi gents are also interested. We quickly chose a 5-day journey and the costs are down to US$70/person/day – so going for 5 days is considerably cheaper than for 4 (solo), and we can see more of the North. Excellent. The benefits of scale are wonderful – an observation I’ve made many times while at the bar.

Heading off tomorrow – back in Hanoi on September 11^th, of all dates. Till then, keep your nose and mind clean and see you next week. Over and out.

Tags: Travel

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