Delta blues

Ten million people and four million motorbikes… It's no surprise that Ho Chi Minh City sees traffic jams of mammoth proportions. HCMC is edgy, energetic and entirely captivating. I've written in previous posts about my attraction to places which do not solely rely on tourism for survival. HCMC is definitely one of those places - at anytime of the day or night, something is happening and there's great food and culture from around the world. An energy bug that's easy to catch...

We cruise up the Cu Chi region, north east of HCMC, where a spider web network of tunnels made the area famous during the ‘Vietnam’ War. At its peak, the tunnel network spread over 250 square kilometres but carpet bombing and post war disrepair have taken their toll on all but a few. The remainder have been developed as a tourist attraction, where fat tourists can struggle through the stinking hot and cramped tunnels and take in the real story of the war ( read vicious anti-American polemic).

With HCMC doing our heads in, we gear up and point south to the Delta, a mass of canals, rivers and mangroves. We catch a boat from Can Tho for a vouryeristic inspection of the floating markets, an interesting and somewhat difficult way to trade goods. The early morning river is heaving with all manner of floating craft filled to the brim with fresh produce.

Most of the traders pay little attention to us, hurrying to complete their bartering in the rain. And as the rain comes pouring down, spirits are dampened and clothes are soaked - time for food and beverages. They say the Mekong rots your feet right off your legs, and with rain and humidity like this, I can't help but agree - my hands and feet and wrinkled like an old man.

Soon we are heading back to the big smoke, ready to head to Cambodia in the morning. Looking back on my one month in Vietnam, I realise I've been really trying hard to like the place. With some notable exceptions aside (Sapa and Ninh Binh), I felt that most Vietnamese are relatively uninterested in me as a tourist - especially in the north of the country. At first, I took this as arrogance - they couldn’t care less if I was there or not. But as I watched the seething rabble, I saw Vietnamese people treating their fellow country men with equal disinterest.

On the roads, motorcycles would fearlessly hurtle around corners without a glance, oftentimes causing serious accidents. I guess with 80 odd million people vying for your attention, it’s overwhelming to pay attention to everyone. I didn’t feel inspired by the passion of the people - unless I was about to spend money I saw glazed eyes. Unlike their Thai cousins, who are friendly and genuinely outgoing, Vietnamese people seriously don’t care. I respect someone who knows what they want- if they make a choice not to interact with me, that’s fine. But when the overwhelming impression is one of nonchalance, I’m curious to understand why. The jury is still out on that one…

South-central Vietnam

The afternoon monsoon, building arrogantly on the horizon, draws air with increasing intensity. Nature in it's pure, unadulterated form, not attributing worth or feeling obligation - it just 'is', wild and free, constantly morphing, never static, ready to release it's collected load. We've finally run into the monsoon in Hoi An, and the rain is refreshing and a great relief all at once - it's actually a novelty to be dodging warm puddles on a steaming, wet street instead of sweltering like a dog.

Hoi An is particularly well known for tailors - at last count there are over 400 tailor shops in the town, and from dawn to dusk, they are on the street corner keen to get your business. The narrow streets are lined with quaint French colonial buildings, and like Hanoi, packed with patisseries and great restaurants. With just one night in Hoi An, it's really just a glorified stopover, so there's no time for tailoring.

South bound in a sleeper bus, before you know it we hit the beach resort town of Nha Trang. I'm keen to do some diving, and head off to check out what's on offer at the various dive establishments. I've heard a few stories about dodgy dive operators here, and my investigations reinforce this rumour. After a few false starts, I choose the largest and oldest company in Nha Trang - sometimes a lower price is just not worth it. Due to dynamite fishing and a building monsoon the diving nowhere near as good as the Red Sea, but I spot some awesome critters including a cool red seahorse and some wicked little nudibranchs. Shit it's good to get back in the water.

Limestone on rice

Strapped to the back of a motorbike is the way to see the sights in the relatively sleepy little town of Ninh Binh. Known colloquially as Halong Bay on rice paddies, it's a great base from which to explore the surrounding rice paddies where limestone karst formations jut out in a surreal fusion of agricultural and geological. At first, it's a bit hairy negotiating the traffic, but vehicle concentration decreases off the main highway and my confidence spikes. Soon we're hurtling up and down various dirt tracks like seasoned locals.

We decide to head up to Coc Phuong National Park, in the mountains behind Ninh Binh, where an endangered Primates Research Centre works to rehabilitate many species of languars and gibbons confiscated from black market traders. Coc Phuong is a world away from the hot, dusty plains - it's cool and quiet and there's so many trees! Clearly, tourists aren't as common up here as in Sapa or Halong Bay - the locals are suprised to see white people, and make a big effort to strike up a conversation. It's a refreshing trend to see National Parks and conservation projects in a developing country like Vietnam, because generally nature is not respected and animals are predominantly seen as food.

Speaking of Vietnamese dietary preferences, check out this menu we spotted. I'm not sure how popular these delicacies are with western travellers - I think even the most seasoned carnivore would have trouble hooking into a dog or a cat. And as for the penis... I've got one and I'm kind of attached to it, so the suggestion of cooking and eating a penis leaves me horrified. There are 2 things I like to use mine for, and putting it into an oven is not one of them!

Sapa dreaming

After the rigours of Vietnamese holiday heaven, I am pining for a cool, laid back atmosphere so I can put up my feet and escape the heat. We catch the night train, aiming for the sleepy mountain oasis of Sapa in the north-west of Vietnam. At Lao Cai, we trade train for mini-van and ascend the windy mountain road towards Sapa.

Each metre we ascend lifts a blanket of heat off, and the moist breeze whipping up the valley brings the promise of cool. The van struggles up the steep road, following an adjacent mountain range draped in white fluffy clouds. The landscape is rich and green; each hillside adorned with a myriad of terraced rice paddies glowing in brilliant apple-lime. Motorcycles weave around us, honking their horns, vying for headway and fearlessly overtaking on blind corners.

The road emerges into a wide valley, with each bend in the road revealing layer upon layer of breathtaking scenery. Eventually Sapa appears, a charming yet ramshackle collection of hotels, eateries and tourism operators. The roadsides in the town are heaving with friendly, multi-lingual hill tribe women in their traditional dress, looking to chat and ply their wares. These enchanting ladies attach themselves to a group of foreigners and follow, and when the time is right, use hard-arm sales tactics to sell their handicrafts. There are so many of them though - I wonder if they make any money at all.

We pull up for breakfast, soaking in the views and enjoying the coffee, before sniffing out a hotel. Our room is nestled around from the main town centre and boasts full 180 degree views of the sweeping valley below. Already, I can tell it's going to be difficult to leave.

Now I've heard about Vietnamese culinary 'delicacies', but on a stroll through the market I came across a particularly grizzly discovery. Along with all the pieces of pig, cow, snake, eel and fish flesh, I saw the face of a friend. That's right, a canine cranium sitting on the bench for sale, along with what looked like Rover ribs. I was horrified, and quickly told Steph to avert her eyes. I have limits, and this is one...

Jewels of the north

Just a hop, skip and a jump up the Highway One on an overnight bus and we're in the heart of it - Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam. Centred around a generously pungent lake, which Hanoins revere with mystical appreciation, Hanoi offers shopping and culinary delights in purpose named streets - each road is named after the commercial venture found there. There are also heaps of fantastic French-style bakeries and patisseries dotted around the central city district, a positive legacy from Vietnam's French colonial past - which means delectable baguettes, croissants and other pastries are on offer. Vietnam is famous for it's mountain grown coffee, a strong earthy brew that the locals can't get enough of. I'm following their lead.

Hanoi is well known for frantic traffic - the public transport is limited to non-existent, and so everyone gets around on motorbikes. Tackling a busy intersection takes some getting used to - the bikes sound like a swarm of angry bees and morph in an organised chaos around cars, buses and pedestrians. The 'green man' appears to guide you across the road, but take his advice at your peril - no one's paying attention to him. It's easier to walk slowly across the road, as motorbikes really do weave around you. Horns rule over traffic lights and you need eyes in the back of your head while you're walking - it's not even safe on the sidewalk.

The monsoon hasn't broken up here yet, and it's almost melting us when the mercury soars to over 40 degrees each day... so we decide to head for the ocean. Out to the north-west of Hanoi is Halong Bay, an amazing group of nearly 1000 limestone karst formations blanketed with jungle thrusting phalically out of the South China Sea. We organise a boat cruise - the perfect way to see the area. As the boat chugs through the calm waters between the pinnacles of limestone, haze in the distance hangs eerily between the rock formations, creating a mysterious air. Included in our trip is kayaking, which turns out badly for some of our group when a kayak sinks... perfect reason why you shouldn't drink and drive. Luckily no one is injured, but the kayak operator is pissed because we can't find the canoe. After some particularly heated words, the kayak proprietor demands an extortionate amount of money, and there are whispers of calling the police. In the end, they agree to pay a lesser amount - still extortionate, but better than the initial amount. Puts an interesting spin on the afternoon though!

Back on the boat, we cruise to a vantage point to enjoy a beautiful sunset across the bay and settle in for a few beverages. In the morning, we head to Cat Ba Island, the largest island in Halong Bay. Due to it's proximity to Hanoi, it's packed to the rafters with predominantly Vietnamese tourists, and population pressure has not treated Cat Ba well. Still, there is some good hiking in the centre of the island with fantastic 360 degree vistas across the entire bay.

Vietnam - first impressions

Touts, like flies to shit, attack us even before the bus grinds to a halt, climbing on the wheels to attract attention. They are frantic and intense, touching my arm and jostling competition away. As usual, we refuse all assistance, and wait for the melee to recede. After more than an hour of traipsing the main road, fending touts off and looking at rooms, we arrive at a guesthouse/restaurant. The distracted hostess, sweat beading on her forehead, appears from behind a bamboo screen, and after looking us up and down, approaches our table with dog eared menus. She wipes the table resentfully with a grubby, damp cloth, and stands looking blankly our the window at the busy street awaiting out order.

Do you have any rooms? I ask. Her eyes flash as she considers the proposal. Thinking about money I assume.
Yes, she coos. Would you like to see?
Please, I respond. But first we’ll order food. I’ll take the vegetable fried noodles and a beer. Steph orders fried rice.

The lady yells our order towards the kitchen and beckons us to follow down a dank, poorly lit passageway. She stops and pushes back a creaky door. Two fans already set at maximum stir the humid air, as our host explains the various features of the room. A three quarter wall separates the bathroom from the simple bedroom, where 2 beds are crammed into the corners, sheets stretched across weary, sagging mattresses. I poke my head around the divide, assessing the bathroom. It’s a standard Asian issue – toilet in the corner, complete with waste bin for toilet paper. Toilet paper causes Asian sewerage systems to block. Wall mounted hose with shower nozzle attachment and a basin with mirror and side board. The hand basin is not plumbed in so water drops directly to the floor and flows to the shower drain. It’s relatively clean at first glance, and although a closer inspection would yield all manner of filth, I’ve seen worse.

How much? I ask, hoping the direct approach will reduce the asking price.
Eighty thousand, without air-con, she replies in perfect English, holding my gaze. Check out is at 12.
And air-con?
Forty thousand extra. A small grin comes across her face, but she stifles it, replacing it with a cold, unemotional business expression.
We’ll take it, I say. No air-con.
Fine, she says, passing me the key. Don’t forget your food, she adds and closes the door.

I remove my sweaty clothes and jump under the shower nozzle wearing only thongs. It’s lukewarm on the cold setting, a legacy of summer afternoon heat, but refreshing nonetheless. I pull on some fresh clothes and join Steph in the restaurant. The beer is colder than the shower (a good sign), and the food is hot and tasty. Adding a generous squirt of chilli sauce, I scoff it down. So begins our auspicious month in the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.