Saigon - officially Ho Chi Minh City - is a bustling metropolis, the most modern in Vietnam, and its financial capital. Sometimes it's called the "motorbike city". Apparently there are nine million inhabitants and seven million motorbikes. The city has some fabulous museums where one can learn all about the Vietnam/American War, though from the communist perspective, inevitably. Learning about the War was one reason I had so looked forward to Saigon. And it didn't disappoint. The other reason for my interest in Saigon is a bit of family history. My maternal grandfather spent several of his teenage years in this city, as his family fled from the advancingJapanese in southern China during WW2. I am not sure where he lived, but yesterday I took the bus down to Chinatown to have a walk around. I heard Cantonese spoken by the old ladies on the bus. Chinese signs, old temples, herbal shops, a few little markets were some things I saw. I also had pearl milk tea. :) But it was a Vietnamese version, with other jellies and things along with the pearls - one in particular was a little red thing where as your teeth bit into it, a sour little burst of liquid came out as a surprise.
But, back to the museums. I started at the Reunification (or Independence) Palace, where in 1975 the Viet Cong rammed through the iron gates and soldiers ran up to the top to plant their flag, joining north and south Vietnam. Most of the palace is flash rooms with heavy carpets and curtains for entertaining foreign dignitaries, meeting rooms, conference rooms, living quarters for the President...The most interesting place was the basement, which was headquarters of the war for South Vietnam, with map rooms, radio rooms, and one oddly touching one with ten ancient typewriters lining the walls.
After the Palace, I walked over to the War Remnants Museum. It is being renovated, and even before I walked into the courtyard, I saw the piles of bricks and construction debris amongst the powerful tools of the Americans during the war: Army, Navy, and Air Force helicopters, planes, tanks, artillery machinery...all sitting around a big courtyard outside the museum building. Oddly fitting in a way. These once powerful vehicles wrecked destruction, but sitting harmlessly under the shade, they looked almost quaint. In the Museum, I learned about the history and escalation of the wars. How the Vietnamese fought the French for independence, then American intervention and civil war between North and South. The numbers. Number of soldiers killed by country, tons of bombs dropped. Some names were familiar (Tolkin, ships attacked, deceit)and I could trace them back to World History class in the tenth grade. But I am in Vietnam, not in a classroom, and everything feels real, closer to the present for me than they ever have. I know I am in a communist country, and nothing is without communist propaganda. This one-sided-ness is blatantly obvious in very single museum I have been to in Vietnam. I wanted to ask, so these are the people killed and the destruction wrecked by the Americans and the South Vietnamese "puppet" regime, and by no means do I mean to lessen the guilt of their crimes (Kissinger regrets the War in his book about Vietnam...), but show me "your" numbers. How many did the Viet Cong kill? How did they treat their prisoners? Show me the traps that took ankles, how many civilian casualties were killed by the communists? I want it all. Give me the whole picture. But despite its shortcomings, the museum vividly succeeds in documenting the attrocities of war in general. THIS is what happens to innocents. Look at it. Do you see? Everyone should, especially our decision-makers. I for one would be happy to support sending the US Congress to Saigon for the War Remnants Museum with tax-dollars. it would be money well spent...but they'll have to stay in budget hotels just like the rest of us.
The most touching exhibit at the museum was a collection of photos taken by photojournalists from 11 countries who all died documenting the war. One series by a Life photographer follows a tall, handsome young soldier, leader of a helicopter crew, as he strides confidently towards the aircraft before the battle, it shows the bombing, the gunfire, him manning the artillery, him cradling a dead pilot in the air, and the last photo, at the end of the battle and the day, he is sprawled out in a storage room, head down, weeping...You don't easily forget something like this. You also don't forget a photo of a US soldier holding a human head and entrails. I didn't want to look, but I saw it accidently while walking out of the museum. Now it is a part of what I have seen, what I have learned, about war.
But don't worry, I am not crying in my hotel room every day. Just last night, Ashleigh and I went out for shellfish cooked in a delicious tamarind-garlic sauce, then to this posh Cuban/Spanish place for live music, to celebrate her last night in Saigon. She's heading to Cambodia, which I, unfortunately, won't get to on this trip.
Today I went on a tour of the Mekong Delta, crusing the river in motorized and paddle boats and tasting coconut candy. The Mekong River is huge, and before it enters the sea, it splits into nine branches (each is probably the size of the Colorado, at least). It starts in Tibet and comes down through Burma, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam, a journey of 4500 km, before reaching the sea. The delta is has very rich soil deposited by the Mekong, so agriculture here is very fruitful. Also, if you're eating farmed catfish at home, chances are, they were farmed in the Mekong River. There are floating structures, houses, in the river, with nets underneath to rear catfish that are then exported. But there are too many farms on the river. The catfish are confined, and they are feed pellets, not their natural foods. Pollution is a problem.
We got some rain today. Tour guide said this is crazy, because monsoon season doesn't start until May, and it's only the end of March. Unseasonal things are happening everywhere I go. I'm supposed to go hiking tomorrow, my last day in Saigon. Hmm.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
From the Sea (Nha Trang) to the Mountains (Dalat)...
Jeez, I can't believe it's been another week since I've updated. It's been a really great one for some serious learning and fun. From Nha Trang, "Vietnam's Beach", where I wrote from last time, I went to Dalat, a mountain town southwest of there that's supposed to remind folks of the Swiss Alps. I can't say I completely agree, but it was a pleasant couple of days and nights. Problem is, it's near the end of the dry season, and there are a lot of fires going on on the mountainsides ringing the town, so it's brown and smoky. Plus the large lake (reservoir) that's the focal point of Dalat, the apple of its eye, has been drained, and muck is being scooped out by large machinery.
But let me back up a little bit. When I got on the bus in Nha Trang, there was one other girl inside, and we just happened to be seatmates. So I met Ashleigh, another solo woman traveller, from Melbourne, and we ended up exploring Dalat and Saigon together the past five evenings. We rambled down and around Dalat's market and streets, including an old cobblestone lane lined with local street vendors selling sweets, shellfish, pho, etc. We tried bits of this and that, starting off with a kilo of dried yams! (half for Ashleigh and half for me, but I finished mine rather fast and Ashleigh gave me hers :).) I love dried yams. You can't find them like that, soft and chewy, without preservatives, in the States, not even at Trader Joe's. Many street vendors were selling three hot drinks, so I had to try them - soya milk, yellow bean, and peanut. Dalat was great for the street food and market. One night we had hot pot!
For a little something between the gastronomic explorations, I rented a mountain bike for 40K dong from a nice man who gave me a lock but no helmet. I was frankly a little nervous biking around with motorbikes and buses whizzing around, but I took a breath and took off. My goal was to bike to the trailhead for Lang Biang Mountain, 12 km outside of Dalat, and hike up one of its volcanic peaks. It was a sunny day, but not terribly hot because the elevation is around five thousand feet there. But boy, if you're planning to do this ride sometime, I should warn you about the hills. And about eating exhaust. At least it was a paved road. It was really exhilarating coming down the hills, with my big hat brim flopping franatically against my forehead. Got to the trailhead, which was actually an iron gate where you have to pay 10K dong to have the privilage of going up the mountain. Okay, so that's 50 cents. what irked me though was that there's a new road built to the top of the smallest peak, and no official trail for hikers.
So I hiked up 2/3 of the mountain on the shoulder of this road, with "safari"-looking jeeps carrying tourists passing me all along the way. It was actually not that terrible, because of the pine forest. I was in a real forest, not a jungle, a forest! And my feet were crushing pine needles. and I could smell them, and the rich organic debris of the forest floor. Nothing else like it.
The last third of the way up to the peak I chose to go up (not the roaded one - the mountain has five volcanic peaks) was an actual trail deviating from the road, and quite steep in parts. But it's all part of getting up a mountain, so I loved it. Now, I want to tell you that the peak was amazing... but I can't. It was past noon by the time I made it to the very top of this peak, after the biking and hoofing it. There were several fires going in the mountains all around, prescribed, I'm sure, for agriculture. so it was smoky, and visibility was poor, though I could see Dalat 12 km away, and even the road I took to get to the base of the mountain. On the peak itself, there was a large shallow hole, where people tossed their garbage - beer cans, plastic bags, food wrappers, etc. Imagine that. I was glad to be on the top, but after a few minutes of the less than scintillating sights, I was ready to head down to the shade and green.
Although I didn't catch Dalat at the height of its mountain beauty, and got no flavour of its "Swiss Alp"-ness, I am glad I went, because it really is different from the other parts of Vietnam. There's a lot of agriculture here, because of its elevation and cooler climate - flowers, onions, strawberries and mulberries - things that aren't rice, which is what most of Vietnam's agriculture consists of. There are no sprinklers for the crops, so we saw people standing with hoses, hand-watering all their crops! Acres and acres of it. All day.
But let me back up a little bit. When I got on the bus in Nha Trang, there was one other girl inside, and we just happened to be seatmates. So I met Ashleigh, another solo woman traveller, from Melbourne, and we ended up exploring Dalat and Saigon together the past five evenings. We rambled down and around Dalat's market and streets, including an old cobblestone lane lined with local street vendors selling sweets, shellfish, pho, etc. We tried bits of this and that, starting off with a kilo of dried yams! (half for Ashleigh and half for me, but I finished mine rather fast and Ashleigh gave me hers :).) I love dried yams. You can't find them like that, soft and chewy, without preservatives, in the States, not even at Trader Joe's. Many street vendors were selling three hot drinks, so I had to try them - soya milk, yellow bean, and peanut. Dalat was great for the street food and market. One night we had hot pot!
For a little something between the gastronomic explorations, I rented a mountain bike for 40K dong from a nice man who gave me a lock but no helmet. I was frankly a little nervous biking around with motorbikes and buses whizzing around, but I took a breath and took off. My goal was to bike to the trailhead for Lang Biang Mountain, 12 km outside of Dalat, and hike up one of its volcanic peaks. It was a sunny day, but not terribly hot because the elevation is around five thousand feet there. But boy, if you're planning to do this ride sometime, I should warn you about the hills. And about eating exhaust. At least it was a paved road. It was really exhilarating coming down the hills, with my big hat brim flopping franatically against my forehead. Got to the trailhead, which was actually an iron gate where you have to pay 10K dong to have the privilage of going up the mountain. Okay, so that's 50 cents. what irked me though was that there's a new road built to the top of the smallest peak, and no official trail for hikers.
So I hiked up 2/3 of the mountain on the shoulder of this road, with "safari"-looking jeeps carrying tourists passing me all along the way. It was actually not that terrible, because of the pine forest. I was in a real forest, not a jungle, a forest! And my feet were crushing pine needles. and I could smell them, and the rich organic debris of the forest floor. Nothing else like it.
The last third of the way up to the peak I chose to go up (not the roaded one - the mountain has five volcanic peaks) was an actual trail deviating from the road, and quite steep in parts. But it's all part of getting up a mountain, so I loved it. Now, I want to tell you that the peak was amazing... but I can't. It was past noon by the time I made it to the very top of this peak, after the biking and hoofing it. There were several fires going in the mountains all around, prescribed, I'm sure, for agriculture. so it was smoky, and visibility was poor, though I could see Dalat 12 km away, and even the road I took to get to the base of the mountain. On the peak itself, there was a large shallow hole, where people tossed their garbage - beer cans, plastic bags, food wrappers, etc. Imagine that. I was glad to be on the top, but after a few minutes of the less than scintillating sights, I was ready to head down to the shade and green.
Although I didn't catch Dalat at the height of its mountain beauty, and got no flavour of its "Swiss Alp"-ness, I am glad I went, because it really is different from the other parts of Vietnam. There's a lot of agriculture here, because of its elevation and cooler climate - flowers, onions, strawberries and mulberries - things that aren't rice, which is what most of Vietnam's agriculture consists of. There are no sprinklers for the crops, so we saw people standing with hoses, hand-watering all their crops! Acres and acres of it. All day.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
I don't know what it's called, but it's really good!
I thought I knew Vietnamese food before I got here, but I was wrong. San Jose has a very large Vietnamese population, so I grew up eating pho (vietnamese noodle soup) and saw the proliferation of Vietnamese sandwich shops (Lee's sandwiches, anyone?) all over the city in recent years. Pho, Vietnamese sandwiches, fresh spring rolls, three bean drinks, and those green gelatinous squares were staples. When I moved away, to shall we say "less diverse" parts of the country, I looked forward to a big bowl of pho every time I went home for Christmas.
So I thought, Vietnam, no problem, I know my pho. Well, it turns out my relationship with pho wasn't as intimate as I thought it was. There are intruders to the party here: mint, water cress, other greens and herbs I can't identify. They don't give out basil and bean sprouts like back home. There's no hoisen sauce and red chili sauce to mix together to dip your meatballs in. There are no meatballs at all. I have found little squares of kidney in the broth though. And there are necks and bony pieces of chicken parts on display, but no tripe. I've had a few mediocre bowls of pho here, surprisingly, but only at pit stops and places where they know you've not got much choice in the matter. Most of the time it's excellent. I've had it for breakfast and lunch and dinner. Not all in the same day, of course. Nearly all of it has been on the street, sitting on a little plastic stool, bent over a little low table, trying to keep the broth confined to the table as I slurped, as opposed to my clothing and hair and purse. Not very easy to do.
What has really surprised me is the culinary world outside of pho. In Hanoi, there is a northern "dish" called "bun cha". As part of the meal, you are presented with a bowl of rice vermicelli, a bowl of fish sauce soupy deliciousness, a plate of fried spring rolls, a huge plate of greens and herbs, and a bowl of marinated meats sitting in more fish sauce broth. I didn't have a native to teach me how it all works, but I know that somehow they're all supposed to end up together. By whatever method, it's pure joy to eat! In Hoi An, their specialty is cau lau, which is broad chewy noodles with sprouts and greens, roast pork slices and fried pork skin squares, mixed with a slightly spicy sauce. The water used to make cau lau is supposed to come from one special well in Hoi An, which gives the dish its distinctive flavour.
The Vietnamese are genius at mixing disparate flavours and textures together. And it works, it really really works. Like for breakfast this morning, I had a plate of these white circular nooodle disk-like soft things, topped with crispy fried garlic slices, green onions, and a drizzle of fish sauce concoction. The one common denominator for most foods here is the fish sauce, mixed with other things - I'm not sure what- that reduce its fishy potency but add sour and sweet flaours that are superb. Yesterday evening on the street, I had a similar dish, but the white noodle-y thing encircled a litle shrimp.
Perhaps one of the best dishes I've had, which is an exemplary lesson on textures, was in Hoi Ann. I saw a corner stall crammed with school kids and other locals and went over to see what all the excitement was about. Turned out it is a type of salad...but unlike any I've ever had. She put down a bed of greens and herbs, then arranged these savory batter-fried crisps on top, put a little fried vietnamese sausage on the side, and drizzled the whole thing with, once again, a fish sauce and chili concoction of geniousness. One of the best things I've had, anywhere. A couple of tourists, the only other foreigners, said to the lady as they paid, "We'll be back tomorrow!"
The other memorable thing about street foods, other than the food itself, is the ladies who run them. Some of them have been so kind and patient with me, showing me how it's done, when I don't know a scrap of Vietnamese, nor they English. Best of all is when they laugh, even when they're laughing at me.
I haven't been exactly judicious about cleanliness in my selection of street foods. But usually I go where there's a regular flow of locals, so that's one safeguard. But I have been very lucky and have probably got an iron stomach as well, handy for travel in southeast Asia!
From Hanoi, I moved south to Hoi An, and now I am in Nha Trang, "Vietnam's Beach". Really excellent, cheap food here. Tomorrow I head to Dalat, another Vietnamese vacation spot in the mountains, once used by the French colonists to get away from the oppressive heat in Saigon. After Dalat, it's Saigon and the Mekong River delta before I take off for Singapore on my circuitous journey home. Lots more excitement and gastronomic delights yet before I land in SFO in a couple of weeks!
So I thought, Vietnam, no problem, I know my pho. Well, it turns out my relationship with pho wasn't as intimate as I thought it was. There are intruders to the party here: mint, water cress, other greens and herbs I can't identify. They don't give out basil and bean sprouts like back home. There's no hoisen sauce and red chili sauce to mix together to dip your meatballs in. There are no meatballs at all. I have found little squares of kidney in the broth though. And there are necks and bony pieces of chicken parts on display, but no tripe. I've had a few mediocre bowls of pho here, surprisingly, but only at pit stops and places where they know you've not got much choice in the matter. Most of the time it's excellent. I've had it for breakfast and lunch and dinner. Not all in the same day, of course. Nearly all of it has been on the street, sitting on a little plastic stool, bent over a little low table, trying to keep the broth confined to the table as I slurped, as opposed to my clothing and hair and purse. Not very easy to do.
What has really surprised me is the culinary world outside of pho. In Hanoi, there is a northern "dish" called "bun cha". As part of the meal, you are presented with a bowl of rice vermicelli, a bowl of fish sauce soupy deliciousness, a plate of fried spring rolls, a huge plate of greens and herbs, and a bowl of marinated meats sitting in more fish sauce broth. I didn't have a native to teach me how it all works, but I know that somehow they're all supposed to end up together. By whatever method, it's pure joy to eat! In Hoi An, their specialty is cau lau, which is broad chewy noodles with sprouts and greens, roast pork slices and fried pork skin squares, mixed with a slightly spicy sauce. The water used to make cau lau is supposed to come from one special well in Hoi An, which gives the dish its distinctive flavour.
The Vietnamese are genius at mixing disparate flavours and textures together. And it works, it really really works. Like for breakfast this morning, I had a plate of these white circular nooodle disk-like soft things, topped with crispy fried garlic slices, green onions, and a drizzle of fish sauce concoction. The one common denominator for most foods here is the fish sauce, mixed with other things - I'm not sure what- that reduce its fishy potency but add sour and sweet flaours that are superb. Yesterday evening on the street, I had a similar dish, but the white noodle-y thing encircled a litle shrimp.
Perhaps one of the best dishes I've had, which is an exemplary lesson on textures, was in Hoi Ann. I saw a corner stall crammed with school kids and other locals and went over to see what all the excitement was about. Turned out it is a type of salad...but unlike any I've ever had. She put down a bed of greens and herbs, then arranged these savory batter-fried crisps on top, put a little fried vietnamese sausage on the side, and drizzled the whole thing with, once again, a fish sauce and chili concoction of geniousness. One of the best things I've had, anywhere. A couple of tourists, the only other foreigners, said to the lady as they paid, "We'll be back tomorrow!"
The other memorable thing about street foods, other than the food itself, is the ladies who run them. Some of them have been so kind and patient with me, showing me how it's done, when I don't know a scrap of Vietnamese, nor they English. Best of all is when they laugh, even when they're laughing at me.
I haven't been exactly judicious about cleanliness in my selection of street foods. But usually I go where there's a regular flow of locals, so that's one safeguard. But I have been very lucky and have probably got an iron stomach as well, handy for travel in southeast Asia!
From Hanoi, I moved south to Hoi An, and now I am in Nha Trang, "Vietnam's Beach". Really excellent, cheap food here. Tomorrow I head to Dalat, another Vietnamese vacation spot in the mountains, once used by the French colonists to get away from the oppressive heat in Saigon. After Dalat, it's Saigon and the Mekong River delta before I take off for Singapore on my circuitous journey home. Lots more excitement and gastronomic delights yet before I land in SFO in a couple of weeks!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Vietnam: Hanoi and Ha Long Bay
Kids practicing a dance on a streetside stage.
French colonial architecture in Hanoi - this is the National Museum of History.
Hoan Kiem Lake in the Old Quarter of Hanoi.
Ha Long Bay
Over 3,000 mountains stand in Ha Long Bay. There's a legend about a dragon slapping his tail in the bay to reveal the mountains, so abundant that they created a maze making it difficult for the Chinese to enter and attack the Vietnamese.I took a grueling 14 hour bus trip from Sam Neua, Laos, to Hanoi, Vietnam about five days ago. The border crossing that I worried about turned out to be nothing; the Laotians were laid-back as usual and the Vietnamese soldiers were even bordering on friendly. The extra "fees" that I'd heard about from other travellers entering Vietnam (up to 25 USD extra) didn't materialize, though I did have to pay one USD for a "health declaration". I'd gotten my Vietnamese visa in advance, as you have to, in Vientiane, for 50 USD, one of the steepest visa fees around. So, smooth sailing through the border. The border housed the compound where the soldiers live, with uniform shirts fluttering in the breeze to dry, and a grass volleyball court. Ah, so they're just like you and me...
On the other side, the two bus drivers bought me lunch - I was the only passenger. They turned out to be the mini-bus drivers of bad dreams, slimy and always ready to rip passengers off, but that was their job...they still had decent hearts. Here at lunch we picked up a Dutch girl also going to Hanoi. When I bought my bus ticket in Sam Neua, it only went as far as Thanh Hoa; there was no option to get straight to Hanoi. The price was a big rip off, but it was the only option as far as I could see, and it was direct from the bus station, so I took it. So I was planning to spend the night in Thanh Hoa and get on to Hanoi the next day. Well, turns out the bus drivers said the mini-bus does got Hanoi, and they wanted an arm and a leg for it. I knew it was a bad deal, so when we got to Thanh Hoa, I said I just wanted to get off. By this time it was evening - light fades around five o'clock. Here the drama escalates. The bus drivers said they'd take me to Hanoi, and kept driving around the streets of Thanh Hoa, not letting me off. I was getting really tired, of them, of the journey. I knew they didn't mean any harm, but they were being the aggressive Vietnamese bus drivers that I'd heard about. After a while, they knocked the price down a little, and I gave in. But the drama continues, as we stopped for a bathroom break in town, the driver informs me and the Dutch girl that we were switching buses. Except it was just me and the girl, and he put us on this local mini-bus crammed with people and said good-bye! So he took the 9USD I just gave him, and probably paid a small fraction of that for our passage on this local bus. This local mini-bus roamed the main drag of Thanh Hoa, up and down, with an employee hanging out the door, touting, trying to get more passengers on. After half an hour or more, we finally left for Hanoi...
We arrived in Hanoi at 10:30pm, got ripped off by a taxi even though the meter was on (glad I could share it with the Dutch girl), and started roaming the travellers district of Hanoi for accommodations. The streets were bustling, with the sidewalks crammed with people in low tables and stools eating pho (rice noodle soup). So it was dark, and strange, but not necessarily scary. We eventually found beds in a youth hostel and I fell into exhausted sleep.
I spent several days exploring Hanoi on foot, and I have to say I really like the city. It's noisy, full of motorbikes, and bustling with activity from 6am til way past my bedtime. Here I could get anything I want, and it's kind of nice after the little towns of northern Laos where the options were very limited. I took in the museums and the sights. The National Fine Arts Museum was excellent, as was an exhibit in the Women's Museum on street vendors. Hanoi is chock full of street vendors, selling baskets of vegetables, plastic goods, tea, pancakes, noodles, baguettes,...Many of the women who do this are from rural villages, trying to make some extra income while their rice crop grows. One thing that amazed me, while crossing from Laos into Vietnam by bus, was the change in colour. In Laos, they grow one rice crop a year, and the terraces were unworked and brown while I was there. Once we came down the border into Vietnam, the terraces were all green with growing rice. The road we took followed a mountain river down, down past beautifully tended crops and mountain villages, past fishermen in bamboo rafts. It was a lovely journey, actually. Anyway, street vendors - you encounter them everywhere, and after that exhibit in the Women's Museum, I have a deeper appreciation for what they're trying to do. I met up with my friend Alissa's brother, Mike, for some local beer and dinner. We went to a hole in the wall restaurant...literally. It's a long dark tunnel you have to follow and it rounds a bend deep inside a street block and you end up at this little place filled with Vietnamese, eating steak and fries. I would never have attempted to go into this dark vortex on my own. The food was excellent, with a nice atmosphere. I hardly ever eat in restaurants, eating most my meals on the street, so this was a treat. Mike is from San Francisco and teaches English in Hanoi.
I just spent a couple of days in Ha Long Bay, a really big bay filled with over 3,000 mountains/islands. It was misty, but beautiful. I saw jellyfish swimming in the water, and big birds soaring - a type of eagle, I think. It is really maze-like in the bay, and the legend goes that a dragon creates the mountains by flapping his tail in the water to hinder Chinese invasion of Vietnam.
On the other side, the two bus drivers bought me lunch - I was the only passenger. They turned out to be the mini-bus drivers of bad dreams, slimy and always ready to rip passengers off, but that was their job...they still had decent hearts. Here at lunch we picked up a Dutch girl also going to Hanoi. When I bought my bus ticket in Sam Neua, it only went as far as Thanh Hoa; there was no option to get straight to Hanoi. The price was a big rip off, but it was the only option as far as I could see, and it was direct from the bus station, so I took it. So I was planning to spend the night in Thanh Hoa and get on to Hanoi the next day. Well, turns out the bus drivers said the mini-bus does got Hanoi, and they wanted an arm and a leg for it. I knew it was a bad deal, so when we got to Thanh Hoa, I said I just wanted to get off. By this time it was evening - light fades around five o'clock. Here the drama escalates. The bus drivers said they'd take me to Hanoi, and kept driving around the streets of Thanh Hoa, not letting me off. I was getting really tired, of them, of the journey. I knew they didn't mean any harm, but they were being the aggressive Vietnamese bus drivers that I'd heard about. After a while, they knocked the price down a little, and I gave in. But the drama continues, as we stopped for a bathroom break in town, the driver informs me and the Dutch girl that we were switching buses. Except it was just me and the girl, and he put us on this local mini-bus crammed with people and said good-bye! So he took the 9USD I just gave him, and probably paid a small fraction of that for our passage on this local bus. This local mini-bus roamed the main drag of Thanh Hoa, up and down, with an employee hanging out the door, touting, trying to get more passengers on. After half an hour or more, we finally left for Hanoi...
We arrived in Hanoi at 10:30pm, got ripped off by a taxi even though the meter was on (glad I could share it with the Dutch girl), and started roaming the travellers district of Hanoi for accommodations. The streets were bustling, with the sidewalks crammed with people in low tables and stools eating pho (rice noodle soup). So it was dark, and strange, but not necessarily scary. We eventually found beds in a youth hostel and I fell into exhausted sleep.
I spent several days exploring Hanoi on foot, and I have to say I really like the city. It's noisy, full of motorbikes, and bustling with activity from 6am til way past my bedtime. Here I could get anything I want, and it's kind of nice after the little towns of northern Laos where the options were very limited. I took in the museums and the sights. The National Fine Arts Museum was excellent, as was an exhibit in the Women's Museum on street vendors. Hanoi is chock full of street vendors, selling baskets of vegetables, plastic goods, tea, pancakes, noodles, baguettes,...Many of the women who do this are from rural villages, trying to make some extra income while their rice crop grows. One thing that amazed me, while crossing from Laos into Vietnam by bus, was the change in colour. In Laos, they grow one rice crop a year, and the terraces were unworked and brown while I was there. Once we came down the border into Vietnam, the terraces were all green with growing rice. The road we took followed a mountain river down, down past beautifully tended crops and mountain villages, past fishermen in bamboo rafts. It was a lovely journey, actually. Anyway, street vendors - you encounter them everywhere, and after that exhibit in the Women's Museum, I have a deeper appreciation for what they're trying to do. I met up with my friend Alissa's brother, Mike, for some local beer and dinner. We went to a hole in the wall restaurant...literally. It's a long dark tunnel you have to follow and it rounds a bend deep inside a street block and you end up at this little place filled with Vietnamese, eating steak and fries. I would never have attempted to go into this dark vortex on my own. The food was excellent, with a nice atmosphere. I hardly ever eat in restaurants, eating most my meals on the street, so this was a treat. Mike is from San Francisco and teaches English in Hanoi.
I just spent a couple of days in Ha Long Bay, a really big bay filled with over 3,000 mountains/islands. It was misty, but beautiful. I saw jellyfish swimming in the water, and big birds soaring - a type of eagle, I think. It is really maze-like in the bay, and the legend goes that a dragon creates the mountains by flapping his tail in the water to hinder Chinese invasion of Vietnam.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Nam Ou, Nong Khiew, Sam Neua, ViengXai
Muang Khua, a village on Nam Ou (Ou River) in northern Laos. That's a scary suspension bridge made up of a single sheet of metal. Motor bikes cross it, alongside kids walking to school.
Tranquil countryside around Nong Khiew, northern Laos.
Villagers gathering moss, a traditional Lao food, from Nam Ou.
A typical scene of children playing in ViengXai.
ViengXai statue of the people's victory of the U.S. in the "Secret War" of 1964-1973.
ViengXai, sleepy mountain village today, bombed battleground of yesteryear.
The movie theatre/stage in a big cavern in ViengXai.
On a garden wall outside Sam Neua, Laos.In my last post, I described the river village of Muang Khua. It was lovely there, but I got sick while I was there. I needed rest, but they were adding on another room at the guesthouse I was staying at, so there was constant sawing and pounding noises, starting at 630 in the morning. I decided to leave despite not being 100% better. I took a slow boat down to Nong Khiew on the Nam Ou, a 5 hr journey, for 120,000 kips. We passed by towering limestone mountains and remote villages accessible to the outside world only by boat. A really tranquil trip, despite the boat motor throbbing incessantly. There were even a couple of class 2/3 rapids thrown in for kicks! It must be something to journey down that river in wet season...
Arrived in Nong Khiew, a town buffered by yet more towering cliffs built around the Nam Ou. It was just a little bit touristy, but it's by no means overrun. I enjoyed several beautiful misty mornings and serene evenings in Nong Nhiew. It is a really mellow place, and there's always something happening on and around the river. In essence, I loved it. First night in town, I stayed in a bungalow by the river and was disturbed by rat noises all nght (I was still sick, and it was terrible to be waken every 30 mins or so). In the morning, I grabbed my daypack to go outside and discovered that holes had been chewed all over one side of it! My limegreen Patagonia daypack from my friend Christina has been with me throughout this trip and on many others in the US the past few years, and I was a little bit crushed. I discovered that although it's all gnawed on one side, there was still some structural integrity to it, and I have still been hauling it around the past few days, hoping to find someone to sew it up. My emergency sewing kit will not be up to the task of this project.
So I got out of that bungalow and moved to a nicer cheaper one away from the river a bit for the second night. I was walking to see some caves outside of Nong Khiew when I see a farang walking back. I stopped him to ask for directions and it turned out to be Pontus, a guy I had met in Penang, Malaysia! What a small world. I ran into him two more times in town and we shared a Beerlao together that night and talked about Swedish politics and how Finland is just not like the rest of Scandinavia. He was in his gap year between high school and university, and I was just amazed by the level of knowledge and confidence in someone so young.
I could have stayed in Nong Khiew for a few more days, but I wanted to see some caves in ViengXai, in remote Houaphan Province in northeastern Laos. So I took the bus from Nong Khiew to Vieng Thong, a little one horse town, for the night to break up the journey, then continued on to Sam Neua the next morning. Vieng Thong is one of the many towns in Laos that has electricity starting at 6 in the evening, turning off at ten. Except that night it didn't come on til much later, so I was getting ready for bed, and reading and writing, by three little candles. I have very much appreciated lights out by ten on occasion, when there are loud parties going on, or the TV in the guesthouse is on ultra high volume, and I want to sleep, I know that the quiet will reign when the electricity turns off.
Did you know that the US fought a war in Laos? I didn't either. I don't ever recall learning about it in school. That's why they call the "Secret War". In fact, the US bombed ViengXai, Laos for nine years, every day, from 1964-1073, because this is where communist Laos leaders were running the country from, the vast system of caves around ViengXai. More bombs were dropped in Laos than during WW2 in Europe. I saw many craters and mountains blown by bombs during my excellent cave tour yesterday in ViengXai. It is so peaceful there, with laconic mountains all around, and lush gardens, that it is hard to imagine the chaos that was the way of life there, but for the craters and crushed rock, and the caves, so many caves, enlarged with dynamite, with airtight emergency rooms and air pumps in case of chemical strikes by the US planes. and the blast walls, three-foot thick walls protecting cave openings from bomb strikes. One cave complex that housed the military housed up to 2000 troops. there is a movie theatre cave, with stage for travelling shows, to boost the morale of troops and villagers. Our Lao guide got up on the stage, about 80 ft in front of us, and sang a traditional Lao song at our encouragement. It was a haunting song, a unifying song to bring together the many tribes of Laos during the war. We had excellent audio guides to fill in the history, and for me, one of the most haunting moments was hearing a lao villager ask "why?" Most Laotians had never heard of America before the bombing. They certainly did not understand why this place called America was set out to destroy them, dropping bombs on them, killing them.
I am back in Sam Neua, at the Lao Development Bank this morning changing the last of my leftover Australian dollars to kips. There are no ATMs here, and I am nearly out of US dollars as well. US dollars is gold here, and I wish I had brought more. I am hoping Vietnam will be more ATM friendly. I am going to take a ten-twelve hr bus to Thanh Hoa, Vietnam, tomorrow. That's the plan anyway. But between here and there is Nam Xoi border, and I am hoping that won't be a story for the next blog. In recent developments, I have finally succumbed to eating sticky rice and laap with my hand.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Northern Laos: off the tourist trail
This week I hit my stride in northern Laos. From Luang Prabang, tourist central, I had the goal of getting to Muang Khua, a remote river village on the Nam Ou in north-eastern Laos. I couldn't find any bus that would actually go to Muang Khua, so I pored over my map and decided I'll go to Udomxai, a trading town heavily influenced by the Chinese near the northern border, and then figure out how to get to Muang Khua from there.
The "VIP" bus from Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang had been pretty terrible, so I decided I was going to "splurge" and pay 10,000 kip (1.2 USD) more for an "air-con" mini-bus, with "pick-up" from my guesthouse. Sorry for all the quotation marks, I hate when they're over-used, but sometimes there's some irony you want to display. I was just un-wrapping my baguette sandwich at the guesthouse when a tuk-tuk driver comes for me. I was expecting a mini-van, and it was 15 mins early, but okay. In Laos you just have to go with the flow. You don't know what's happening 95.02% of the time, but in most situations things end up okay. So I get on the tuk-tuk. I was the first one to be picked-up. Over the next one hour, we go all around town picking up 7 other passengers, lapping my guesthouse three times, the driver smoking 2 cigarettes. At 9am, we pull into the mini-bus station, finally ready to start head to Udomxai. My back was killing me from the tuk tuk ride and we haven't even started yet! But it was smooth sailing to Udomxai, although the promised "air-con" failed to be turned on, with windows down and dust as the alternative instead, to save on fuel, I suspect. At the Udomxai bus station, I asked and it turns out there's a local bus leaving for Muang Khua in an hour. Perfect, I thought.
An hour comes and goes. There are already many locals sitting inside the standing, ancient, bus. Claiming their spot. For good reason, I find out. I stand outside the bus, I walk in circles. People stare. I stare back. I can't see anyone who looks like a bus driver or gives a care, to get my pack to the roof of the bus to be strapped on. Two hours later, a young man is helping a farang, so I give him my pack too, and head in the bus. Sometimes the only way I can get help is to hitch on to the help given to farangs. There's a class system here, and Asian tourists are second-class, after the farangs. All the seats are taken by this point. So I see plastic stools and take one in the aisle of the bus for my spot. Before the bus leaves, many more people get on, and I'm obliged to give up my stool to an older couple, and I end up sitting on a mat next to the teenage driver and his young daughter. But at least I get the best view.
It was a beautiful ride to Muang Khua, passing through mountain villages along the Nam Pak (river), dropping off and picking up more and more locals, who always have bags and bags of things, until the zenith, when the bus driver actually stops to tell people we're too full. You don't understand the significance of this - I've never seen this happen before. Local buses are infamous for never saying no. People and things just get crammed in, no matter what. But there was literally no space a person could have inhabited on that bus. Then the bell curves the other way, and the bus starts emptying out. About four hours later, we arrived outside the village of Muang Khua, at the "bus station". Now, there's no need for a bus station in Muang Khua. The only reason it exists is for the tuk tuk driver to meet the bus so that he can charge passengers to drive the half mile into the village center. It was evening, and I didn't know how far in the village was, or else I would have walked. I protest these set-ups.
I arrive with a Frenchman and a Japanese student who were on the bus. We walk around trying to find a guesthouse when we run into a Spanish girl, who takes us back to her guesthouse on the Nam Pak. It is very rustic bamboo and wood rooms with open windows and mosquito nets, sharing bathrooms of squat toilets and cold showers. Simple, but more than enough. The four of us fill the place to capacity. We are invited to dine with the family and I have my first homecooked Lao food: fried eggs with meat, a green vegetable soup (just like the one my parents make at home), and mixed stir-fried cauliflower and squash. Steam and sticky rice. Green Lao whiskey (made from rice by the mom). It was very good food.
I loved looking out over the river, and up and down it. The lifeblood of Muang Khua, like all the other Lao river villages, is the river. Muang Khua sits at the confluence of the Nam Pak with the Nam Ou, so it is doubly blessed. At all hours of the day, you see things happening on the river. Children bathing, playing; men and women fishing, gathering snails and moss, ; washing clothes; boats arriving and departing for villages up or down stream. One night I saw a huge bon fire on the river bank, to warm men who were spear-diving for fish in pitch black and cold.
I walked around the village with Bruno, the Frenchman, after the Spanish girl and Japanese guy left for Vietnam. We were watching a group of bureaucrats play a French game called Padanque outside the Education Services Office (a reallllly long time to be playing on a workday morning...), when they invited Bruno, I think, to play. But I played dumb and went in too because I really wanted to try the game. I've seen it being played all over Lao. It's close to being the national game. We ended up playing two games with them. I didn't do too shabbily and managed to score some points for our team. By the end, even the really sexist guy was warming up a little towards me. Of course, they all had a turn guessing what I am, "Korean?" no. "Japanese?" no. "Lao?" no. I get this a lot, everywhere. Sometimes for fun I just answer their guess and don't offer any more information.
The "VIP" bus from Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang had been pretty terrible, so I decided I was going to "splurge" and pay 10,000 kip (1.2 USD) more for an "air-con" mini-bus, with "pick-up" from my guesthouse. Sorry for all the quotation marks, I hate when they're over-used, but sometimes there's some irony you want to display. I was just un-wrapping my baguette sandwich at the guesthouse when a tuk-tuk driver comes for me. I was expecting a mini-van, and it was 15 mins early, but okay. In Laos you just have to go with the flow. You don't know what's happening 95.02% of the time, but in most situations things end up okay. So I get on the tuk-tuk. I was the first one to be picked-up. Over the next one hour, we go all around town picking up 7 other passengers, lapping my guesthouse three times, the driver smoking 2 cigarettes. At 9am, we pull into the mini-bus station, finally ready to start head to Udomxai. My back was killing me from the tuk tuk ride and we haven't even started yet! But it was smooth sailing to Udomxai, although the promised "air-con" failed to be turned on, with windows down and dust as the alternative instead, to save on fuel, I suspect. At the Udomxai bus station, I asked and it turns out there's a local bus leaving for Muang Khua in an hour. Perfect, I thought.
An hour comes and goes. There are already many locals sitting inside the standing, ancient, bus. Claiming their spot. For good reason, I find out. I stand outside the bus, I walk in circles. People stare. I stare back. I can't see anyone who looks like a bus driver or gives a care, to get my pack to the roof of the bus to be strapped on. Two hours later, a young man is helping a farang, so I give him my pack too, and head in the bus. Sometimes the only way I can get help is to hitch on to the help given to farangs. There's a class system here, and Asian tourists are second-class, after the farangs. All the seats are taken by this point. So I see plastic stools and take one in the aisle of the bus for my spot. Before the bus leaves, many more people get on, and I'm obliged to give up my stool to an older couple, and I end up sitting on a mat next to the teenage driver and his young daughter. But at least I get the best view.
It was a beautiful ride to Muang Khua, passing through mountain villages along the Nam Pak (river), dropping off and picking up more and more locals, who always have bags and bags of things, until the zenith, when the bus driver actually stops to tell people we're too full. You don't understand the significance of this - I've never seen this happen before. Local buses are infamous for never saying no. People and things just get crammed in, no matter what. But there was literally no space a person could have inhabited on that bus. Then the bell curves the other way, and the bus starts emptying out. About four hours later, we arrived outside the village of Muang Khua, at the "bus station". Now, there's no need for a bus station in Muang Khua. The only reason it exists is for the tuk tuk driver to meet the bus so that he can charge passengers to drive the half mile into the village center. It was evening, and I didn't know how far in the village was, or else I would have walked. I protest these set-ups.
I arrive with a Frenchman and a Japanese student who were on the bus. We walk around trying to find a guesthouse when we run into a Spanish girl, who takes us back to her guesthouse on the Nam Pak. It is very rustic bamboo and wood rooms with open windows and mosquito nets, sharing bathrooms of squat toilets and cold showers. Simple, but more than enough. The four of us fill the place to capacity. We are invited to dine with the family and I have my first homecooked Lao food: fried eggs with meat, a green vegetable soup (just like the one my parents make at home), and mixed stir-fried cauliflower and squash. Steam and sticky rice. Green Lao whiskey (made from rice by the mom). It was very good food.
I loved looking out over the river, and up and down it. The lifeblood of Muang Khua, like all the other Lao river villages, is the river. Muang Khua sits at the confluence of the Nam Pak with the Nam Ou, so it is doubly blessed. At all hours of the day, you see things happening on the river. Children bathing, playing; men and women fishing, gathering snails and moss, ; washing clothes; boats arriving and departing for villages up or down stream. One night I saw a huge bon fire on the river bank, to warm men who were spear-diving for fish in pitch black and cold.
I walked around the village with Bruno, the Frenchman, after the Spanish girl and Japanese guy left for Vietnam. We were watching a group of bureaucrats play a French game called Padanque outside the Education Services Office (a reallllly long time to be playing on a workday morning...), when they invited Bruno, I think, to play. But I played dumb and went in too because I really wanted to try the game. I've seen it being played all over Lao. It's close to being the national game. We ended up playing two games with them. I didn't do too shabbily and managed to score some points for our team. By the end, even the really sexist guy was warming up a little towards me. Of course, they all had a turn guessing what I am, "Korean?" no. "Japanese?" no. "Lao?" no. I get this a lot, everywhere. Sometimes for fun I just answer their guess and don't offer any more information.
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