Nile Sprague Online Journal: Vietnam 2004
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Hanoi to Hoi An, Vietnam
May 19, 2004 Hoi An Photography Sras and I have started the long trek south from Hanoi to Saigon. The journey is over 1700km (about 1050 miles) and will probably take us about 4 or 5 days. We're stopping to rest along the way, visiting Hoi An and Nha Trang. When we left Saigon it was cold and rainy. We left around 7pm on Monday evening and arrived in Hue (pronounced H'way) the next morning around 8am. The journey was long and uncomfortable, and I slept very little. We had parted ways with Jonah in Hanoi (he was to continue by train), but Ian accompanied us as far as Hue. In Hue he got a hotel room where he let us rest for about six hours until we finally parted ways and caught our continuing bus to Hoi An (he was to continue to Laos the following day). The bus to Hoi An took about four and a half hours, climbing over two tall mountains shrouded in mist and covered in green folliage, and passing through Danang. We were finally dropped in the old city of Hoi An around dusk. We walked around, trying several hotels. We found a very nice one with swimming pool and in-room satellite TV, refrigerator, and toilet. They were asking too high a price for my budget, so I started to leave, but when they saw me putting my back-pack on, they decided to drop the price (they were a bit desperate because the hotel was nearly empty), and I got the room for a bargain $5.00. I slept well that night, recovering from the day and a half of travel. The next day I woke to a beautiful sunny day and walked down to the river to eat breakfast. It was lovely, and such a stark contrast to the cold, wet weather of Hanoi. ----------- I am traveling with An Phu tours (not recommended). I have traveled with them several times, and I do not like their busses. When I bought my ticket in Hanoi I tried to avoid using them and I paid extra money to travel with Camel Travel, another bus line that looks much nicer. I bought my ticket from the Van Xuan 2 Hotel in Hanoi (definitely avoid them) and they assured me I would be traveling with Camel Travel. However, when I was brought to the bus, it turned out to be An Phu. I telephoned the Van Xuan hotel to complain and they said that the bus driver was sick, so Camel Tour was not running that day, but they assured me I could change to Camel in Hue. I argued for about 15 minutes, asking that they give me back the extra money I had paid to go with Camel. At first they refused, but eventually gave in and refunded the difference in price. The next day in Hue I went to the Camel Travel office to inquire about changing bus lines. They informed me that their bus was running fine, they had a bus running from Hanoi to Hue the previous evening, and that the Van Xuan Hotel had simply lied to me to get more money from me, and then put me on the An Phu bus. They would not allow me to switch busses without buying a new ticket. I appealed to An Phu to refund my money so I could buy a ticket from Camel. I spent about an hour and a half trying to negotiate, but they would only give me $8 back (from a $17 ticket) and the ticket from Camel would cost $11. If I chose to change to Camel, I would be out even more money. My hands were tied: There was nothing I could do without hurting myself more. No one was willing to help me, and the only way I could do anything would be to take the 12-hour bus back to Hanoi and go to the Van Xuan Hotel and confront them in person. I was screwed, and I was stuck with An Phu Travel. I gave up, but committed to writing about the situation in hope of helping others avoid the same problem. The moral of the story is that you should always book your ticket at the actual tour office, not through a hotel (you will get a better price this way, because they aren't taking a commission). And always get your ticket before you get on the bus so you can make sure it is with the correct company and have time to deal with it if it is not. And don't take for granted that you can trust anyone in Vietnam. Mekong Delta Tour Day 2, Vietnam click here for Day 1 The next morning started at 6:45am. There was supposed to be a wakeup call, but it never came. The breakfast consisted of a choice between fruit salad or eggs and bread. The bread was dry and the eggs greasy, but with a bit of sweaty gouda, bought two days earlier in Saigon, it wasn't too bad. We then took a boat ride for about two hours. When we started it was early and not too hot. But within a short time the temperature had risen and our heads started to get very hot from the direct sun. There was all-sorts of life on the river, and houses and shops lined the banks. Many of the shops had openings on the street and river, serving both pedestrian and aquatic customers. There were many small house boats, just simple wooden boats with a small covering of cloth or thatched made from palm fronds. After about an hour we stopped going up river and turned back. Soon we came to a floating market which I had seen before. Hundreds of boats mulled around, most of them heavily laden with fruit or vegetables. Everywhere I looked I saw women with Vietnamese "rice planting" hats on their heads. Their heads were usually cocked slightly forward, their hats obscuring their faces. There didn't seem to be a lot of customers, though there did appear to be quite a bit of trade underway. At one boat, filled with small round watermelons, several women were passing melons as a chain, from one boat to another. I wondered how they were able to support themselves, with the apparent lack of customers. I figured that this must be a main distribution point, and that these people were middlemen who would transport the foods to another point where they would be sold to the general public. We didn't stop at the market; we just slowed down for about ten minutes so the tourists could take photos. Some of the "locals" working at the market seemed annoyed by the tourists snapping photos (they must see multiple boat loads every-day), but most seemed amused, and some extended friendly greetings and warm smiles. About 30 minutes later we turned off the river and into a small "alley-way" water passage. The waterway was narrow, no more than 3 meters across, and it was stinky, the smell of shit in the air. Our boat stopped near a small dock, and we were told to keep quiet as we disembarked because there was a funeral underway nearby. We saw the funeral ceremony. Many people were gathered in and around a nearby building, chanting prayers. They were all dressed in white. We walked along a small trail that followed the river, and entered a property a few buildings down. This place was a rice noodle factory, and it was probably the most authentic thing we saw on the tour. Two young men worked together to produce the noodles. One had a large skillet heated by a fire of rice husks. He was dishing out a liquid, gooey substance made from rice, and spreading it into thing pancakes with the bottom of his ladle. The other man had a wooden tool that he used to remove the rice pancakes and transfer them to drying racks. He would roll them along the tool until they stuck, then lift them from the skillet, and unroll them onto a drying rack, as the first man poured another pancake. When the drying rack was full it was stacked in the corner. When enough had accumulated, the racks were taken out to the dry under the sun. Once the pancakes had thoroughly dried in the sun, they were cut into strips to make noodles. Our last stop on the tour was at a Vietnamese bonsai garden. It was a fairly nice place, but far from what I had expected. The trees resembled bonsai in their shape, but not in their size. Some were taller than me! The place was basically just a pretty restaurant, with tables scattered around, and plants, flowers, and ponds of fish here and there. There were a few caged animals: a hedgehog, and varieties of monkeys and other primates. We watched two of the monkeys for quite a long time. They had really long arms, white fur, and no tails. They were jumping around their cages, swinging gracefully between branches. We were eating pastries and ice cream bought at the restaurant, and the monkeys kept extending their hands, asking for food. Sras was happy to share her pastry, but we asked her not to. A few moments later we turned around to look at the hedgehog, and one of the monkeys snatched the ice cream from Ivan's hand. Little rascal! About 15 minutes later Sras and I were near another caged monkey; this one was a sad looking, solitary female. After a few minutes we turned to look at fish in a nearby pond. As I put my hand around Sras, I heard screaming from the monkey behind me. I leaned over to give Sras a kiss, and the monkey started to really freak out. We turned to look at the monkey. She had turned around and bent over and was sticking her pink ass into the air and shaking it at us. We were shocked, and curious, so we kissed again, and found, yes, this was the cause of the monkey freaking out. We quickly left, walking back to the bus, happy in the thought that the tour would be finished in just over an hour. Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, Hanoi, Vietnam May 16, 2004 Today Sras and I went to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum where Ho Chi Minh's body is on display. We waited in line for about 20 minutes, being herded along and sorted into single-file lines by white clothed guards. They were dressed in all white: white pants, shirt, shoes, gloves, and hat. First we had to pass through a security check, leaving all cameras, phones and bags, and passing through a metal detector. The line crawled slowly, snaking around the outside of the mausoleum and then inside the building. There were hundreds of people in line. Many were foreigners, but mostly Vietnamese. There were many groups of young elementary school children, dressed in dark pants and white shirts, with red scarves tied around their necks. As we walked, we passed more guards, all dressed in white. When we entered the mausoleum the line continued snaking, around a corner, up a flight of stairs, around another corner, and then we saw Ho Chi Minh. His body, now 30 years since his death, was well lit inside a glass sarcophagus. The body was well preserved, as it is embalmed every year. His skin and hair was pale white. He was dressed in traditional black silk clothes, and his hair was carefully combed. When we came out of the mausoleum I wanted to get my camera back. I asked a security man, dressed in all green, if I could go out and get my camera and come back inside. He spoke very good English, and assured me that I could come back inside. I left and got my camera, but then I was not allowed back inside. I was directed to go around the corner, but when I got there, I was told to go around the next corner. I spent the next hour and a half trying to get back inside the mausoleum complex. I was repeatedly turned away by the guards. The would tell me that the entrance was somewhere else or simply say, "No." When I asked why, the replied, "No English." I did manage to get back inside and see the Ho Chi Minh Museum, which was pretty boring. After that I tried to explore more of the complex, but the guards singled me out (Vietnamese were allowed) and told me that I could not go. I tried to discuss with them, but they spoke on English and just kept repeat, "No." I was getting very angry by this point; my patience was completely worn away. At Sras' suggestion, I gave up and left the mausoleum, in a huff of anger. On the way back I caught a motorbike taxi. As I was negotiating the price, another moto came up and pushed his way into the conversation. He asked for $4 for a ride that I knew should cost no more than $0.50. I ignored him and continued negotiating with the first guy, but from the influence of the other guy, he wouldn't drop below $1. I walked away and he followed after me, first offering a ride for around $0.65, but I kept walked, and he eventually dropped to $0.50. The ride was scary and fast, the driver zigging and zagging through traffic, and finally coming to an abrupt stop a few blocks from my hotel. Bia Hoi Hanoi, Vietnam May 10, 2004 Since our arrival in Hanoi we have been visiting a Bia Hoi street cafe in the evenings. Bia Hoi cafes serve only draft beer, and nothing more. The clientele sit on small plastic stools on the street and side-walk out front of the establishment. The beer is incredibly cheap. In Hanoi it is 1,500 D, the equivalent of $0.09. At one intersection there are three Bia Hois, each on a different corner. We tried them all, gradually compairing the quality of the beer until we decided on the one we liked the best. After that, we kept going back to the same Bia Hoi. However, the beer was incredibly inconsistent: The first time it was tasty, but it was never that good again. Despite the decline in the quality of the beer, we have returned to this Bia Hoi everynight since. We sit and sip beer, talking and watching the traffic go by. There is a lot of pedestrian traffic: lost tourists with guidebooks, drunk tourists staggering home, women selling fruit or dried squid, and children selling postcards and books. Two beautiful young women drove by on a motorbike, then a family of five passed, squeezed onto one motorbike. Then a black mercedes drove by, honking at the pedestrians and motorbikes in it's path. On the second evening a short woman came up selling chewing gum. She had a disease which made her twitch her arms uncontrollably and walk strangely. She had a scar on her chin where she must have injured herself in a fall. She was quite a decent drinker: Sras reported seeing her down a glass of beer in two sips. On the same night we saw a dwarf dressed in a traditional silk shirt and matching pants. He was about three feet tall, with a large head. We stayed at the Bia Hoi until 11pm that night, which is the official closing time. Suddenly, right at 11pm, the Bia Hoi workers started frantically saying things in Vietnamese and running around. Then we saw the police come around the corner, driving slowly in a mini-van. As they approached, everyone scattered, the tables and chairs were cleared away, and everyone downed their glass of beer. But, as soon as they had left, the tables and chairs were put back out, and everyone continued drinking. The next evening a beggar approached us. He had a fluit up his nose and a dopey look in his eyes. He was blowing the flute through his nose to play a clumsy melody. It was right out of a Monty Python sketch. He showed us a laminated paper with Vietnamese writing and a photo of him with two young children. He made a gesture indicating missing legs, but his legs were fully intact. Sras wanted to give him money (I guess it's hard not to feel sorry for a guy with a fluit up his nose), so I gave him 1,000 Dong. As he walked away, the woman with the twitch in her arms was approaching. As he passed her, he elbowed her in the back. As we sat, a tall European man and short European woman walked by. The man had tattoos all accross his face and along his arms. They were very geometrical, mostly straight lines interesecting each other. A similar spectacle repeated itself the following evening. First the girl with the twitch offered us chewing gum, then the tattoed man passed, followed by the same woman, walking in the same direction, and turning down the same street at the intersection. On the fourth night, after we finished drinking our beer, we walked up a small side street lined with restaurants. Towards the end of it we saw a middle aged woman standing on the street and pissing in the gutter. She was wearing the typical Vietnamese rice farmer's hat, and was standing, slightly bent forward, with her ass showing, pissing on the side of the street. Damn! The things you see on the streets of Vietnam (and wish you didn't see). Pham Ngu Lao, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam Ho Chi Minh City Photos
It was late in the day and the sun was close to setting. I reached the end of the park and then crossed two streets towards a Christian church. As I entered the gates to the church, a stream of people on motorbikes were on their way out, making it difficult to get inside.
Mekong Delta Tour Mekong Delta Photos
I tried the candy and it reminded me of caramel. That was about it. It was sweet and gummy. There was a dark colored one made with bananas that had the same chewy, gummy texture. The candy was on sale, but I didn't like it enough to buy any.
That afternoon we took a long boat ride up stream. We stopped around four at a hotel where we would stay for the night. To everyone's relief, there was a swimming pool at the hotel, and the day was nearly finished. I sat near the pool with my friends and drank Saigon beer.
The food was very bland. It consisted of fried noodles and vegetables with no spices, a watery soup with potatoes and carrots, and large plates of plain white rice. After I was about halfway through the boring meal, the boat started to move. It went up the river for about an hour and then turned around, eventually returning us to our hotel. That night I went to bed early, exhausted from the long day. I turned off the lights and started to nod off, and suddenly there was a pounding on the door. I asked, "Who is it?" "The Police. Open your door." I got out of bed, still half asleep, and looked for my pants. "Open your door," they repeated. I opened the door and find four policemen and the hotel receptionist standing before me. I stepped outside and closed the door. One of them was holding the hotel registry, and wanted me to find my name on the list. But it was too dark, so they also wanted me to turn on my light. I opened my door and turned on the light, and the policemen crowded close to look at my room. Sras was standing close to the bed, wrapped in a towel. I quickly found my name on the list, but then insisted on seeing my passport. We waited as the hotel receptionist went downstairs to get my passport, and the policemen eyeballed me. I saw more police downstairs, and one of the other tourists outside going through the same ordeal. At least they didn't single me out. The receptionist brought my passport, and everything checked out, and the police were ready to leave. I asked why they had done this, and they said, "We want to make sure." I replied, "I don't understand." "We want to be very careful." The next day I found out that the police had gone to every single room occupied by a member of our tour. Most of the people had come to their doors and spoken with the police, but some had ignored them or told them to go away, and after much pounding and yelling, were eventually left to sleep. --------------- continued Food, Vietnam Week 1 April 18, 2004 The food in Vietnam has been unimpressive to say the least. In the past, I have not had much exposure to Vietnamese food. The only time I can remember trying it before was with my father at a grubby, and very popular, Vietnamese restaurant off of Market Street, in San Francisco. That was over 10 years ago. I remember queuing outside to get a table, and when they finally let us in, the place was filled with white-collar Americans wearing ties and toting briefcases. The walls were dingy yellow, showing years of grease smoke. The restaurant was the latest rage for lunch, recently featured in a premier San Francisco newspaper. We went upstairs, sat down, and placed our order. In an impossibly short time we were served heaping dishes of fried noodles, vegetables, and soup. It was all vegetarian, filled with tofu, and utterly delicious. It has left a strong positive impression to this day. During the last week I have been in Vietnam and I have tried Vietnamese cooking. I am a bit squeamish about meat, so the majority of the items on the menu do not appeal to me. I tried Pho noodles, fried spring rolls, fried noodles, and sautÈed vegetables, and I was consistently unimpressed. Instead of a variety of vegetables, I have been served only one or two, and there has been no seasoning. For example, last night I had fried vegetables, which consisted solely of cauliflower and a leafy green resembling spinach, with a sprinkle of black pepper on top. No gravy, salt, chili, fish sauce. Nothing! They might as well make rice and boiled veggies, put them in a blender, and force-fed me. I have read the Cuisine section of my Lonely Planet guidebook for Vietnam and it speaks of wonderful foods: fresh steamed spring rolls, rice dumplings, Chinese pastries, sea-food noodle soup, and special tofu dishes prepared for vegetarian Mahayana Buddhist monks. I am curious to find these foods. I wait with anticipation for the day I will find the delicious tastes that will restore my good opinion of Vietnamese cuisine. In the meantime I get by eating other kinds of food. In Ho Chi Minh City I found a fantastic Italian restaurant (which also made good burritos). The menu included steak, feta salad (the taste and consistency of the cheese reminded me more of fresh mozzarella than feta, but it was locally produced, and I wasnít going to complain), lasagna (meat or veggie made with black beans), and pastas (including house-made spaghetti and fettuccine). All were delicious. I became a regular patron during the 5 nights I stayed in HCMC, and rarely ate anywhere else. As I write this I am in Mui Ne, and the gourmet selection is far more limited. However, I have found a new solution. I have been preparing for a long time, but only now am I polishing it to perfection. This is the do-it-yourself-in-your-room selection of foods. The star is the sandwich, consisting of cucumber, tomato, onion, and La vache qui rit processed cheese (note to self: buy garlic next time your at the market) on a fresh baguette. When possible, please add avocado, olives, and pickles. Yesterday I realized that this selection of vegetables is all I need to make a salad, and I intend to buy lemon and salt (for seasoning) the next time I go shopping. Another recent addition to the do-it-yourself menu is instant noodles, the preparation of which is facilitated by my coil. I boil a cup of water and pour in a packet of instant noodles, crushed a few moments earlier. After 3 minutes I have hot noodles, probably shrimp flavored. This is a bargain meal at 1,000 Dong a packet (about $0.06 USD). My favorite desert and snack are mangos, eaten for breakfast and throughout the day. The cheap ones sell at 5,000 Dong for 1 kilogram (about $0.35 for 2.2 pounds), so they are in plentiful supply. An amazing variety of mangos are offered, including green mangos with sweet juicy meat, small yellow mangos with sour meat, and large green mangos with a crunchy, sour flesh. Though this is a somewhat limited selection of foods, the introduction of these do-it-yourself food items has greatly increased the selection of choices available to me, and substantially reduced the cost of my food bill. Hopefully this will tide me over until the day I find the amazing Vietnamese dish that will knock my socks off. Mui Ne, Vietnam April 18, 2004 Mui Ne Photography Mui Ne is a poor fishing village at the end of the Mui Ne Peninsula jutting into the Pacific Ocean. The harbor is stuffed with traditional fishing, and the primary local export appears to be fish oil, based on the shops lining the road selling nothing but one-liter bottles of the pungent, brown oil. Both sides of the peninsula are lined by long stretches of off white sand populated with thousands of coconut palms. As we approached Mui Ne, we passed numerous hotels along the beachfront, and were eventually deposited at one of them. To our disappointment, the beach was nearly non-existent. To prevent erosion, sections of large cement pipe had been turned on end, and placed along the beach, essentially obscuring any beach that had existed before. We stayed for one night, intending to move to a new hotel the next morning. That evening it started to cloud over and a strong wind began to blow. The temperature dropped substantially, which came as a welcome change, though somewhat shocking after the muggy heat of Saigon. After an hour the clouds got dark, and soon it started to rain. However, it didnít last long and by the time night arrived, the rain had stopped. The next day we found a hotel with a nice strip of beach, and clean comfortable rooms, and decided to stay for several nights. On the afternoon of the second day I was sitting in my room and I heard a few female voices speaking excitedly in Vietnamese, perhaps bickering. When I looked out the door I saw several Vietnamese families who had just moved into rooms near mine. Two very young girls were in bathing suits, ready to swim, and a group of three men sat nearby, one of them blowing into an inflatable plastic animal for the girls to take to the ocean. ---------- In the evening I sat at a table near the ocean. Above me was a peaked roof thatched with coconut palm. The structure had no walls, similar to a gazebo. The wind blew gently against my skin as I sat and wrote, recounting recent events. The newly arrived Vietnamese families gradually collected around a nearby table and started chatting. The men sat at the table, and the women and children were scattered around the edges of the gazebo and outside, some seated and some standing. The men were drinking Tiger beer with ice, and the conversation was gradually getting louder and livelier. After a half hour it had reached a distractingly jovial point, and every few minutes I kept looking up from my writing to see what the excitement was about. The women and children soon left, moving to the beach for a swim. The men continued their conversation and pursuit of intoxication. The sun set and the water took on a golden metallic shine. And soon after, night descended. ---------- I ate dinner late that evening. I came to the hotelís restaurant around 9pm, as the kitchen was about to close. The families were seated around two large tables and had already finished eating. About 15 men sat at one table and an equal number of women at the other, and a few kids were playing around the edges. The TV was turned on, but the diners seemed far more interested in the loud debates underway at their tables. Sras and I looked around to see where we could sit to get away from the noise, but even the outlying tables were occupied by small offshoots from the main group. Eventually we settled for a table close to where we had sat earlier that day. It was far away from the restaurant, but close to the beach. A nice breeze was blowing, and we were far enough away from the restaurant that we couldnít hear the excited conversations taking place. We had a boring meal of fried vegetables and rice, and drank beer and coca-cola. War Museum, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam April 11, 2004 War Museum Photographs I visited the Ho Chi Minh City war remnants museum yesterday. It was a small area, but a great deal of information and photographs were displayed. A number of different rooms encircled a central courtyard. In this courtyard was a selection of tanks, armored vehicles, bombers, light aircraft, helicopters, and bombs. Each had a small placard next to it, explaining the technology used and the killing power of the device in English and Vietnamese. The buildings surrounding the courtyard displayed a series of informational presentations. The first one explained the history of conflicts in Vietnam since the Declaration of Independence in the 1940s. It catalogued the French and American wars through hundreds of black and white photographs. The photos showed equipment, troops, casualties, and civilians involved in war. It was overwhelming: so many incredible photographs and so many frightening photographs. One section was dedicated to journalists who went missing during the American-Vietnam war. There was a display with a leaflet showing their portraits, and grouped around were examples of their best photographs. Against one wall was a large photo of a camera with a bullet whole through the back. Many of the photos showed wounded soldiers, and soldiers in battle. They portrayed Vietnamese, French and Americans. The captions below explained the scenes in Vietnamese and confusing, poorly translated English. There was clearly an underlying pride in the descriptions, show the Vietnamese pride in having fought off the Americans. There was a wide range of different people at the museum. I heard German, Japanese, English, and Vietnamese spoken. I detected different accents of English: Welsh, Canadian, English, Australian, and American. Teenaged Vietnamese students walked around, taking notes and copying quotations from the different exhibits. The girls were dressed in off white silk uniforms of pants and shirts, the shirts with long tails in the front and back. Though very conservative, the uniforms were slightly sexy, covering all skin and lacking any definition of body shape, yet slightly translucent, faintly showing the contrast between skin and underwear. I emerged from the exhibit to the central courtyard to observe the selection of war machinery. Most of it had USA printed in large letters on the sides. There were many examples of large bombs. One looked like an oversize water-heater and had a large cage over the top, presumably to stop anything from falling on it. The placard read, "The 'Seismic' bomb weighing 15,000 pounds (6.8T) can destroy everything within a radius of 100m, and violently shakes up and down within a diameter of 3.2km." I came to another room that was filled with drawings done by school children, depicting images from the war. Some of them portrayed people with missing limbs, or an extra head. Others showed bombs, fire, and death. Around the corner from this was a sickening and fascinating display of weaponry and the damage it had caused people. In glass cases in the center there were countless different guns, including Uzis, AK-47s, and rocket propelled grenade launchers. The display cases along the edges showed photos and different items carried by the soldiers. I don't really remember very much about the left side of the room, because I was so shocked by what I saw on the right side. The display cases on the right side were dedicated to showing the damage caused by defoliant, napalm, and phosphorous bombs. There were photos of children with multiple limbs, under-developed limbs, and conjoined Siamese twins. Two jars held close-to mature fetuses suspended in liquid, each illustrating a different horrible birth defect caused by their parents exposure to Agent Orange. Other photos showed women and children with their entire bodies charred, the skin completely burn of by napalm or phosphorous bombs. I was shocked and horrified, and at the same time fascinated by these strange, unimaginably horrible ailments. By the time I emerged from this room I was beginning to fatigue, and my patience was dwindling. I needed to get some food and drink, but I wasn't done with the museum. For this reason, I don't remember a great deal about the rest of the museum. However, I will try to convey what I do recall. The first room of the next section held a dilapidated guillotine. It was made of wood, with a metal trough below the blades to catch the heads. At the base of the rails that held the blade there were metal springs to absorb the impact of the falling blade. The sign next to it said that it had been constructed by the French and transported around Vietnam for use in different prisons. Confusingly, it stated that Americans had also used it up until 1960, though the caption on photo I had seen earlier stated that the first armed American troops didn't land until1965. The next display was a reconstruction of a "tiger cage" prison cell, used to imprison captured Viet Cong. There was a small window at eye height in the door. When I looked through I saw that the room was dark and there was only a bed. My heart jumped when I noticed someone chained, sitting on the end of the bed, staring at me. It was a dummy of a Vietnamese woman with her eyes set in such a way that she stared directly at me. The last room in the museum was about the international condemnation of the American-Vietnamese war and international recognition of Vietnam as a sovereign country. There were photos and news clippings of anti-war demonstrations in countries all over the world. There were letters from the Swedish Government (the first government to establish diplomatic relations with Vietnam), and a table of other countries, listed chronologically based oon when they had established diplomatic relations with Vietnam. I regrouped with the people I had come to the museum with. We met on benches under a tree near the bombs and aircraft. We walked through the city back to our hotel, passing the Reunification Palace on the way. The roads were busy with evening traffic, transporting people home from school and work. Going to Vietnam April 9, 2004 The journey from Phnom Penh to the Vietnamese border was quite painless and fast. We hired a taxi which made the journey in a phenomenal three hours, dropping us on a dirt road just before the border crossing. The drive was uneventful. The road was smooth and mostly straight. In some spots vendors lined the edges of the road. Some sold jack fruit and coconuts. Others offered gasoline, cigarettes, and soft drinks. The gas was stored in one litre soda bottles, and was a variety of different colors: sometimes brown, yellow, or green. Houses lined the road for most of the drive. They were perched on top of tall cement pillars to escape the bi-annual flooding that accompanies the monsoon rains. Tall wooden stairways lead up to graceful wooden houses with peaked rooves. I thought, "It's a good thing they don't have earthquakes here." Beyond the houses were endless rice paddies, now becoming parched in the dry season. Occasional sugar and coconut palms dotted the fields. On the horizon it looked like there was a thick forest, for all I could see were the tops of numerous palm trees. At one point we had to cross the Mekong river by ferry. As we waited in line to drive the car onto the ferry, hoards of people surrounded us, trying to sell sunglasses, soft drinks, and begging for money. One young girl kept opening the passenger door of the car in an effort to sell Coca-Cola. Jonah found a nice pair of knock-off Ray Ban sunglasses and bought them for $1.00. When we arrived at the border I was asleep. I awoke and saw that our car was surrounded by men offering taxis from the border to Ho Chi Minh City. The border was funky and lacking security. On the Khmer side there was a very wide road, but it was unpaved and in poor shape. An archway marked the border, but there was no fence along the sides: only endless rice paddies stretching into the distance. Off to one side we spotted a cafe with many foreigners waiting for a bus to Phnom Penh. We took a seat, had cold drinks, and smoked our last joint. After a bit of relaxation we continued to the border. We walked in the hot sun with our heavy packs. Sweat started to collect on my face, and soon there was enough that it collected in small pools, and droplets ran down my neck. The departure from Cambodia was very simple. We passed a series of check points at different chicken coop size shacks of wood and corrugated tin. After we got our departure stamps we walked across the border. I was surprized at how easily we left: no-one stopped us to check we had our passports and stamps. When we got to the Vietnamese checkpoint a man dressed in a white cap and blue shirt approached Sras and aggressively tried to help her fill in the immigration form. I kept telling her that she should do it herself, and to stop him. She told him to stop, but still he insisted. I saw that this would take some force, so I told him to stop and took the passport from him, apologizing as I did so. Sras started to fill the form, but she did not understand the directions and made several mistakes and had to start again. The pushy man hovered behind her, trying to take away the pen whenever she paused or made a mistake. We did our best to ignore him and continued filling the forms, and I moved closer to her to act as a physical shield from the pushy man. We finished filling our forms and completed the immigration process with little trouble. As we left, the pushy man asked Sras for 1000 riel (about $0.25) for the services he had provided: she declined. The customs officer was concerned with my backpack, and asked what I had inside. I showed him my cameras, but I did not mention my computer, and he soon waved me along. When we emerged on the Vietnamese side of the border there was a beautiful new, straight, double-lane divided road extending into the distance, lined on both sides with lush green rice fields. Off to one side a cluster of men sat outside a small cafe with two pool tables inside. As we approached, they offered us taxis to Ho Chi Minh City, but the price was unreasonably inflated, as one usually finds at border crossings and airports. After some debate, we decided to walk away from the border and deeper into Vietnam in hopes of finding a reasonably priced taxi. We followed the hot, black road, walking slowly along the margin. As we walked, one of the drivers followed in his car, going the wrong way down the road. He drove slowly alongside us, trying to negotiate price. We stuck with our price of $10, and he gradually lowered his price from $15. When he got to $12 we finally agreed, and climbed into the taxi. As we approached Ho Chi Minh City I was struck by the similarities to Cambodia. Most of the houses were funky structures made of wood and corrugated tin, with occasional cement structures interspersed. The surface of the road was very good, better than any in Cambodia, but on the edges there were piles of rubble and numerous signs of poverty. However, it was strikingly clean (besides the rubble): no piles of garbage, scattered plastic, and paper lined the road. When we came into the city it was very clear that we were no longer in Cambodia. The buildings were tall, and all were made from cement. Bright colored advertisements dotted their and walls. The people on the streets were driving new motorbikes and cars, and everyone seemed to be doing something or have somewhere to go. The taxi drove for a long time through the city. We passed parks, cafes, and massive buildings. We stopped at a back-packer area called Pham Ngu Lao and started looking for a hotel. As we walked we found a vegetarian restaurant and decided to stop there for a meal. We recognized that we would be much better equipped to find a nice room after some rest and nourishment, so we took advantage of the opportunity. I had a burrito. It didn't live up to Californian standards, but it was pretty good. The technique worked: after the meal we were able to locate a nice, cheap hotel quickly and painlessly. We even took the first hotel we looked at; This is unheard-of: generally we have to look at three hotels or more before we can decide. We deposited our baggage and showered, and then I was ready to go out. Everyone else was pretty low energy, so I went out on my own. After a little walk, I sat at a streetside cafe and enjoyed a Saigon lager, watching the traffic go by. When I came back to my room everyone was gone, including Sras, and she had the key to my room. I sat and thought, wondering what I should do and becoming increasingly frustrated. Eventually I asked the management to let me into my room, and waited until the others returned. |
Writing © Copyright Nile Sprague | Photography © Copyright Nile Sprague
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