Vietnam
November, 2006

“Like all great travelers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen.” ~Benjamin Disraeli

“Hanoi!” “Nah Trang!” The road ahead of us immediately conjured images of Robert Duval, Martin Sheen, and local errand boys. A country that is so firmly implanted in the Western world's memories and imaginations. The subject of the Vietnam/American War (naming of course depends on which soil finds your feet) has of course been covered by countless books and films, so scribbling down my own understanding of it's history would serve little purpose, but worth mentioning, in my mind, is how my personal experience changed my view. Vietnam is hardly one of those Asian countries that people struggle to picture in their mind. But as I would eventually learn, 'Nam is not quite how I had pictured it. It's landscape is much more than the strangling jungles drenched in constant rain that Gump fumbled through; and it's people, who are rarely bathed in a kind light in Hollywood, are not only wonderful, but have endured way more than one war that America decided to intervene in.

Having decided as a group, in the static of Vientiane, Laos, that we'd fly to Vietnam, we plunked down $100 US or so each and looked to the skies. There was the option of a gruelling bus ride, most likely strife with fantastic stories of breakdowns, bag thieveries, and possible gassings, but we foolishly chose comfort and safety. So four hundred miles or so of south east Asia can merely be described by the the cross hatch pattern of cheap cloth that made up the seat in front of me, in an airplane assembled from parts of previously failed aircraft. Anything worth writing beyond that and it would be penned by foreign correspondents and flashed on cnn, surely not a welcomed headline for friends and family back home.

A couple hours later, five of us emerged on the other side. Remaining were Dawn, Rachel, Steve, Kyle and myself. We had said our goodbyes to Ali in Vientiane as he was off to the south of Laos to bounce amongst the scattered islands in the belly of the Mekong to frolic with the Irrawaddy Dolphins (a rare fresh water breed of dolphin, not to be confused with the local Loation football team). Down one more man, but still strong, the Cobras set off to find accommodation in our first port of call in Vietnam, the capital: Hanoi. [Oh and from now on I'm striking the group name “Cobras” from the records. Yes, guys I know how attached we all are to it, but for the others reading in it is surely foolish and hardly telling of our serious and collected manor].

With little more than a haggered copy of the Rough Guide to Vietnam, and a two line description of some random hotel we piled our sagging packs into a cab and sat back confident we'd reach our destination without hassle. Of course this was foolish as our cab driver spoke little English and all our conversations had been relayed by some local tout, so it should have come as no surprise that we would end up abandoning the cab after half a dozen “suggested” hotels, and several laps around the tourist area. The Bradstreet vs Cab Driver backpack tug of war match that ensued when we refused to pay more the pre-arranged price was slightly confusing, as I had neither trained for, nor been previously made aware of the contest, but all in all seemed par for the course. Eventually some other tout came by and bartered with the cab driver for us before leading us down some random road where, well what do ya know, he has a hotel. Brief pause here to warn anyone who finds themselves dealing with touts in Asia, “Five minutes down the road” simply means “It's down this road, and in five minutes I'll tell you it's five minutes from here”. Repeat this until your backpack straps have sawed their way to your fifth rib, and your flip-flops have blown a flip, and there it is. Five minutes down the road.

Luckily our suggested accommodation was a decent deal. Large clean room with real showers, etc. for no more than the price of a coffee [Starbucks, not Tim Horton's] a day. In one room went the girls, in the other went the fellers. After showers and a flip around the dial on Vietnamese television, we went in search of a little grub.

What I've failed to mention up to this point, but justly deserves paragraphs, is the Motorbikes. The Thousands, Tens of Thousands of motorbikes that clog every artery of Hanoi. Even if you've read about it in your Lonely Planet en route to Hanoi, it's still amazing when you come across it first hand. For every car on the road, there are 100 or more scooters. And for every scooter, there are usually two, three, or more people, and as much stuff packed onto it where it's obvious common sense was abandoned years ago as an amusing suggestion. The novelty never wore off watching one scooter carrying a five person family, a full size door, twelve chickens and an Auston Mini putter down the boulevard. Of course this ballet that seems entertaining from the edge of the curb, gets down right frightening when you realize you have to cross the road at some point. You can see your hotel. It's a mere twenty paces forward. But thrust between you as a fluid wall are a thousand blurred faces and a combined 100,000 cc's of motorbike. To make it across it's best to recall Indiana Jones. No, not the big rock ball scene (which for some reason I thought was shot in Cambodia, but was neither shot in, nor supposed to be set in, Cambodia). No, I'm talking about the Path of God in The Last Crusade where he has to take a leap of... Sorry, I've probably lost a couple of you.. Basically, close your eyes, put one in foot in front of the other and proceed with faith, while two thousand wheels weave and combine to form a river of scooter that avoids you by instinct. You can look, try to make eye contact like you might in some Western version of jay walking, but it serves no real purpose. You're best advised to deny the crutches of vision and walk blindly towards the distant shore. And if you're completely against jay walking, well keep taking a left and enjoy the block.

We spent a couple days and nights in Hanoi. On tap were hot and cold running Museums, Monuments and Mausoleums. To be honest, our educational outings were less than inspiring, and hardly warrant embellishment. We spent an early morning visiting the Mausoleum of Hồ Chí Minh, but unfortunately he was away for “maintenance” in Russia. Yeah I don't know, don't ask. And curiously, I would read later that his body being preserved for public display went directly against his last wishes, as he wanted to be cremated as, in his own words, "Not only is cremation good from the point of view of hygiene but also it saves farmland." From there we went to the adjoining museum to find it was closed for our stay in Hanoi. Thank goodness we got up at 2:Early am to avoid the crowds. We did manage to see the grounds where Hồ Chí Minh lived and worked, which was nice, and managed to make it out without passing out from the humidity. Around that point I got fed up of touristy excursions and excused myself to return to the hotel and write.

Worth mentioning, for exclusively comedic value, was our evening out at the Water Puppet Theatre. Now... “Not to be missed” is how one of our travel guides described this attraction. Supposedly one of the best examples of water puppetry in Vietnam. Well, “Am I missing something?” would more aptly describe the look on my face as this extravaganza unfolded in front of me. Performers, puppeteers if you will, hid behind a black cloth and manipulated a series of rods connected to wooden puppets, who thrashed along the surface of a small pool to everyone's delight. Well everyone but me, perhaps. There were a couple of “oh, that's cute” moments, but my applause at curtain call would resemble accolades given to a retarded cousin's shadow play. Yes, yes, there's the serpent. It's chasing a fish. Oh dear me the farmer's water buffalo has run amok.. Oh! And he fell down! What a knuckle head. Seriously am I the only one not getting this? Solid Performance. Highly Recommended.

Other highlights include dinner on a rooftop patio, drinks at a nearby bar spending an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out the hidden ingredient in a bowl of complimentary peanuts, which I remain were just peanuts, seasoned with salt, not worth discussing and perhaps an indication that Hanoi was lacking something for our sensibilities. An impromptu bout of karaoke, however, seemed to be a hit with the locals as we stopped traffic outside the 100 square foot bar with an inspired version of “Daddy Cool”. And to cap off the night life in Hanoi we somehow stumbled upon a floating club, possibly called “Titanic”, and found ourselves a lively, however unlikely, party. Until the wee hours we Hồ Chí Mingled (my apologies for an awful pun), 'put our hands up for Detroit', brushed shoulders and made fools of ourselves on the dance floor. Somehow we made it back to the hotel without getting lost in some random corner of Vietnam (ahem.. Kyle) and turned a page in our group dynamic.

At some point during all of this we booked a trip to Halong Bay. Arguably Vietnam's postcard sweetheart, Halong Bay's giant spires of limestone jut from the sea, concealing massive caves that could house a town. Small houseboats and floating docks assemble fishing villages in the Bay's protected waters. And what better way to honour this magical place, than to displace it's waters with hundreds of old junk boats carrying loud tourists. Our junk of choice was actually fantastic, and a far cry from what we had expected. On board were the five of us (Dawn, Rachel, Steve, Kyle and I for those who aren't paying attention) and half a dozen or so other travellers who we rarely talked to. Our trip would last three days and take us through some truly breathtaking scenery. Our first day started with the compulsory exhausting minibus ride, and led to our first day at sea under the watchful eye of our guide Ting, where we found our accommodations much more welcoming than our $40 CDN ticket would suggest. Charming little cabins contained enough room for a bed and miniature bathroom, and for a small boat they were extremely comfortable.

For three days we kayaked through caves and visited the fishing villages where families would paddle up in canoes and offer pringles and marlboros for incredulously inflated prices (upwards of two dollars a pack). We hiked up to two different caves bored into the rock, in one seeing a rock formation who's vaguely phallic resemblance was supposedly hilarious, in the other “spooked” by the resident ghosts who still plague the area (Oh that Ting!). We had a little beach all to ourselves for a couple hours of sunbathing and a brilliant seafood lunch. We jumped from the mighty Junk when we were hot, and relaxed with a Bia Hoi under the stars at night. We visited the most happening club on Cat Ba Island where the attendance record spiked as soon as we walked in, and almost got shot at the following day when an argument erupted between the crew of our boat and a husband/wife team on a small fishing boat. Luckily said wife constrained an irate husband and the contents of a double barrelled something or other never reached our bow. The situation petered out with, what I'm assuming was the exchange of Vietnamese unpleasantries, and the throwing or small rocks or nuts.

But the highlight, by far, was simply lying on the deck of the boat and watching the scenery unfold. A whole lot of nothing in the sun was a nice change from the congestion of Hanoi. The only disappointments would be our visit to “Monkey Island” (which is bullshit by the way.. the only evidence of monkeys are vague noises in the jungle which could very well be speakers hidden by the tour company.), and to a lesser extent the aforementioned gun fight on the high seas. Overall it was a perfect break from the Trains, Planes and Automo[Scooters]. A definite highlight from South east Asia. Upon return there was one more day in Hanoi, spent doing a third of the things listed in the sixth paragraph but confused chronologically. I could try to go back and reconstruct the particulars of each day but I still have three months of writing to do and I'm due back at work in a couple hours, so I'll move on.

From Hanoi we moved south by “sleeper”, scratch that, “triple decker, six berth cupboard” train to the Demilitarized Zone (here after referred to as the DMZ). Arriving in an early morning drizzle, we were met by an eager tout and were quickly roped into using his company for a guided tour of the DMZ. It quickly became obvious that taking a couple motorbikes on our own was a non option, so we opted to take to the back of the bikes with our guides, no matter how much we fancied ourselves experienced riders from our 125cc Laos Experience. This however turned out to be a blessing, considering the wealth of knoweledge our guides had, and the torrential downpour that we would soon endure.

Suited up with the best biking leathers we had packed (jeans and t-shirt) and the sturdiest of plastic ill-fitted helmets flapping in the wind, we set off for a little history lesson. Like I eluded to before, any recounting of the war will follow a different title, depending on which side is telling the story. As I've always known it, as I assume most of the Western world has as well, was the Vietnam War. But on our tour of the DMZ the first words uttered was the American War. And instantly we started to look at the war from a different point of view. Geographically we visited a variety of sites. What is now a government protected rubber tree plantation, was once barren scorched land, and still holds the scars of war with huge bomb craters dotting the landscape. We visited the barren remains of an American Air Force Base where our guide had served as a liaison for the American forces, now overgrown with fields of grass and grazing cows. As our guide painted a picture of what would have existed forty years ago, the empty space between the heavily pitted concrete bunker and the odd stray grenade was filled in with our imagination.

I was shamefully ignorant of the real motives and events that shaped that war going into Vietnam. But with that tour I got a hint of the war from Vietnam's perspective. In countless movies the American's are the good guys and the Vietnamese are usually portrayed as the enemies, plain and simple. Charlie. The Man in the Black Pyjamas as Walter so eloquently put it. But the reality was a country divided, fighting each other for control. The 'North Vietnamese Army' and the 'National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam' in the North (abbreviated to NLF and commonly known, somewhat derogatorily, as the 'Việt Cộng'). The 'Army of the Republic of Vietnam' in the South, eventually bolstered by a failed American offensive in an attempt to avoid Communist control of Vietnam. For many Vietnamese in the South, our guide for example, the war was a time working with the Americans to fight the armies of the North. Where I expected a serious rift between the the people of Vietnam and America across the board, I found a man who had lived throughout the war, having lost friends and family, talking fondly of Americans. Of course a conversation with someone who had experienced the War from the North side of the border would most certainly contain an entirely different sentiment. What was obvious, however, was a rift that between the North and South, that some 30-odd years after the fall of Saigon, still exists today . I felt somewhat foolish having travelled that far knowing very little of the Vietnam's history, but was thankful we were there learning from someone who experienced it first hand. Quite different from my limited view from Hollywood's heavy handed fondling of the truth.