Leave me alone, or I’ll beat you to death with my weapon of French origin

Who really and truly likes the French? Stand up please so I can see you; raise your hands and wave to make yourself visible – no one? I’d have guessed as much. Take the average French tourist in Vietnam for example – there are lots of them, smoking their lah-de-dah cigarettes in ubiquitous cafes, blowing smoke in your general direction, ordering pâtisserie and expecting a croissant to fill their pie-holes every five minutes. I’m not keen; bring me the American bombing yeehaws any day of the week. At least I’ll fit in with them, having a red neck myself.

From 29 Mar 2010

From 25 Mar 2010

It’s cool here in Hanoi; a permanently overcast sky keeping the sun in check, meaning that expensive honky cream from Boots will go a little further. Fancy a run at midday – no problem, it’s windy and cool, with humidity so low you can actually go a whole day without sweating. Walking around the old quarter will remind you of an old French town; tall buildings less than three metres wide that jut upwards like force-grown rhubarb, make for interesting hotel layouts. If you like natural light, ensure you ask for a room with a window; if you don’t like noise then stick with the cell. The din here is utterly inexorable, so much so that I’ve seen fellow travellers strolling around with earplugs. Personally I think that’s a bad idea; you’ll need as much awareness as you can muster. The pavements are littered with tat for sale and mopeds will find you like tourist-seeking missiles. And there’re millions of them, from all directions. Watch out, he’s heading left but indicating right; ooh that was close – her handlebar almost caught my elbow; he’s texting whilst driving and has two passengers on his Vespa? There’s a saying here “close your eyes when crossing the road”; great advice if you want to spend the night in Hospital. Anything with four wheels or more and the driver will invariably have his right hand firmly planted on the horn – so hope it’s an automatic if you’re a passenger.

From 25 Mar 2010

So far the French have done three visible things for Vietnam; given them their own written language, shown them how to build awful, cramped living spaces and taught them how to make weapons. I think I’ve discovered why it is the French are so rude; have your palette sliced and cut open every breakfast and lunch, and you’d be pissed off with the world too. They must all be masochists. You can also use these weapons (amongst other things), for defeating flying enemies that seek to feed on you, or as a roller pin to eliminate a barrage of ants occupying the bathroom mirror and the toothpaste remains you neglected to clear up after brushing. Find a particularly sharp one and you’ll be able to use it as an instrument of impalement; take that you pushy saleswoman – I don’t want to buy your fruit, no matter how much you follow me, pull my arm, shout “you buy” repeatedly, or tap me on the elbow and chant “mister”. Find a particularly long one and you could use it to make a home run.

From 26 Mar 2010

If you can find a diamond cutting tool, you may be able to cut one in half – but watch for ricocheting debris as you go; it may make an incredible mess on the table or hit you in the eye. Perhaps that’s why the locals here are perfectly happy to throw waste on the floor whilst feeding – bones, tissue, cups, cans and detritus dumped around them. Some more French influence no doubt. Stand and gawk at a street food stall as the locals eat; it’s like watching an affluent King’s convention try to out-do each other for improvidence.

From 29 Mar 2010

Watch your step in hotels as they’ll try to book you on the cheapest tours, so head to a reputable agency instead. Sapa, Ha Long Bay on your itinerary? Then be prepared to pay handsomely for a few day excursion; two day, one night Ha Long tours starting at $135. Though if you’re happy sleeping with rats, eating chicken feet and spending eight hours pillion-passenger on a moped; pay less and enjoy. I’ve bumped in to a nineteen foot Finnish guy and so the three of us are taking the former option.

From 29 Mar 2010

Uprights just aren’t the same

So I indulged a little on a four star hotel, but I can; so I will. A cyclo man stops to instigate business just outside the hotel; I’ll chat, but for now am keen to simply walk around the city. It’s hard-sell here every time and sometimes difficult to refuse the business – he knows I’m half interested and after negotiating 120,000 Dong for a ride around, I board and am cycled around the city at snail’s pace.

From 24 Mar 2010

I stop for food, my driver waiting for me patiently as I eat – and shortly after we’re off around the river banks and eventually to the market. It’s an interesting, if sweaty experience and has the opportunity for some photography, assuming you select the correct shutter speed of course.

With a few more hours to kill, I’m off in search for a bank – they far prefer USD to their native currency here and give preferential rates for it. Stumbling across the Musik Coffee I am drawn to it like a Bear to Honey due to the “Free WiFi” poster and on entering I notice something fantastic in the corner – a piano. It’s only a Kawai Upright and in desperate need of a tuning, but I’m happy just to be able to play. The three girls serving are more than happy for me to sit down and practice and as they sit silently watching, I feel somewhat like a performer on stage. As of now, it’s clear there’s one thing I certainly do miss – perhaps I should have learned the Clarinet.

From 24 Mar 2010

From 24 Mar 2010

I salute you, Sir

From 24 Mar 2010

“It’s about 15 minutes to the Bridge”, the Receptionist tells me.
“Walking or running?”, I ask as she giggles; scanning my attire with a tilting glance.

Her timing summarises the speed at which people move in South East Asia perfectly; I’d cover a mile walking at normal pace in that time – my watch, however, tells me it’s just under a Kilometre. I’ll be lapping again then, and heading to the river I feel uplifted; the Vietnamese have laid pavements along the banks. Great stuff; it’s like running at home, save the 34 degrees Celsius and 80% humidity.

Finding the first bridge, I can bypass underneath instead of worrying about the plethora of two-wheeled machines crossing the road. My sister’s right; it is indeed like Frogger, though far more difficult and there’s no back on the joystick. There’s a myriad of masked faces looking at me from their bikes as I cross the bridge; locals setting up stalls for the evening smile and greet me by nodding, saluting or waving – it’s like being in a race, the support is great to keep motivation levels high. Three laps later and I can’t face a fourth; my water has expired and I’m drenched in my own salty coolant. I’m raindrop-shower bound.

Hué 7K

From 24 Mar 2010

From 24 Mar 2010

From 24 Mar 2010

From 24 Mar 2010

Small Pox, Gay and Sexy

From 23 Mar 2010

A Russian immigrant in Saigon told me that in order to drive anything over 100cc I’ll need a 250cc license; costing $1000. Motorbikes second-hand will be around $3,500. If I wanted the 1litre Chopper underneath his considerable gut; a further $1000 for a big-bike license and $22,000 for the bike. He’s lived and worked here for over ten years, so I’ll take his word for it. Even still, I’m not keen to try my luck on the skin-removal lottery, should I come off and cause a domino effect in town. I’ve hence resolved to do Thailand on bike some other time; the roads and motorbikes being far nicer.

Instead, it’s coach from Hoi An to Hué; a quaint city (though the fourth largest in Vietnam), with parks by the river, great cafes, superb hotels and the pushiest market place on the planet. My reserved room for two nights turns out to be an insect-infected Ant and Mosquito paradise; so having passed a four star Mecure and still well under budget, I’m going to splurge. Pay for what you get, you do; though the difference between 50 and 75 USD is borderline negligible. Still, I’m pampered and with a city-view on the 8th floor, I can get the tripod out at night.

From 23 Mar 2010

The following day I’m heading to visit three Tombs of Kings of Vietnam and the Citadel. The first had Small Pox, giving him bodily scars and a magazine full of blank rounds to fire; his one hundred concubines clearly at fault for not producing an heir. Entrance is 55,000 Dong and unbeknown to me, this will be a familiar sum by the end of the tour. Having whipped round, it’s off to the second King’s tomb and being homosexual; he failed to produce any offspring, though left a legacy of high taxes in order to fund construction of his flamboyantly camp tomb. Another 55,000. Finally, to the last tomb, whose King somehow managed to satisfy 500 concubines, in turn producing 184 children. He must have been exhausted, though passing to nirvana an ecstatic soul.

From 23 Mar 2010

From 23 Mar 2010

From 23 Mar 2010

From 23 Mar 2010

To the Citadel and coincidence would have it that the Vietnamese military divisions are Trooping the Colours, though with fully loaded AK-47s and SKS rifles, the contrast between personnel and weapon is somewhat striking. Entering and paying my final 55,000 fee for the day, there’s very little left from the War; around 10% in fact, is all that has survived. You can’t hold the Vietnamese down, they’ll bounce back bigger and better and the US war here is a drop in the ocean in the history of the country. All around the site, women are hard at work rebuilding the buildings in traditional style and whilst it’s charming to see; their workmanship is questionable. It’s a great day out though and for seven dollars excellent value.

From 23 Mar 2010

From 23 Mar 2010

From 23 Mar 2010

From 23 Mar 2010

From 23 Mar 2010

From 23 Mar 2010

Lanterns, Meeting Halls, Cyclos, Unicorns and 7 days of burning

I keep repeating the same phrase to myself; “If I was here on holiday, I’d buy so much tat”, and in Hoi An, it’s difficult to turn down a tailor made three-piece suit, shirt and tie for $100. But I don’t have the room – nor job for that matter – to justify the purchase. And in any case, I may put on considerable weight during travel and tear said suit in to pieces, when walking up the first set of stairs I come across.

So I’ll pass, with an addendum to visit sometime in the future and collect the shopping list I have accumulated: My name in Chinese script, a suit or two, a traditional painting, a tapestry made by victims of Agent Orange, a marble carving of a unicorn, a pair of Ho Chi Minh sandals and a miniature helicopter made from expended rounds of an AK-47. For now, pictures, videos, receipts and trinkets that fit inside a bubble-wrapped envelope will suffice.

A lady’s voice can be heard in all streets of this quaint French-styled town asking punters to play a game later in the evening. It sounds like a one-off (though sadly is nightly), and whilst as alien to me as an intelligent Soccer player, the singing does remind me of something from Team America, or Southpark’s Chinese restaurant owner. To the right is a river, which is decorated with a multitude of coloured floating lanters, some large and others petite. Find a bar, order some food and sit and enjoy the scenery and atmosphere; it’s truly relaxing.

From 19 Mar 2010

From 19 Mar 2010

From 19 Mar 2010

It’s a beautiful town, no doubt, though stepping off the train and being completely surrounded by taxi drivers, I’m glad to have found an Aussie couple to split the fare with. Around an hour away from the Danang train station, it takes almost half an hour to negotiate a reasonable price for the journey; the same again to find a driver with a car big enough for four people plus luggage. Fifteen dollars for the trip and he’s made his day’s money; an average salary of $1500 (according to the receptionist), means that one of these fares a day and you’re quids in.

Next morning, pay your 90,000 Dong and receive a ticket entitling entrance to five points of interest dotted around the town; but all within walking distance. There’s the Japanese covered bridge – depicted with some inaccuracy – on the 20,000 note. But it’s just a bridge, and not a particularly interesting one at that. Take obligatory stock shot and move on. The highlight for me is the Meeting Halls; intricate symbolism, fascinating ceremonies, smart costumes and statues of mythical creatures makes for some great diversity from the same same Buddhism of Thailand and Laos.

From 21 Mar 2010

From 21 Mar 2010

From 21 Mar 2010

From 20 Mar 2010

The ornamental decorations covering the Meeting Halls are both intricate and crafted with care and precision. This ceiling having a selection of coiled incense sticks that burn your wish true for a full 7 days. Of the three sacred creatures, two are mythical; the dragon and unicorn. The latter of which presumably is the closest English word to Vietnamese, considering the disparity between symbolism. He is the keeper of calm for the people; ensuring everyone is content, growling and pointing his red nose at troublesome individuals. One should be present at all Soccer matches. The dragon enjoys playing with balls and the Turtle gives sanctified swords to the people to fight foreign invaders. Shame the locals eat them, then.

From 21 Mar 2010

From 21 Mar 2010

From 19 Mar 2010

From 21 Mar 2010

From 21 Mar 2010

Porridge

I’m innocent m’lud, I never done nothing wrong in me ‘ole life. Been straight as an arrow, honest, never nicked nuffink from no one, it’s the truth I swears it. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, or anyfing like that. Keeps meself to meself, don’t stick me nose in nobodies business and keep it clean, you hear?

Well, clearly I’ve been tried, convicted and sentenced, as I’ll be sleeping in a prison cell this evening.

From 18 Mar 2010

I’m intrigued by my present state of affairs: For one, this journey has cost almost 50% more than a train in Thailand and yet the bedclothes were last washed possibly when they were manufactured. In the 60s. I’ve also just murdered two cockroaches; one on the window sill and the other emerging from one of the two local’s shoes – who are occupying the two top bunks – under the sole of my sandal. The remains of a third lie encrusted to the door; I’m scared to unfold the blanket for fear of what may emerge.

Looking up I notice the local compatriot diagonally above me is locked in a stare in my direction, smiling like the Cheshire Cat; it’s a little unnerving. We’ve booked the two lower bunks in this; the overnight soft-sleeper train from Ho Chi Minh City to Danang, and thankfully our companions for the night are friendly and inviting – offering food and sympathy as my sister and I look at each other with complete dismay. She’s already suggested jumping off and booking a flight for the following day “I can’t do this, what the hell am I doing?!”, she says laughing nervously five minutes before the 11pm departure. “Man up Jie Jie. It makes sense financially and logically to see it through, it’s only 15 hours till we alight afterall”, I reply.

From 19 Mar 2010

Sleep comes only when your body decides it absolutely must shut down and recuperate, so be patient and await the Melatonin to be released. Don’t expect a comfortable ride though; the bunk arrangement is perpendicular to the train, and hence short to allow room for a hallway. It’ll also cause you to fall out when braking for each stop. At 5am having finally found slumber, it’s not a joyous experience, especially when greeted by the remains of squashed cockroach.

From 19 Mar 2010

Sunlight pierces the double glazed window and netted curtains like the rounds of the M1 Garand Rifle that I fired 10 rounds from at the Cu Chi Tunnels (note to self; secure ear guards before squeezing the trigger next time). And in an instant, the realisation that there’s only 6 more hours to go passes me by. Breakfast is offered and at 30,000 Dong; it seems reasonable enough so I’ll take one cảm ơn (thank you), and see if I can get back to that interesting dream I was having.

From 19 Mar 2010

From 19 Mar 2010

From 19 Mar 2010

Xin chào

And just when I was starting to get the hang of Thai, it’s time to learn the basics of a new language. The ‘plane banks hard left and then right as we swoop around the city like an enormous vulture, lining up for the runway. From my window I can see countless factories, rice paddies and the winding Mekong as we drop in altitude sharply before touching down. It must have been a manual landing; the autopilot wouldn’t have made such a mess of things.

From 17 Mar 2010

I’ve been travelling solidly for two days now; covering 800 Kilometres overnight from Chiang Mai to Bangkok, 30 to the Airport (having bartered the taxi driver to half price), and a further 1000 in to Vietnam’s Capital. On arrival and exiting through security, I’m glad to have paid for an arranged pickup to my hotel. It may only be a dozen Kilometres, but leaving the Airport car park I am greeted with a deluge of engine hums and sounding horns. My driver takes it all in his stride: Three mopeds headed for his offside door – no problem. Turning left cutting through a flood of bikes, coaches and the occasional car – edge your way and it’ll be fine. Five minutes in and the initial amusement has dissipated; I’m stamping my right foot in vain search for a dual-control brake. This is utterly insane.

From 17 Mar 2010

From 17 Mar 2010

Rush hour, twice every day and this the latter recurrence; “Between five and eight now and six to nine in morning”, I’m told. And with a reported five million mopeds here, I dread to think of the accident statistics. You can’t walk here, it’s simply impossible and they desperately need to invest in an underground network (there isn’t the space for anything like the SkyTrain in Bangkok). It is a shame that bicycles have been replaced with these droning, inefficient death machines; though they are indeed used for everything here and with the prices of four-wheeled transit still orders of magnitude higher – it makes sense.

Thankfully a few oases exist within short reach of central Siagon (same same as Ho Chi Minh). Two oval parks bisected by road, are frequented by locals at dawn playing a myriad of games and exercising; from the mundane walking, to an interesting variation on a theme of badminton, using a larger shuttle and the soles of feet as racquets. Clearly requiring a great deal of coordination and skill, it’s nice that both genders demonstrate the same level of dexterity.

From 15 Mar 2010

-----

Following day

Americans. I’ll admit I like them. Screw conventional aversion, they’re alright; extroverted, friendly and talkative. There’s one small problem with them though – and visiting the War Museum, the onslaught of tragic and upsetting images had everyone in tears, me included. It’s good then, that there’s escape on hand in the form of decommissioned US Army Vehicles to the side. Breathe deeply, let the surge of emotion pass and when you’re ready, head to the second floor for some impressive photography.

From 17 Mar 2010

Although laced with a hint of propaganda, the Vietnamese representation of history ensures there’s no denying just how barbaric and brutal the US approach to War is – especially when using it as an excuse to test their latest developments in weaponry. Geneva Conventions? Screw that, there’s some new weapons to play with; get sum, hooyah. The legacy of Agent Orange is very much visible; a man approaches me and offers to shake my hand. I notice that he has none, nor feet, and is carrying a satchel with books for sale. Skilfully selecting one, he offers it to me and though nothing he carries is of particular interest, I ask if I can simply offer a donation. “No donation. I sell!”, he says turning abruptly, insulted. Curtis Lemay, Commander of the “Strategic” Air Command summarises American tactics perfectly; “...they’ve got to draw in their horns...or we’re going to bomb them back in to the Stone Age”. Grand strategy; though I don’t think he’d be very good at Chess, being more inclined to smash your pieces with a lead weight and skip around shouting victory. The strategy of an 11 year old bully.

Upstairs, and the gallery makes me pine for my youth spent with a 35mm Leica, 21mm Lens and Viewfinder; as much as I love my digital camera, it does seem like cheating. Poignant photography Wars make for, and the collection is impressive in all ways that photography should be; from mounting a Leica to the end of a helicopter-mounted turret with a long cable-release, to capturing the moment smiling US Marines inflicted water torture on a suspected Viet Cong. The $1.52 billion they were ordered to pay to Vietnam annually pales in to insignificance when seeing these horrors.

And yet walk around Ho Chi Minh City, smile at the people seemingly risking their lives on mopeds and you’ll receive the warmest and most genuine smile back. Not everyone is enamoured with tourists of course; the older generation clearly uncomfortable with white skin, though thankfully due to a lack of British involvement (the one place we didn’t wreck), on hearing my accent, all is forgiven. On tour for the day, my local guide Slim Jim (or Thong in Vietnamese), has knowledge of Cockney Rhyming Slang to rival anyone unlucky enough to be born within earshot of the Bells. After an hour negotiating the thousands of dare devil motorbikes, the coach finally exits the perimeter of Saigon, headed North to visit the main Cao Dai Temple.

From 16 Mar 2010

From 16 Mar 2010

As new religions go, it’s certainly intriguing, if very cult-like. There’s three colours representing other religions, three saints including a French poet, seven chairs that remain empty and nine apple and pears for each level of spiritual hierarchy. Sadly, the founding Pope wanted autonomy from Vietnam and raising an Army, he was soon on the run exiling to Cambodia. Once he had passed away, the cult was left lost and wanting; their hierarchy incomplete.

Shh, be quiet; they’re starting. Understanding the need for visitors (presumably to spread the word and also increase coffers), we are treated to a balcony view of the proceedings. Gong to my left out of sight – louder gong to my right – music begins (if you can call it that), and like a childhood nativity play, enter stage right the colourful precession. All under the watchful eye (See), that sits at level 9, which no one can sit at due to the death of the war mongering Pope.

From 16 Mar 2010

If all this by now sounds surreal, that’s because it is; like all religions there’s strange obsessive behaviour, rituals and ceremonies that seem eccentric and rules to follow that are perplexing and to any intelligent mind; plainly silly. Whilst trying desperately to differ itself from other cults – being a blend of several established religions itself – there remain two strong similarities with all other competing cults. The first is inequality amongst the genders (all religions are created by crazed men, clearly), and the second is a thirst for power and money, hence the army. This sounds like a good deal: Screw it, I’m starting my own religion right now. Expect some publications surrounding my new Science and don’t dare Suppress me or I’ll consider you Fair Game.

From 16 Mar 2010

Heading back the way we came and detouring North, the coach arrives at the Cu Chi Tunnels. Still owned by the Vietnamese Army, my 75,000 Dong entrance fee is paid begrudgingly. Don’t visit if you suffer from claustrophobia, or are fat. The highlight is crawling underneath a 115m tunnel, extended to “King Size” so punters can get a feel. If you’re over 6 foot, you’ll need to get on all fours; over about 80 kilos and you may get stuck.

From 16 Mar 2010

From 16 Mar 2010

We finish with a Vietnamese video that was shown throughout the country in the 1960s. Whilst full of anti-American propaganda, it’s nonetheless amusing. A young girl, who’s beaming smile and pretty face contrasts incredibly with the AK-47 she holds in her hands, shows that the women were just as war-hardened as the men. The narrator explains how she has “killed 118 enemies” and has hence received three medals for her heroism. Either way, I’m glad I wasn’t facing any of the ingenious traps, my favourite of which is the trap door – even preventing the top half from impaling you, the hinged bottom half will still “make you ladyboy, then you go to Bangkok”, Slim Jim retorts.

From 16 Mar 2010

From 16 Mar 2010