Miss Saigon

"Where you going?" I was asked the moment I got out of the taxi from the airport.  I was still preoccupied with getting my bag out of the boot (trunk), so hadn't yet seen to whom the inquisitive voice belonged.  "To find a place to stay," I replied, hoping the owner of the voice was touting a hotel room for a reasonable price. "And after that?" continued the questioning.  It was then that I looked at my interrogator and saw that it was a not unattractive twenty-something.  "Er, eat something and then sleep," I confessed, it being close to midnight and nearing the end of a long day.  The woman pulled a face and clearly had other ideas for me.  "No, you want to have a massage and make love to me.  One hour.  Beautiful."  I politely declined and made my escape.  After finding a hotel, I ventured out in search of Subway, which had recently opened.  With most franchises (KFC being an exception) not allowed by the Vietnamese government, it had become something of a novelty to eat western fast food.  I only made it a halfway down the road when I was accosted by the same woman.  "Where you going?" she asked again.  "Subway" I answered, thinking that she might be able to direct me there.  "Ah, ten dollar," came the rather unexpected response.  "Er, no.  Subway," and proceeded to mime eating a full-long sandwich.  Realising how this looked to a woman-of-the-night, I stopped and hurriedly exited stage left.  I was back in Sagon.  Back in Pham Ngu Lao.  Puzzled as to what perverse sexual deed a 'Subway" entailed.

Pham Ngu Lao is to Saigon what Ko San is to Bangkok; a small area devoted to backpackers and the like with hostels, cafes and travel agents galore.  With this also comes the easy access to cheap booze, drugs and hookers.  The encounter above is only one of many examples.  Another incident involved a pimp asking me if I wanted to go up to his flat where his wife was waiting!  The thing going in Pham Ngu Lao's favour is that is hasn't yet become as insular as its Thai counterpart.  Whereas Ko San can leave a traveller feeling cut off from the rest of Bangkok, here some of Ho Chi Minh City's more famous landmarks are within easy walking distance.

Despite living only an hour or so away in Vung Tau, I never really made the most of Saigon.  I had ventured there a few times, usually on my way to someplace else, but never to really explore and get to know the city.  This time I had a few days and so I jotted down a list of places I wished to check out and mapped out a walking route.  Top of the list was the War Remnants Museum, a harrowing reminder of the realities of war.  Being a communist state with a strong emphasis on propaganda, the museum is completely biased in its portrayal of the American War, but with plenty of exhibits from American sources it's hard to argue with its message.  Less horrific landmarks in Vietnam's second city include the Notre Dame church, Ben Than market, the zoo with botanical gardens, the palace and numerous pagodas and temples in Chinatown.

Surprisingly, this one didn't make the grade...

For me, though, the chance to have a flutter and a day at the races was too good an opportunity to pass up.  In Vietnam, like in China, gambling has been made illegal throughout the country.  However, in the 1980s, the government realised that it was never going to improve the country's economy while blocking an activity that could generate such a big windfall, so in Vung Tau they allowed greyhound-racing and in Saigon they allowed horse-racing.  The last time I had been to the track was in Hong Kong, where I didn't have much luck in making my fortune.  Here I hoped to at least break even.

The most noticeable facet of the sport here, is the use of young boys as jockeys.  Whereas the practice as been banned in other countries, the necessity for pre-pubescent boys has meant attempts to make the change in Vietnam have stalled.  With tiny H'mong horses used and the oppressive heat, to use adult jockeys would be make racing impossible.  While you could argue that this is child exploitation, I find it's not as simple as that.  These boys, no older than 10 or 11 years old, are earning much needed money for their families and seem to be well taken care of.  In a country which is said to be in the three-poorest, non-African countries in the world, child labour is unavoidable.  Riding horses seems a tad better than working in factories, churning out counterfeit designer brands.  Although I didn't make enough to retire on, I did manage to pick 5 winners in the 8 races I watched.

Saigon is a hectic mess, symbolised by the motorbikes whizzing around like mosquitoes, but as far as metropolitan messes go, it can be a lot of fun.

Mekong Sweet Love

Starting at the Tibetan Plateau and winding its way through the Chinese province of Yunnan, Myanmar (Burma), Laos, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam, the Mekong River is the tenth-longest in the world.  Tucked away in the southwest of the latter country, the river breaks off into multiple channels to form the Mekong Delta.  The Delta region produces more than half of Vietnam's rice output and, in fact, produces more rice than Korea and Japan combined.

To do the entire region justice would have taken more time than I had, so from my base in Ho Chi Minh I opted for a brief 'taste.'  From my hotel, I booked a day-trip to see some river-life including floating markets, bee farms and river cruising.  The journey to the Delta by bus was two hours, and the time flew by with detailed commentary from the tour guide.  Interesting tidbits that stood out were utterances such as, "This is a petrol station and the driver is going to fill the bus up with petrol for our journey" and "If you look to your right you will see a field.  I don't know what it is used for."  One thing the guy did say, though, which was genuinely interesting was his disclosure that, although he had had many Mekong girls as girlfriends, his father forbid him from ever marrying one.  "Mekong girls are beautiful and lots of fun," he confided with a devilish grin on his face. "But they are terrible girls for marriage."  It seems that Vietnam has it's own version of the "Essex Girl" or "Jersey Girl."  This is something which I have seen first hand in Vung Tau, as most of the girls working in bars or "massage" parlours hail from the region with the intention of snagging a rich husband to lavish gifts upon them and take care of their families financially.  Of course, this is a generalisation, much like the ones regarding Essex and New Jersey.

Once in the Delta and on a boat, it was easy to sit back and soak up the scenery as the boat chugged along, passing people going about their daily lives.  The floating market was quite unlike the one I had seen in Thailand, as it was something akin to a wholesale market, where business was conducted in bulk.  Still, watching the act of commerce taking place in unconventional surroundings was fun.  The tour included a couple of stops at various places with the motive of foisting stuff upon tourists, but I gave them a miss and stuck to the riverside to watch the locals play out the soap operas of their lives.  I did take the opportunity at one stop, however, to jump on a bicycle and take it for a spin around one of the islands.  Unfortunately, the bike wasn't exactly in good condition and proved a lot of work for something supposedly 'leisurely.'

I wish I had had more time to fully explore the Mekong, to have taken a boat up the river into Cambodia and beyond.  I'll just have to leave that trip until another time.

Born To Be Wild

I've never learnt to drive.  As a teenage-boy I never had posters of high-performance cars on my bedroom walls and I never mithered by mother for lessons nor for a car.  I guess a psychologist or a social anthropologist would define this lusting for 'wheels' as a struggle for independence - the chance to strike out alone.  For me, however, it was motorbikes rather than cars which held that position in my psyche.  That doesn't mean that I can name the various parts of an engine or even pretend to know anything about the machines.  I'm not an engineer and as anyone could attest, I'm not the kind of guy who gets excited about technology and mechanics.  Simply put, a motorbike is like any other mode of transport which gets you and your cargo from A to B.

No, what set motorbikes apart from cars in my eyes were the logistics.  Growing up, cars journeys involved lots of people in a confined space arguing about bathroom breaks and compromising over which music cassette was to be played.  Riding on the back of my grandfather's bike felt like liberation.  Whether he was taking me to rugby practice or a ride around the villages in the nearby countryside it didn't matter as I always eagerly anticipated the chance to go for a ride with him.  So, naturally, when I got old enough I opted for two wheels over four.

Since I left home as a teenager, I haven't had my own vehicle.  In Manchester, the public transport system was always sufficient for me and then when I hit the road I never really needed anything.  Living in Vietnam was the first time in a long while that that changed.  I loved my crappy little bike and the independence I felt again while on it.

Whenever you think of Vietnam, one of the enduring images is of the chaotic melee of motorbikes on the roads of Saigon or Hanoi.  Observing this can be quite a spectacle and wincing every time two motorists come within inches of colliding can make your eyes hurt.  I've been to a lot of places where the locals have 'boasted' of how crazy their drivers are and they would have been right.  However, Vietnam is the only place I've been to where I actually lived in fear of losing my life.  In fact, the World Heath Organisation officially has the country down as one of the most dangerous countries in the world for road-related fatalities; over 12,000 deaths a year.  With a population of 85 million people, this can be hard to put in to context.  So if you were to compare it with the UK (pop. 65 million), where there are around 600 fatalities, you can see just how much of a problem Vietnam has.  Many of these deaths are the result of people not wearing helmets, despite them being readily available.  I've even seen people riding along with their helmet tucked under the arms!  The other major causes are speeding and, of course, drink-driving, both of which happen as part of the norm.

Which brings me to Ty.  I met Ty coming out of the train station in Da Nang, his glorious mustache setting him apart from the others.  Usually, I am wary of being approached by touts and taxi drivers as I always feel I've been marked for a scam.  This time, I was feeling relaxed after my stay in Lang Co, and was open to his spiel.  I only wanted a lift to the bus station, but I allowed him to talk me into taking me to my final destination.  The price he quoted was only a little more than the bus ticket and after seeing his 'big-boy' bike and how comfortable it looked I gave him the chance to impress.  Ty was not only that rare thing in Vietnam of being a safe driver (using the horn when appropriate, not driving too fast, slowing down on blind bends, etc), but he also had good English and would give tidbits of interesting information along the way.  He even found a hotel for me and negotiated a cheap price (usually, you pay extra for commission when a taxi takes you to a hotel).  I looked at the room-rates board at reception upon arrival and saw that I had been given the non-foreigner price.

In Hoi An, we sat down for some food at a street stall and feeling satisfied with his abilities on a bike, we discussed a possible trip to be taken after my stay in town.  I was short on time and money, so the 6 days journey along the Ho Chi Minh trail was out of the question unfortunately, but we came to an agreement on a one-day trip.

I had set my expectations low in order to not be too disappointed if it turned out to be bad.  I needn't have worried.  Riding through the villages and the countryside, along the rivers and rice fields that made up the landscape I could remember the feeling I had with my grandfather.  In one village, we met a woman who was eager to show me how to make rice paper and in another place I met a family who conveyed, through my guide, that I was the first foreigner they had ever seen in person.  The old woman couldn't stop touching me to see whether I was real and attempted to marry me off with one of her granddaughters.  Along the way I got to sample the Ho Chi Minh trail for a couple of miles before turning off and got to meet a guy who had never left his home town in the Mekong before.  He was journeying up to Hanoi for university and stopping off at various places he had read about in books.

One such place was My Son, home to Champa ruins which had stood for centuries until the Americans bombed them to Kingdom Come during the war.  What is left is a small collection of ruins that survived the onslaught, but still give a good enough impression of what the area looked like at the time of their inception.  You could walk around the entire complex in about 30 minutes, but the backdrop of mountains and greenery made it a pleasant 2-hour stopover.

The trip ended later that evening after a long day on the back of a bike.  My legs were aching and I had caught the sun, but it had been well worth the money.  That morning I had happened to glance at the date and I had realised that it was actually the day of what would have been my grandfather's birthday.  It seemed a fitting way to spend the day.

For anyone looking for a safe and reliable motorbike guide in Vietnam, I highly recommend Ty.  He has a decade of experience and would be a great choice to add another dimension to your trip.  His number is 0905194373 and it's one that he has used for 12 years so it's unlikely to change.

The Beach

For those fans of Alex Garland or Leo Di Caprio, 'The Beach' is the epitome of paradise.  Golden sand, clear blue water and no mass tourism.  A secret little hideaway where you can relax and enjoy your surroundings without the full-moon party brigade, the package-tour touts, the vendors selling various items of necklaces made from shells, inflatables, watersports or hotels marring the skyline.  Nowadays, this is almost impossible to achieve with the opening up of borders and the abundance of low-cost flights to all corners of the world.  Even in Gokarna, India, where I found the yang to Goa's yin, there were still backpackers by the boat-load.

Vietnam, as I was finding out on my trip, was quickly losing its 'hidden gem' tag as the tourist industry has kicked into high gear over the last few years.  So it was much to my delight and surprise to find an antidote to over-development going on in Ha Long Bay or Mui Ne in the fishing village of Lang Co.

By no means the vision of the perfect beach getaway Garland had when he penned his story, or even a deserted utopia on some inaccessible island, Lang Co is 'merely' your garden-variety village with people going about their routine lives.  Other tourists pass through and may even stop off at a restaurant for a bite to eat on their way from Hue to Da Nang, and there are frequent guests from neighbouring towns and villages.  There is even a beach resort hidden away.  But none of these things take away from the magic of Lang Co.

For starters, the village lies between the South China Sea and a lagoon that has formed from it.  Sandwiched between the two, villagers are privy to majestic views whichever direction they look.  The coastline stretches for almost 20km with golden sand that hasn't been contaminated with litter or been disturbed with a sun lounger.  Looking out to the horizon you won't see a motorboat or a jet-ski or anyone kitesurfing.  You probably won't even see another soul swimming.  Those Vietnamese people who do brave the sun (like a lot of women throughout the east of Asia, Vietnamese women cover up from head-to-toe to avoid darkening their skin - paler skin being seen as more attractive, much the same way as we in the West think the opposite) confine themselves to the 300 metre segment that is used by the aforementioned beach resort.  That leaves an unimaginable stretch of shoreline that is untapped. Walking along the beach, I didn't see another person.  I even managed to leave my belongings unattended and go for a swim in the clear sea without fear of someone stealing my wallet or camera.

On the lagoon behind the village, fishermen work and make their living by catching oysters to export to other towns and cities in the vicinity.  It meant that I was able to walk into any cafe or restaurant nearby and eat some of the most delicious seafood I had ever eaten.  In the evening, locals invited me to drink beer and eat shrimp with them, despite the obvious language barrier.  It had been a while since I had encountered such genuine hospitality without someone trying to sell me something or practice their English.

On another day, I managed to hire a guy to give me a ride on his motorbike to the nearby springs, where I had been told by one local with some English that I could have some fun.  When I arrived, I found that the springs had been turned into a kind of water amusement park like the waterfall I visited in Iraq.  Families ate picnics while the children splashed about in the springs, someone had used small rocks to create dams so that small rock-pools could form, and teenagers sprang into them from great heights.  In complete contrast to the empty beach, people were more than happy to play in the water once they were sheltered by the trees all around.  Again, although at odds to the ethos of 'The Beach', I found the fact that this was local recreation as opposed to a money-making venture to be something to cherish.

I went to Lang Co with the intention of staying for a few hours to catch my breath and take a break from the tourist trail, but I ended up staying 3 nights.  Without a doubt, the highlight of my trip in Vietnam and it only saddens me to think that by writing this I may only be contributing to its downfall.  The world doesn't need another Koh Sumui, Goa, Ibiza, or even another Mui Ne.  However, I don't doubt that once the industry gets wind of its true 'potential,' my little Lang Co won't be able to hold back the tide.  Personally, I will always have my memories of 'my' beach.  Taking the train to Da Nang, I spent the journey looking out of the window and taking it all in.

One Hue To Get Hoi An Life

During the American War, Vietnam was divided in two.  To the north was the communist Vietnamese People's Army and to the south lay the American-backed South Vietnamese forces.  Cutting through the middle ran the Demilitarized Zone which for the decade prior to the conflict had been the official border.  As such, it was the scene of some of the bloodiest battles of the time.  This is not a post about them.

This post is about another part of the region's history.  Just south of the DMZ, you will find the historical cities of Hue and Hoi An.  Hue, which was the home of the Nguyen Dynasty until 1945, was a giant citadel built upon the banks of the Perfume River.  Its tiny neighbour, Hoi An, is more known for its importance during the Champa Empire of the 16th and 17th centuries.  The Chams were the last real obstacle to a unified Vietnam before the French and Americans came a-knockin'.

After checking out the hustle and bustle of the big city, the incredible scenery of the mountains to the north and the impressive coastline of the northeast, I was looking forward to checking out something more imperial.  From Hanoi, I took a sleeper bus for the 14-hour journey to Hue.  When I first got on the bus, my heart sank when I realised it was full of teenagers on a school trip.  Luckily, most Vietnamese people are a uniform bunch and as soon as the clock struck 9pm, everyone was fast asleep and I too could enjoy a restful sleep without a the usual noise of pubescent boys and girls in a confined space.

Stepping off the bus the next morning, I was accosted by the usual suspects - motorbike taxi drivers, tour and hotel touts and people hawking their wares.  I lied and told them that I had already booked a place and I had reserved it online.  This seemed to deflate those who would have me believe the hotel was full.  One ingenious mind, though, was undeterred and popped up with a cardboard sign with the name of the hotel I had claimed to have booked and the bus company's name that I had travelled down on, saying he was from the hotel to pick me up.  I almost felt bad having to tell him that I had never told the hotel how I was travelling to Hue nor at what time I would be arriving.  Good try, though.

I found a hotel by myself, dumped my things and headed out.  I know, I missed the shower part, but it was a boiling hot day and I saw no point in getting clean only to be dripping wet with sweat a few minutes after stepping outside.  I had been told numerous times not to bother with the former capital as there wasn't much to see anymore and while that may be true, I've always thought it a shame that places get dismissed so easily because they don't have a Taj Mahal or a Great Wall.  Some places require a bit of work and imagination and I"m willing to give them a try.  Due to the heavy bombing during the war, much of the ancient citadel was destroyed.  The walls and some buildings remained intact, but a lot of what can be seen nowadays is a replica of what used to be.  Still, it was interesting to work around and it brought back memories of all those places in China I had visited.

With even less to see and do, the former fishing village of Hoi An has taken the route that so many other places have tread.  Namely, they have opened themselves up to mass tourism to the detriment of the sleepy ambiance that first attracted visitors.  The buildings still hold up well and the charming architecture make Hoi An a pleasant place to wander around for a few hours.  However, as soon as your head dips to eye-level, all you can see are the myriad of cafes, tailors, shoe shops and general tourist-tat shops.  It reminded of being back in England to some extent.  Whether you're walking Manchester, London or Chester with their deep histories and architecture, it can't escape you're notice that each building now seems to be home to a Starbucks or some other franchise or retail chain.  It just seems like an inappropriate use.

To a degree, the naysayers were correct and the two 'guidebook highlights' of Central Vietnam could be seen in a couple of days.  However, those couple of days open up a side of the country which isn't so accessible anymore because of the progression of time and the ravages of war.

Boat Trip

I try not to pay any attention, but the girl is so annoying that it's almost impossible to switch off.  For the last 30 minutes she has been holding court among a group of about 5 other girls and pontificating about Vietnam and Vietnamese people.  They are so this and they are so that.  Two hours earlier, the same girl had enlightened everyone on the bus that she had only been in Vietnam for a grand total of three days.  God, I hate some backpackers.

Much to my surprise when embarking upon my little trip, Vietnam is much more 'touristy' than I could have imagined.  Where once Vietnam was championed as an alternative to Thailand, nowadays it is very much a mirror of its fellow South-East Asian cousin.  Wherever you turn, you are sure to bump into a package tour group or a gap-year student trying to 'find themselves' while funded by mum and dad back home.

In Hanoi, I had booked myself on a one-night tour to Ha Long Bay which involved a bus journey to the coast, a visit to the caves, a night aboard a junk, kayaking and all meals.  All for $30.  I had heard that it was almost impossible to do this independently as the whole Ha Long experience had been monopolised and was in the hands of the 'tourism mafia.'  Initially, the bus journey down was quite pleasant with everyone looking forward to the trip.  That was until the blonde girl halfway down the bus piped up and decided to give everyone a full account of herself.

Unfortunately, she turned out to be the rule rather than the exception on this trip.  A minute couldn't pass without someone trying to one-up someone else's story or experience.  For the evening, night and morning on the boat, some incredible scenery went by with most people barely giving it a moment's thought.  Rather than check out the place they had come to visit, mass pissing contests would break out over stamps in passports, how much people had paid for various items and who was having the most fun/worst time.  I have nothing against travel stories.  In fact, I love a good story that is told well and gives me a taste of something new.  I write a travel blog, so maybe I can be accused of double-standards, but I've always tried to stay away from the 'look at me' side of things and simply share my experiences.  Maybe I'm just turning in to a grumpy old man!

Anyway, back to the real star of the show; Ha Long Bay.  Off the east coast of Vietnam, the 150km coastline stretches all the way down from China.  The limestone peaks very much reminiscent of those in Yunnan province, China.  The distinct shapes formed over many many years of erosion.  Sitting on deck with my earphones in an my ipod turned up to 11, I watched the world go by and marvelled at how amazing nature can be.  With the sun high in the sky, the sea sparkled and the fishing villages that the boat passed looked tiny and insignificant in comparison to their surroundings.  Watching the locals go about their day with such an impressive backdrop made me feel jealous for the simple beauty of it all.  In the meantime, a group of German guys were doing their best to impress some Icelandic girls with stories of their prowess in some completely fabricated situation or other.

Would I recommend Ha Long Bay to other tourists?  I think the answer can only ever be yes.  The stunning scenery and the fairly impressive caves with their stalagmites are definitely things that put the area on the map and it can be no surprise that Ha Long Bay was thrust into the limelight via the "New 7 Wonders of the World" campaign a couple of years ago.  Just remember to recharge your mp3 player and hope you get a good crowd of people as fellow passengers.  You know those travellers who bang on about how much better things were in the past?  They too annoy the hell out of me, but on this occassion, unfortunately, I feel they would be right.

Acting Like A H'mong

Waking up at 4am is never something I look forward to.  As the train pulled in to the station at Lao Cai, I fell out of my bunk and got my things together as quickly as I could while the last vestiges of sleep receded.  No sooner had I exited my cabin than I was approached by a tout wanting to know if I needed a mini-bus.  As my final destination was still a further 90 minutes away, I told him that I did.  500,000 Dong, was his reply.  My response was something not to be written here.  Fighting my way off the train and out of the reach of would-be assailants, I managed to convey that I would only take the mini-bus for 40,000 Dong ($2).  After a protracted stand-off, the guy finally relented and I got my wish.  "Don't tell the others, though," he whispered in my ear.  "You get a good price."  Needless to say, every other traveller I met went through the same routine and everyone pretty much paid the same price - or at least said they did for fear of admitting they had been scammed.  This little scene would be something I would witness being played out many times over the next two days.

Sa Pa, a mountain village in the northernmost reaches of Vietnam and close to the border with China, was were I had retreated to after the urban beginning to my trip.  The region is home to a variety of tribes, most notably the Black H'mong and the Red Dzao, and relies on the growth of rice for its economy.  Although nothing special in itself, Sa Pa is surrounded by breathtaking scenery and an abundance of opportunities to get your walking boots on.

But before I could get to that bit I first had to negotiate my alighting from the mini-bus.  Almost immediately upon opening the door, the high, piercing screams of about 15 female Black H'mong members shattered the early morning silence.  Both girls and older women alike took it in turns to approach the passengers and give their best Knights who say "ni" impressions.  "You very handsome" and "You buy for me" being their particularly favourite catchphrases.  Over and over and over and over again.  I had read that the women of the H'mong tribes were silver tongued traders, but the only thing I wanted to do was punch them in the face.  Luckily for them, I don't hit women.  Besides, there were a lot of them and some of them, although tiny, looked like they could eat me for breakfast!  I reminded myself, though, that these were people just trying to make a living and that I shouldn't be too harsh.  Even at 6am in the morning.

I was only going to spend one night in the village before embarking upon another night train journey back to Hanoi, so that left me with two full days to explore the vicinity.  After checking in at a hostel (with some pretty fine views) and having a little nap to clear the last of my tiredness, I set about finding a place to get breakfast.  I had heard that the cuisine of the mountain people was something to behold.  Unfortunately, little Sa Pa has well and truly arrived on the tourist trail and the village is littered with poor quality western-style restaurants  It took a bit of digging around to find something subtler.

"Ni... Ni..."

For the next two days I spent my time hiking through the countryside and exploring the neighbouring villages.  This involved a lot of time among the rice terraces and watching the workers (almost always women) going about their business.  Three times a year, the rice is harvested and eventually exported all around the world.  Even out here, though, I still couldn't shake those damned 'Knights.'

Overall, the trip to the mountains had been well worth the journey.  The last time I had explored rice terraces, it had been in China and although incredibly impressive, the poor weather had affected visibility.  In Sa Pa, however, the sun was shining and the views were incredible.  The only downside was the incessant hawking of wares and tat.  I do understand the need to make a living, but the super aggressive methods employed there probably puts off more potential customers than it attracts.  Even as my mini-bus pulled away from the village, I could still hear the wailing rise as another mini-bus full of possibilities approached.

On The Road

Sometimes, only sometimes mind, the best part of my travels is not the destinations themselves, but the actual journey to them.  Whether it is by bus or by plane the thrill of journeying to some new place which you have no real knowledge of or what to expect of it.  Sure, you may read up about it in your guide book or take on board the advice and suggestions other travellers have imparted upon you, but when it all boils down that initial arrival is a complete surprise.  So it is on the journey where your imagination has the time to run wild with all the possibilities that are in store.

In my time as a 'migrant worker,' I have travelled using conventional modes of transport such as bicycle, motorbike, car, taxi, bus, train, boat and plane.  I have also used less traditional methods such as donkey, horse, camel and elephant.  I love each one of them because of the different moods they have generated while using them.

Most recently, the was a period where I spent the vast majority of my time in transit.  Because of the shortage of my time on my trip around Vietnam, I opted to try and make the most of my days, by using the night to get to where I was intending.  This is something I highly recommend as it not only makes your time more efficient, but save you money on accommodation.  My favourite method for this it to take a night train.  In China and India it goes without saying as the distances you travel leave you with no other choice than to spend at least a portion of the night on the go.  However, even in countries such as Vietnam, taking the night train can be useful for shorter trips.  Unlike in the UK, where the idea of riding on a train can be unappealing, let alone trying to get some sleep on one, sleeper trains are a common occurrence in Asia.  Whether it's 'hard' or 'soft' sleeper (don't be confused by the names, both are comfortable), reclining on your bunk as the train thunders through the dark can be a blessing.

This fella didn't get me very far...

From Hanoi, I took such a train up to the northern region of Vietnam and again for the return trip.  Immediately after, I spent the night on a boat, cruising along the eastern coast, before then jumping on a sleeper bus down to the central region of the country.  Four out of 5 nights sleeping on the move, but each not one a chore.

The other advantage to travelling is the countless opportunities you get to meet other people.  I'm not talking about Dave and Sharon who are also backpacking their way around South East Asia, but the locals who are eager to welcome foreigners and show their hospitality.  The number of times in China that I got talking to a family who had offered me food and drink with no ulterior motive.  It helps, of course, if you speak the language, but I think that even if I hadn't been able to, they would have still have behaved in the same way.  How different from those commutes back home when everyone is afraid to make eye contact with the person next to them!

Of course, it's not always plain sailing.  Sleeper buses (buses not with seats, but horizontal bunks) vary from place to place and as such you may find yourself in a tight spot.  In the south of China, for example, people tend to be a little shorter than average and you'll find the bunks are designed with that in mind.  Even I, no giant by any stretch of the imagination, can find it a little uncomfortable after a prolonged period.  In the north of China, on the other hand, where the people are slightly bigger than average, you will find that you have a little bit more room to manoeuvre.  In India, it's not space that can be an issue, but the incessant music blaring out over the speakers seemingly all night.  If that wasn't bad enough, the speakers tended to be knackered and the music was so distorted that it could no longer be called anything other than noise.

The worst incident I've had, though, was in Kazakhstan.  There wasn't a sleeper bus available at the time I was travelling a couple of years ago, so I had had no choice but to make the 12 hour journey using the rickety old coach that was on offer.  With every seat filled, I was lucky to find that my seat did recline.  Unfortunately, that was all it did.  The slightest pressure would throw the seat back, much to the annoyance of the passenger behind.  For the waking hours on board the bus, I had to sit up straight so as not to bother anyone.  To top it off, the space between the seats was to narrow that my legs didn't actually fit and I had to try and make do with my knees pressed again the back of the seat in front of me for the entire journey.  The toilet was out of order and the driver seemed determined to only stop when he needed to.

Nevertheless, good or bad, the journey brings about thoughts of the future and what is to come.  In my experience, it's always better to be going somewhere with some hardship, than to settle for a static life with convenience and comfort.

Not So Hanoi-ing Behaviour

Vietnam is a country with two capitals.  Much like Sydney takes the limelight away from Canberra, Istanbul does likewise to Ankara, and London suffers because of the glitz of Manchester, the Vietnamese city of Hanoi seems to play second fiddle to Ho Chi Minh City.  It hasn't helped its cause that most international flights arrive at its southern sister and, therefore, allows it to become the enduring image people have of Vietnam.  When you finally make it to Hanoi, though, what you find is a city every bit as cosmopolitan and trendy.  Stylish cafes and restaurants line the streets and its citizens dress fashionably by any standards.  Hanoi is the business and political centre of the country and its former colonisation by the French is still evident in the architecture.  What sets Hanoi apart from its rival is the number of lakes, parks and general greenery that the city is built upon.  Finding a shady spot to sit and get away from the hustle and bustle of city life couldn't be easier.

By the time I arrived in Hanoi at the start of my trip it was getting pretty late and I was itching to find a place to dump my belongings, get some dinner and get an early night.  I stumbled along the streets in search of the Old Quarter and a cheap bed for the night.  The first place I turned in to was full of very young guys and girls weighed down with rucksacks and chatting excitedly.  My brain wasn't yet ready to deal with these eager backpackers so I turned around and exited.  The next place I came across had dorm beds for $4, which seemed reasonable for what turned out to be a really nice establishment and, thankfully, quieter.  I have nothing against backpackers, after all I am one, but I find that it takes a few brain stretches before I'm ready to deal with some of them.  After locking my luggage away and ensuring I made a note of the hotel's name and address (my Vietnamese being almost non-existent and my notoriously bad memory can make things a little tricky should I lose my way and not know how to get back) and threw myself into the wonderful chaos that is street life in Asia.  Ducking down a few alleyways I managed to come across a little pho (noodle soup with chicken or beef) stall.  Seeing as Hanoi is the home of the dish I was expecting some good things and I have to say that I wasn't disappointed.  Pretty tasty and only $1.

The next day I decided to really get under the skin of the city and find out why a number of people I had spoken to were so negative about it.  The Old Quarter is a maze of streets, zigzagging in ways that appear at first to have no rhyme nor reason.  However, each street serves its own purpose and conform to an easy pattern.  Each street specialises in one kind of thing, whether it's 'Toy Street,' 'Blacksmith Road,' 'Flower Avenue' or 'Tacky Tourist Tat Boulevard.'  Averting your eyes from ground level and focusing on the old French flavour of the buildings and listening to the din of the vendors and merchants you can really feel how life has been on these streets for the last hundred years since the days of French Indochina.  The most notable difference between then and now is the number of vehicles.  The roar of engines from motorbikes and cars fill the air and leave countless numbers of people stranded at the side of the road waiting to cross.  I usually find the 'look straight ahead and walk without hesitation' method works a treat.  Failing that, find the first old woman and walk alongside her.  If the motorist doesn't stop for her then he isn't going to stop for anyone!

Like most other cities in the world, Hanoi also has its annoyances and dangers.  Being a 'communist' country, the Vietnamese government like to hold the reins pretty tightly.  Anything 'popular' and beyond their control tends to be given short shrift, much like their neighbours to the north, China.  No better example can be offered than the way they block websites such as Facebook.  The 'no-fun' police in Hanoi decreed that the city would have a curfew at 12am.  This restricts the cities ability to compete with HCMC on another level as the lack of late-night entertainment means most people are in bed fairly early.  Not something your average tourist looks for in a holiday destination.  As well as the irritation of finding things to do after hours, scams are pretty varied - some well executed and some clumsy at best.  The most common one that I encountered involved an attractive girl approaching and introducing herself as a student.  Before long, a suggestion is made that perhaps you'd like to go for something to drink and, luckily, the girl knows a place nearby.  At the end of the 'date' a hefty bill is presented and it's made clear that you have no choice but to pay it.  Fortunately for me, this scam is fairly common in other countries too and I'm naturally cynical of approaches such as these.  After I politely declined, I looked back over my shoulder to see the 'student' in conversation with a shady guy on a motorbike, who had previously been nowhere to be seen.

Regardless of the pollution, the traffic and the curfew, I enjoyed my brief stay in the capital.  Hanoi might not be everyone's cup of tea, but it is greatly underrated.  It wouldn't be a place where I would opt to live, but as a starting point to my trip around the north it could have been a lot worse.

The Tet Offensive

Whenever a national holiday comes around in whatever country I happen to be in at the time, I always get a little excited about what might occur.  Hear the word 'festival' and my mind suddenly flashes to images of Carnivale, Mardi Gras and La Tomatina.  The sad truth is that most 'holidays' are simply a period of time when families come together and spend most of their time watching TV and eating.  A bit like Christmas, in fact.  I have experienced a fair number of festivals that fall in to the former category, such as the 'camel festival' in Pushgar, India.  The endless parade of camels being sold and bought sandwiched between numerous events and games between locals and foreigners was all good fun and one of my fondest memories of India.  Scratch that, one of my fondest memories full stop.

The lunar year cycle began again this year at the beginning of February.  Whereas China goes all out with 6 weeks of Spring Festival madness (complete with about a billion fireworks and firecrackers going off day and night), Vietnam is more traditional in its celebrations.  So much so that the whole country shuts down for a week and any foreigners caught out end up paying for it.  So for Tet (the name of the holiday), I decided that the only thing for it was to jump on a plane and head to Thailand.  Obviously, they made me pay for a ticket first.

The southern islands of Thailand don't really hold much appeal for me, to be honest.  I have had the 'drinking ridiculous amounts of alcohol from a bucket' phase of my life and also experienced full moon parties in India (which were a lot of fun, I admit), so I wanted something a bit different from my trip to the 'land of a thousand smiles.'  I had always heard great things about the north of the country, so that is where I decided to check out.  With only 6 days off work for Tet, I knew that I would be short on time and would therefore have to pick only two places.  I chose the two Chiangs; Rai and Mai.

A couple of other teachers, Jody and Damian, arranged to meet me over there a few days later.  Dues to the way our work schedules panned out, I actually ended up finishing a couple of days before them.  My plan therefore was to head to Chiang Rai and explore the countryside and do some sightseeing before relocating to Chiang Mai to be a bit more active.

In Chiang Rai, I hired a local guy to be my motorbike guide.  The distances between 'sights' was such that it was the only way to get around cheaply to see everything.  My guide for the day was an older guy called The Bear (his words).  He certainly looked a bit grizzly, but seeing as he spoke a smidgen of English and possessed and motorbike (two qualities I like in a motorbike guide) I took a chance on him.  The break suffering from a puncture in the middle of nowhere dented my confidence at first, but The Bear proved his worth by quickly and efficiently getting it fixed.  In no time at all, we were off whizzing around the rice fields of northern Thailand and bothering local hill tribes.  One such hill tribe was the (in)famous 'Long-necked Women of Pudaung.'  I didn't exactly feel too comfortable encouraging this form of tourism.  After all, the effects of this practice are pretty horrendous with premature death the outcome.  However, it was something that held a (limited) appeal.  The chance to see something unique is a cruel temptress.

Would you like to have that around your neck for the rest of your life?

 As well as gawping at local oddities, the real highlight of my trip to Chiang Rai was to see the 'White Castle.'  A local artist, whose name I can barely remember without searching for it, started the art project a few years' back and intends to finish it all by the year 2070.  Not sure whether he's only doing it one brick per day, but that doesn't seem like a very ambitious deadline to me.

After a couple of days, it was time to head over to Chiang Mai by bus and meet up with the other two.  Due to a lack of mobile phone in Thailand (couldn't be arsed buying a SIM card for 6 days), we had arranged by email to meet at their hotel.  When I arrived to inquire about their arrival, I was informed that Mr. Damian was due to check-in in about 30 minutes time, but Mr. Jody wasn't booked until the next day!  Despite co-ordinating their efforts, they had still managed to book different dates.  Fortunately, they managed to sort things out without too much cost, unlike a few days later when it turned out Jody had also booked the wrong date for his flight back to Vietnam too!  Usually, he isn't such an idiot and he was destined to be the comedy moment of the trip until fate stepped in.

'Fate' may well have been the name of the 'girl' who tried to molest our other companion a full 5 seconds after entering a bar in the city centre.  The look of horror on a grown man's face with the immortal scream of "I'm not having any of this!" ensured that Jody's multiple errors were quickly forgotten and a new catchphrase was born.  Luckily, we managed to wrestle our way out pretty sharpish and make a mental note to be more careful when choosing a watering-hole.

The next two days in Chiang Mai were spent with a constant rush of adrenaline pumping around our bodies.  We had booked ourselves on the 'Flight of the Gibbon' tour that allowed eager tourists to get harnessed up in the jungle and zip through the trees.  Unfortunately, I managed to knacker both my ankles towards the end after getting too cocky and not paying enough respect to a tree at the other end of one particular line.  Ouch!  On the second day, we hit the water with a spot of rafting.  Neither Jody, Damian nor myself had ever tried white-water rafting before, but it looked like a lot of fun in the pictures, so we signed ourselves up for a go.  Although the level was aimed at absolute beginners, the thrill of paddling furiously while navigating rocks and torrents of water ensured that we came way with aching limbs and a sense of accomplishment.

All in all, the two Chiangs gave me everything I had wanted for my little trip.  I would have loved to have gone back for the Thai New Year (a mass water fight on the streets!), but my teaching contract was coming to an end and there was a whole country I had still yet to explore.

So Mui Ne Ways To Celebrate Christmas

As I mentioned in my last post, life in Vung Tau was pretty slow.  That doesn't mean, though, that I didn't manage to get away on occasion.  Last November I spent a week in Istanbul visiting my girlfriend, Pegah, and a few weeks prior to that, a few of the teachers had paid a visit to a nearby waterfall.

My first real trip in Vietnam, however, didn't occur until Christmas when myself and another teacher, Damian, arranged to spend a couple of days in Mui Ne.  The beach resort town of Mui Ne has quickly emerged on the scene in Vietnam as a rival to Nha Trang in the 'sea, sun and surf' stakes.  Although predominately frequented by tourists with cash to flash, it didn't prove too difficult to find affordable accommodation with a sea view.  Among the activities open to visitors there, kite-surfing appears to be the one that is taking off.  The only activity we managed to engage in on the beach, alas, was a spot of sunbathing - not that either of us were complaining.  The real fun was to be had away from the sea.

I'm not usually one to book tours, but seeing as we were on a tight time budget, I decided to take the plunge with Damian to take a jeep tour of the surrounding areas.  It was all for the best as the distances between 'sights' was actually big enough to have made it impossible to do independently - without forking out on a jeep and figuring out how to get to the places ourselves.

There's something about riding on the back of a jeep down a long stretch of road that just makes you feel so damn cool.  I donned my aviator-sunglasses and attempted to pull off 'Apocalypse Now.'  It came out more 'Top Gun,' but I didn't care.  The ride was a lot of fun.  After checking out the neighbouring fishing village, we made our way to the giant sand dunes that distinguish Mui Ne from its rivals.

As far as the eye can see, the swathes of golden sand stretch out in a caricature of what you'd expect sand dunes to look like.  The whole setting reminded me a lot of the dunes I had scaled and sledded down in Xinjiang, China.  Damian and I opted to rent a couple of quad bikes and rode around like a couple of maniacs, not particularly caring that the top speed wasn't exactly as fast as we made ourselves believe.  We also attempted to slide down, but with mixed results, certainly nothing as impressive as my descent in China, which frankly I'm still a little surprised I survived with nothing more serious that a little sunburn.

That evening we went back to our hotel and ate a 'traditional' Christmas dinner.  OK, so it wasn't exactly roast beef with all the trimmings like my nan used to make, but who says shrimp can't be festive?