I didn't know whether I would love or hate Saigon--and talking to other travellers along the way didn't help. Vietnam's massive metropolis provoked polarized opinions sharing a common utterance: "crazy." People either thought it was crazy (and loved it) or thought it was crazy (and hated it). There was little in the way of a middle/neutral ground. And the divided opinion transcended traveller type--gap year kids, twentysomethings, 30 year-olds, hardcore partiers, "culture vultures"--for every traveller that loved Saigon, another hated the place with a passion.
I just prepared myself for experiencing "crazy."
"Crazy" perfectly described my first encounter with the former ARVN capital--the previously mentioned taxi "line-up"--and has been a common adjective for foreigners to describe their experience in Saigon ever since the days of American involvement in the Vietnam War. The sudden increase in American soldiers, money, and consumer goods served as a steiroid that turbo-charged the Saigon economy, and created an "anything goes" atmosphere. Stories of Saigon's wartime decadence are practically essential inclusions for every history book discussing the subject of the American involvement in Vietnam.
Driving in from Tan Son Nhat, there were two things that immediately struck me about Saigon: the wide european style streets and boulevards, and the blindingly widespread use of neon lights at night. I definitely wasn't in Hoi An anymore, and I certainly wasn't in Hanoi.
We arrive in Pham Ngu Lao (the cheap hotel area), and look for a place to crash for the night, since it is about 8pm at this point. This is when it helps to be travelling with a buddy or a good friend--one of you can stay with the bags while the other does guesthouse recon. The place we end up going to certainly wasn't the worst I've stayed in, and I would have likely stayed there the entire time I was in Saigon except for one key deal breaker: I had to climb 8 fairly steep flights of stairs to get to my room--as per norm, I hand over my passport to the check-in desk--a move that would end up costing me 11 bucks.
I unload my stuff and have dinner with my rowmates at a nearby place, and, surprise surprise, I see the guy that AJ and I travelled with from Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang and his belgian buddy--again, small world, but not so random when you realize that the twentysomething travellers in this part of the world mainly stick to the same guidebook--the ubiquitous yellow Lonely Planet guide (cheaper and lighter than the cost/weight of 8 individual country guidebooks). I'm polite and friendly, but the guy isn't exactly thrilled to see me for whatever reason, which only supported my belief that there was something "off" about the guy (maybe he thought that my presence ruined his chances with AJ?).
The rowmates go back to their room as they have an early flight to catch for Hong Kong, and since it isn't overly late (about 9) I decide to do some recon and explore the well-lit and heavily trafficked neighborhood for a bit/look for another place to stay.
I finally stumble on a "boutique" hotel less than a 100 yards away on a parallel street to the main road running through the backpackers ghetto--I walk in--ask about the price, but see the price list before I finish my question ($28 for a single). I begin to walk out, apologizing and saying that the price was too high, but before I can, the nice vietnamese lady at the front desk tells me that the rates are basically halved in low season (right now), which means a single would only be $16--five bucks more than where my stuff is currently stashed.
After taking me up the elevator and seeing the room, I start laughing. Elevator? Check. Marble floor? Check. Room that could please a finicky business traveler? Check. For 11 bucks, I could stay in a flea-bag hotel worse than a motel 6. For 16 bucks, I could stay in a place that would easily pass my parents' standards, let alone my own less refined tastes. Of course I will take the room I tell the all too pleased receptionist--and can't wait to get out of the flea-bag place.
About halfway to my old place (along a well lit road lined by open shops and restaurants), a middle aged vietnamese woman dressed in a black halter top, tight blue jeans, and black high heels grabs my hand and asks if I want a massage. I shake loose and tell her no and quicken my pace. How dumb (or desperate) did she think I was? It's not like I was wearing a giant sign proclaiming "I came to Saigon to get chloroformed by a vietnamese street-walker." Lady, save your seduction/date rape attempts for the balding middle-aged europeans that specifically come to SE Asia looking for that kind of thrill. Learn from your Thai peers working Soi Cowboy.
I make it back to my old place, grab my stuff, haul down the stairs (my quads feel like cinderblocks at this point), and ask for my passport back because I am changing hotels. My bags were in that room for barely 90 minutes, so there was no way that I was going to pay full price--especially since it hasn't hit 11pm yet, and there are bound to be some late-night arrivals looking for a place to crash.
They ask why not stay the night here and go to that place tmw morning? Because I found a different hotel, one that I liked more, (I really wanted to say: why stay in a dump when I can stay in a palace? Besides, I was not going to drag my stuff back up 8 flights of stairs). I tell them that I was willing to pay them half the room-rate, since I did use their place for storage, essentially. The guy insists that I pay full-rate because it is after 7pm--I try an appeal to logic explaining why I shouldn't have to pay the full-rate since I was only there for 90 minutes.
The discussion isn't going anywhere, and the hotel had leverage (in the form of my passport), which they were well-aware of, so I fork over the 11 bucks and make my way back to my new digs. Had I just kept my passport, I would have put 6 bucks on the table and walked out.
After being microwaved in the Danang terminal while surrounded by at least 20 vietnamese running amok and exercising their vocal chords to the full extent of their abilities, the harrowing descent into Tan Son Nhat, the non-existent taxi line, an agressive solicitation by a vietnamese street lady, and participating in an impromptu game of passport tug of war with a hotel guest, I was fortunately through with patience-testing events.
Unfortunately, the most disturbing event of the day was yet to come.
Needing a drink, I walked about a block and a half to an area populated by bars oriented towards serving the tourists in the guesthouse heavy area. Along the way, I passed the same aggressive street walker (I guess the neighborhood was her "territory"--I saw her out every night--but business didn't seem to be going so well). I get a drink, join some western expat teachers sitting in the bar provided outdoor lawn chairs, and wave off the usual group of cigarette and tchotchke peddlers. Most take it in stride and move on to the next tourist.
One kid, no more than 8 years old, takes exception. When he offers me a pack of cigarettes, I politely tell him "No, I don't smoke," to which he responds by screaming "YOU LIE!" before moving on.
It's no surprise that there are poor people in Vietnam, and that Saigon would have its fair share of beggars and peddlers, but there was something about this particular boy that stood out. Not since Siem Reap had I experienced this level of anger, frustration, and malice from someone on the street (the incident where two kids held a french tourist hostage by refusing to let go of her bike). It's just something you don't necessarily expect, which is why it both caught me off guard and left me visibly shaken, even though I didn't have anything to be ashamed about.
Honestly, I really don't smoke.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
A Trembling Trip into Tan Son Nhat
Scared of flying? Fear the slightest jolt of turbulence? Dread flying into high clouds? Need to change your underwear if you see lightning from your airplane window? If you've answered yes to any of those questions, then try to avoid flying in SE Asia after about 2:30pm, and before 7pm or so (these numbers vary depending on the season). After my ill-advised adventure on Lion Air, my scariest flying experience was from Danang to Saigon.
But I'll get to that in a moment.
I had four realistic options for flying from Hoi An down to Saigon. Now, Hoi An doesn't have an airport, but it is only about 30-45 minute drive to Danang's airport, which is the third or fourth busiest in Vietnam. Either 8 am, noon, 445pm, or 9pm. 8am and 9pm were too early/late respectively, and I wasn't sure that I'd be able to make the noon flight if I had some last minute alterations to get done--so, late-afternoon it was. Hindsight, of course, says I should have taken the noon flight.
So, what did I do with my half-day or so, needing to catch a 3pm cab to the airport?
So, in flying from Danang to Saigon, I was flying the former South Vietnamese domestic trunk route, using the exact same airfields (I know, it's nerdy, but if you are an aviation history buff like I am, then it's cool).
We board the aircraft, and I see that Danang is in the process of building a brand new (and much needed) airport terminal to serve as the gateway to the developments being built farther down the shore. Visible from the aircraft are the vertical parentheses shaped concrete hangars lining the terminal that appear to be relics from the 60s/70s. A pair of Vietnam Airlines A330's (one in the skyteam scheme) are parked on the tarmac, indicating the growth of domestic traffic on some popular routes. As we roll down the runway for takeoff, further evidence of the former air base presents itself in the form of old warehouse buildings and bigger hangars.
The first half of the flight passes without incident, and we are treated to a spectacular sunset (a spectacular sunset? in the tropics? nah), as the orange sun passes between the various cloud layers that serve as portholes. Unfortunately, the soundtrack, provided by a middle aged woman hocking loogies behind me, wasn't so spectacular.
We then start passing through the various cloud layers on descent into Tan Son Nhat and it is pitch dark outside as we go through some turbulence.
Minutes later, my worst fears are confirmed. 15 minutes or so from landing, with the lights of Saigon and the surrounding communities visible, lightning begins to illuminate the sky. Looking back, it was indeed an amazing sight, but enjoying a scenic view was the last thing on my mind as I passed through an electrical storm on a giant metal lightning rod. My palms were sweaty and I was freaking out, and the last 15 minutes of the flight seemed to last for an hour. I told my seatmates--a young scottish couple on their way to Hong Kong--that I would get the first round that night if we landed safely.
I knew Tan Son Nhat was an urban airport--similar to La Guardia in that it is surrounded by the city--but nothing can prepare you until you've landed there for the first time. Looking out the window, it seems as if you are going to plow into some apartment buildings. That coupled with the always bumpy approach doesn't make for a very relaxing last few minutes.
We land, and it feels like the pilot has tried to stomp on the runway. Taxi in, past more of the concrete parentheses hangars, and that's when the rain starts to fall. Of course, because I'm a low cost carrier, we don't actually use an airbridge but park on the tarmac and have to take the airstairs--getting wet in the process, but I'm glad to get off the plane, so the rain really doesn't bother me all that much--and take the bus to the domestic terminal past some of the various 777's and A330's being refueled and reloaded for trips further afield. Of course, getting on the bus was a process in and of itself, since there were only two buses for about 150 or so people, and the Vietnamese clustered around the two exits, even though there was plenty of space in the middle, which meant that I had to elbow my way through to the empty space. Getting off the bus wasn't a problem, provided you were capable of some mobility and didn't mind getting getting pushed forward by a surging crowd.
In the U.S., a thunderstorm with visible lightning would be grounds to temporarily close the airport (mainly to protect the ground staff). Not in Vietnam. Airport ops continue as normal. To be fair, though, they probably have a lot more experience in dealing with tropical storms because of the seasonal nature of them (otherwise, they'd have to cancel all flights during the rainy season between 3-8pm--which isn't going to happen).
Hop off the bus and hello baggage claim chaos, or at least what I thought was chaos. Real chaos awaits outside the domestic baggage claim in the form of the "line" for taxis, and by "line" I mean general free-for-all. Taxis pull up and whoever is first to hop in or put their stuff in claims it. Shockingly, this isn't the most efficient process--as demonstrated by the actions of one vietnamese man who sat down in the passenger seat of one taxi, while another guy had just started to put his luggage in the back--the guy in the seat, even though he sat down after the other guy had put one of his bags in the back, refused to budge, and the bag-holder was forced to unload his stuff, and look for another taxi. Thank god I decided to stick with my rowmates and share a taxi into the main cheap hotel area, Pham Ngu Lao, or I would probably still be stuck there.
I would like to think that the taxi situation is a lot more orderly outside the international terminal, considering it is the leading port of entry for foreigners into Vietnam and is served by Lufthansa, Air France, and United, but it could just as easily be a cultural immersion experience as soon as you step off the plane. "Welcome to Vietnam--elbow pads not included."
But I'll get to that in a moment.
I had four realistic options for flying from Hoi An down to Saigon. Now, Hoi An doesn't have an airport, but it is only about 30-45 minute drive to Danang's airport, which is the third or fourth busiest in Vietnam. Either 8 am, noon, 445pm, or 9pm. 8am and 9pm were too early/late respectively, and I wasn't sure that I'd be able to make the noon flight if I had some last minute alterations to get done--so, late-afternoon it was. Hindsight, of course, says I should have taken the noon flight.
So, what did I do with my half-day or so, needing to catch a 3pm cab to the airport?
I hopped on a motorbike and went to Cua Dai beach--the one closest to Hoi An. I would have loved to have been there for sunrise, but I could never get up early enough to go there (a shame, since it would have been spectacular). At around 9 or 10 in the morning, the place was relatively deserted. It was too hot for the Vietnamese, and the western tourists hadn't come out yet, so I largely had the place to myself. Sat on a plastic red chair provided by a drink vendor, and caught up on some reading, and regretted having to leave Hoi An.
Eventually made my way back to Hoi An town around noon or so, and I wandered around Hoi An, looking for some food. Along the way, managed to stumble into a conversation with an American family from Miami who were just passing by on a cruise that started in Singapore and would end up in Seoul--the oldest kid was about to start Boston College, but wanted to go to Georgetown's School of Foreign Service, but was unfortunately turned down.
Stopped in at a local place, and ran into two girls that I had met earlier, so I sat down and ate with them, while drinking a fresh beer--usually that would be a mistake, drinking and flying, but I sure could have used one later on during the flight.
I caught my cab, and was off to go see DAD--Danang's rather unique ICAO airport code. Danang's airport, located smack dab in the middle of Danang, kind of like how La Guardia is in New York, is also the former airfield used by the US and the South Vietnamese during their combat operations during the war. At one point, it was the busiest single runway airport in the world (San Diego's Lindbergh Field now holds that title). Concrete arch-shaped hangars dating from the war days are easily visible from the terminal, as are what appear to be some other war relics in the form of former base buildings that have yet to be torn down, because they are located on the opposite side of the airfield from the passenger terminal.
I'm dropped off and enter the chaos all too prevalent in Vietnamese public facilities. I am cut in line several times, before finally being aggressive and get to the front of the (short) line myself. I make eye contact with the girl behind the check-in desk, which comes in handy, as just as I am ready to present my passport and info, a lady comes out of nowhere and takes my place at the desk. Fortunately, the eye contact comes in handy, as the check-in lady tells the cutter that I was there first and that she has to wait behind me. "Thank god" I thought to myself (which shows you just how little hope I had in terms of this being an orderly operation).
Check in, and enter the secure waiting room area. For whatever reason, even though people are fanning themselves and parking themselves in any sort of shade they can find, the Vietnamese don't seem to realize that drawing the shades on the terminal windows would probably cool off the building tremendously--as it was boiling in there.
Meanwhile, kids are running all over the place, screaming, yelling, and doing god knows what, and I soon find out that my flight has been delayed by about 30 minutes or so. Of course--bad things always happen in threes--annoying kids? check. boiling waiting room? check. delayed flight? check. Fortunately, the annoying kids are all going to Hanoi on the flight that was supposed to leave after us, but is actually leaving before us.
As to be expected, the 30 minute delay turns into an hour delay, which means that the time we board is the time that we are supposed to have been landing at Tan Son Nhat. At this point the weather is clear, but the longer we wait, the increased likelihood of us running into some storms on the way to SGN.
For those of you that were alive in the 60s or are fans of post WWII US History, then the name Tan Son Nhat (or Nhut) should be familiar to you--it was the name of the major air base just on the then-outskirts of Saigon, and at one point was the busiest airport in the world. Though bombed and attacked by the North Vietnamese during the war, post fall of Saigon, the airfield was repaired and restored to its original purpose--serving as Saigon's primary airport--a role which it still fills (albeit for not much longer--it is due to be replaced by a larger airfield in the coming years, but will still be open to domestic flights, similar to how Don Mueang--another airfield used during the Vietnam War--serves Bangkok).
So, in flying from Danang to Saigon, I was flying the former South Vietnamese domestic trunk route, using the exact same airfields (I know, it's nerdy, but if you are an aviation history buff like I am, then it's cool).
We board the aircraft, and I see that Danang is in the process of building a brand new (and much needed) airport terminal to serve as the gateway to the developments being built farther down the shore. Visible from the aircraft are the vertical parentheses shaped concrete hangars lining the terminal that appear to be relics from the 60s/70s. A pair of Vietnam Airlines A330's (one in the skyteam scheme) are parked on the tarmac, indicating the growth of domestic traffic on some popular routes. As we roll down the runway for takeoff, further evidence of the former air base presents itself in the form of old warehouse buildings and bigger hangars.
The first half of the flight passes without incident, and we are treated to a spectacular sunset (a spectacular sunset? in the tropics? nah), as the orange sun passes between the various cloud layers that serve as portholes. Unfortunately, the soundtrack, provided by a middle aged woman hocking loogies behind me, wasn't so spectacular.
We then start passing through the various cloud layers on descent into Tan Son Nhat and it is pitch dark outside as we go through some turbulence.
Minutes later, my worst fears are confirmed. 15 minutes or so from landing, with the lights of Saigon and the surrounding communities visible, lightning begins to illuminate the sky. Looking back, it was indeed an amazing sight, but enjoying a scenic view was the last thing on my mind as I passed through an electrical storm on a giant metal lightning rod. My palms were sweaty and I was freaking out, and the last 15 minutes of the flight seemed to last for an hour. I told my seatmates--a young scottish couple on their way to Hong Kong--that I would get the first round that night if we landed safely.
I knew Tan Son Nhat was an urban airport--similar to La Guardia in that it is surrounded by the city--but nothing can prepare you until you've landed there for the first time. Looking out the window, it seems as if you are going to plow into some apartment buildings. That coupled with the always bumpy approach doesn't make for a very relaxing last few minutes.
We land, and it feels like the pilot has tried to stomp on the runway. Taxi in, past more of the concrete parentheses hangars, and that's when the rain starts to fall. Of course, because I'm a low cost carrier, we don't actually use an airbridge but park on the tarmac and have to take the airstairs--getting wet in the process, but I'm glad to get off the plane, so the rain really doesn't bother me all that much--and take the bus to the domestic terminal past some of the various 777's and A330's being refueled and reloaded for trips further afield. Of course, getting on the bus was a process in and of itself, since there were only two buses for about 150 or so people, and the Vietnamese clustered around the two exits, even though there was plenty of space in the middle, which meant that I had to elbow my way through to the empty space. Getting off the bus wasn't a problem, provided you were capable of some mobility and didn't mind getting getting pushed forward by a surging crowd.
In the U.S., a thunderstorm with visible lightning would be grounds to temporarily close the airport (mainly to protect the ground staff). Not in Vietnam. Airport ops continue as normal. To be fair, though, they probably have a lot more experience in dealing with tropical storms because of the seasonal nature of them (otherwise, they'd have to cancel all flights during the rainy season between 3-8pm--which isn't going to happen).
Hop off the bus and hello baggage claim chaos, or at least what I thought was chaos. Real chaos awaits outside the domestic baggage claim in the form of the "line" for taxis, and by "line" I mean general free-for-all. Taxis pull up and whoever is first to hop in or put their stuff in claims it. Shockingly, this isn't the most efficient process--as demonstrated by the actions of one vietnamese man who sat down in the passenger seat of one taxi, while another guy had just started to put his luggage in the back--the guy in the seat, even though he sat down after the other guy had put one of his bags in the back, refused to budge, and the bag-holder was forced to unload his stuff, and look for another taxi. Thank god I decided to stick with my rowmates and share a taxi into the main cheap hotel area, Pham Ngu Lao, or I would probably still be stuck there.
I would like to think that the taxi situation is a lot more orderly outside the international terminal, considering it is the leading port of entry for foreigners into Vietnam and is served by Lufthansa, Air France, and United, but it could just as easily be a cultural immersion experience as soon as you step off the plane. "Welcome to Vietnam--elbow pads not included."
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Sweating like a lineman in two-a-days
It's 845 or so, the mercury is already pushing 35 (or something like that), which means that it is the perfect time (clearly) to climb a mountain.
Well, not really--not unless you count going up a cement staircase "mountain climbing." I have previously mentioned the Marble Mountains in prior posts--they are a group of five or so Karst outcroppings that used to be islands back when the sea level was higher--nowadays, they mark the entrance to China Beach.
On the largest outcropping, there are a whole bunch of temples and lookout points to see, so, with a spare day in hand, I figured, why the hell not?
Hopped on a motorbike, and he took me directly to the place, first stopping to top off the tank with some gas--I was always suspicious when my hired ride would stop off for gas, ready to hop off if they asked for money, since me paying for gas wasn't implied or agreed upon, but this only happened to me once, in Surabaya--and then wisely parked in the covered garage of one of the various handicraft places that cluster the base of the main marble mountain.
If it wasn't for the heat and the humidity, the staircase climb wouldn't have been any big deal--but, as always, H&H makes everything a little more difficult than it should be.
Walk around some of the pagodas, and admire them, but don't really go in--I'm really there for the views of the surrounding countryside.
I walk up to one viewpoint of the beach, and pass a bench...sponsored by Coca Cola. I walk back down, and then walk slightly uphill to a natural open-air cavern that is exposed to the sun, but whose high walls effectively shade the entire area, and provide a welcome respite from the heat.
Seeking a higher vantage point, I climb up a staircase shielded from the heat by various trees and vegetation, and leads up to one of the summits of the marble mountains. After you reach the top of the staircase, you get a better view of the beach, but not so much a 360 panorama. There is another trail leading slightly off of the panoramic viewpoint, but is much more rocky--and is also exposed to the heat. Boulders are clustered in the middle of this narrow path, and the only way to get past them is to climb over them. The boulders are hot to the touch, having been warmed by the heat, and I finally reach a point that I can't go any further, or at least think I can't go any further. I head back down, and see that a vietnamese girl has managed to climb up that same path, which gives me the motivation I need to will myself over a particularly difficult step.
Of course, the path proves to be a path to nowhere--and I have two choices to get down--one, by going down through a narrow passage into a dark cave that some people have climbed out of, or retrace my steps. I decide to retrace my steps back down.
After getting back down, I need to cool off--I'm hot, feel a little bit dehydrated, and my head is starting to hurt a bit. I've also sweated through my white tshirt, and it appears as if I've entered myself in a wet tshirt contest. It was easily the hottest that I've been since the first time I strapped on a football helmet in seventh grade, during my short-lived, ill-advised attempt at being a football player (It was the first day of practice in the late August early afternoon heat, and we weren't in full pads, but we had assumed that the school would be providing water--an assumption that proved disastrous when it was proved wrong, and about 30-35 seventh graders suffered borderline heat exhaustion--I still vividly remember the sweat dripping down from my helmet, stinging my eyes, and making me miserable. I should have quit right then and there).
Shelter and relief comes in the form of a marked up bottle of water and a limestone cave whose moist and cool air is a godsend. My presence in the cave attracts the attention of a group of vietnamese high school students, all of whom are eager to talk to me. I have to admit, as occasionally annoying as the school groups could be in Indonesia, I never actually minded them--it was innocent curiosity, and an eagerness to learn and talk to a foreigner--and I actually came to miss the attention/feeling like a celebrity when I was in Laos and in Vietnam--where that sort of tradition isn't as common. I oblige (again, I wasn't really doing anything other than trying to cool off, and as long as I was able to sit down, I was fine with it), and try to break through the cultural/linguistic barrier to the best of my abilities. When I told them I was from America, not a single one of them batted an eye--they, like myself, were born after the war, and have no memories of it (although, to be fair, I never got a dirty look when I told people I was an American, even from people old enough to have grown up during the war--it seemed that everybody had a relative who lived in the U.S., and were eager to visit the U.S. themselves).
Again, it was a nice and enjoyable moment, one that I probably would not have experienced if I was traveling with somebody else.
After cooling off, I walk to another lookout point, one that faces inland, and I got a great view of the valley/coastal plain that Danang and Hoi An sit on, surrounded by the Annamite mountains on all sides.
I find my motorbike driver back in the shop, and, just for grins decide to walk around and look at all the marble statues and figurines, which the owner swears are handmade. I find that hard to believe, considering how identical all of them are to another. The claim that all are made out of marble is also quite dubious, as the clear plastic shell slightly visible on some figurines demonstrates that at least some of them are made out of hardened plastic. Of course, these hardened plastic ones are the ones that are being pushed by the most by the vendor.
I walk out and have the motorbike driver drop me off by the Hoi An river, and I hire a boat to take me on an hour tour upriver towards a bird sanctuary.
Just like Hue, Hoi An goes from urban to rural in about five minutes, and past the main bridge, the river banks are either lined with the houses and boats of fishermen, or of trees and various other scrubland vegetation. Orange/yellowish fisherman's nets are spread out and mounted on poles, forming a netted canopy over parts of the river for whatever reason. White storks/egrets are also numerous, and their graceful form is spectacular to watch as they glide and skim right over the water, looking for their next meal.
After retreating back to my room to take my version of a siesta, witching hour neared once more--and on my last afternoon/night in Hoi An, this meant one thing: going back to China Beach.
Because of a taller than usual storm front over the mountains, the scene wasn't as spectacular as it was the first time around, and the beach was slightly more crowded. I dipped my toes in the warm South China Sea, and wandered around for one last time, at peace with my surroundings. It was a great setting, but not as spectacular as my first time there.
I headed back to Hoi An, and wandered around the riverfront, hoping to catch the sunset, which due to the aforementioned storm front, wasn't going to happen. That doesn't mean I didn't see something cool, though. As the sun hid behind a tall thunderhead, thanks to some atmospheric phenomenon regarding light refraction, a part of the cloud managed to turn green. At first I didn't believe my eyes, and rubbed them just to make sure I was seeing straight. On second glance, yes the cloud was actually green, and then changed to pink as well. I tried to take a picture, but the color didn't come out as well as I would have liked it.
This wasn't the legendary green flash that sailors often talk about as the sun disappears below the horizon, simply because the sun wasn't below the horizon, but it can probably be explained by someone with a much better scientific background than myself.
Well, not really--not unless you count going up a cement staircase "mountain climbing." I have previously mentioned the Marble Mountains in prior posts--they are a group of five or so Karst outcroppings that used to be islands back when the sea level was higher--nowadays, they mark the entrance to China Beach.
On the largest outcropping, there are a whole bunch of temples and lookout points to see, so, with a spare day in hand, I figured, why the hell not?
Hopped on a motorbike, and he took me directly to the place, first stopping to top off the tank with some gas--I was always suspicious when my hired ride would stop off for gas, ready to hop off if they asked for money, since me paying for gas wasn't implied or agreed upon, but this only happened to me once, in Surabaya--and then wisely parked in the covered garage of one of the various handicraft places that cluster the base of the main marble mountain.
If it wasn't for the heat and the humidity, the staircase climb wouldn't have been any big deal--but, as always, H&H makes everything a little more difficult than it should be.
Walk around some of the pagodas, and admire them, but don't really go in--I'm really there for the views of the surrounding countryside.
I walk up to one viewpoint of the beach, and pass a bench...sponsored by Coca Cola. I walk back down, and then walk slightly uphill to a natural open-air cavern that is exposed to the sun, but whose high walls effectively shade the entire area, and provide a welcome respite from the heat.
Seeking a higher vantage point, I climb up a staircase shielded from the heat by various trees and vegetation, and leads up to one of the summits of the marble mountains. After you reach the top of the staircase, you get a better view of the beach, but not so much a 360 panorama. There is another trail leading slightly off of the panoramic viewpoint, but is much more rocky--and is also exposed to the heat. Boulders are clustered in the middle of this narrow path, and the only way to get past them is to climb over them. The boulders are hot to the touch, having been warmed by the heat, and I finally reach a point that I can't go any further, or at least think I can't go any further. I head back down, and see that a vietnamese girl has managed to climb up that same path, which gives me the motivation I need to will myself over a particularly difficult step.
Of course, the path proves to be a path to nowhere--and I have two choices to get down--one, by going down through a narrow passage into a dark cave that some people have climbed out of, or retrace my steps. I decide to retrace my steps back down.
After getting back down, I need to cool off--I'm hot, feel a little bit dehydrated, and my head is starting to hurt a bit. I've also sweated through my white tshirt, and it appears as if I've entered myself in a wet tshirt contest. It was easily the hottest that I've been since the first time I strapped on a football helmet in seventh grade, during my short-lived, ill-advised attempt at being a football player (It was the first day of practice in the late August early afternoon heat, and we weren't in full pads, but we had assumed that the school would be providing water--an assumption that proved disastrous when it was proved wrong, and about 30-35 seventh graders suffered borderline heat exhaustion--I still vividly remember the sweat dripping down from my helmet, stinging my eyes, and making me miserable. I should have quit right then and there).
Shelter and relief comes in the form of a marked up bottle of water and a limestone cave whose moist and cool air is a godsend. My presence in the cave attracts the attention of a group of vietnamese high school students, all of whom are eager to talk to me. I have to admit, as occasionally annoying as the school groups could be in Indonesia, I never actually minded them--it was innocent curiosity, and an eagerness to learn and talk to a foreigner--and I actually came to miss the attention/feeling like a celebrity when I was in Laos and in Vietnam--where that sort of tradition isn't as common. I oblige (again, I wasn't really doing anything other than trying to cool off, and as long as I was able to sit down, I was fine with it), and try to break through the cultural/linguistic barrier to the best of my abilities. When I told them I was from America, not a single one of them batted an eye--they, like myself, were born after the war, and have no memories of it (although, to be fair, I never got a dirty look when I told people I was an American, even from people old enough to have grown up during the war--it seemed that everybody had a relative who lived in the U.S., and were eager to visit the U.S. themselves).
Again, it was a nice and enjoyable moment, one that I probably would not have experienced if I was traveling with somebody else.
After cooling off, I walk to another lookout point, one that faces inland, and I got a great view of the valley/coastal plain that Danang and Hoi An sit on, surrounded by the Annamite mountains on all sides.
I find my motorbike driver back in the shop, and, just for grins decide to walk around and look at all the marble statues and figurines, which the owner swears are handmade. I find that hard to believe, considering how identical all of them are to another. The claim that all are made out of marble is also quite dubious, as the clear plastic shell slightly visible on some figurines demonstrates that at least some of them are made out of hardened plastic. Of course, these hardened plastic ones are the ones that are being pushed by the most by the vendor.
I walk out and have the motorbike driver drop me off by the Hoi An river, and I hire a boat to take me on an hour tour upriver towards a bird sanctuary.
Just like Hue, Hoi An goes from urban to rural in about five minutes, and past the main bridge, the river banks are either lined with the houses and boats of fishermen, or of trees and various other scrubland vegetation. Orange/yellowish fisherman's nets are spread out and mounted on poles, forming a netted canopy over parts of the river for whatever reason. White storks/egrets are also numerous, and their graceful form is spectacular to watch as they glide and skim right over the water, looking for their next meal.
After retreating back to my room to take my version of a siesta, witching hour neared once more--and on my last afternoon/night in Hoi An, this meant one thing: going back to China Beach.
Because of a taller than usual storm front over the mountains, the scene wasn't as spectacular as it was the first time around, and the beach was slightly more crowded. I dipped my toes in the warm South China Sea, and wandered around for one last time, at peace with my surroundings. It was a great setting, but not as spectacular as my first time there.
I headed back to Hoi An, and wandered around the riverfront, hoping to catch the sunset, which due to the aforementioned storm front, wasn't going to happen. That doesn't mean I didn't see something cool, though. As the sun hid behind a tall thunderhead, thanks to some atmospheric phenomenon regarding light refraction, a part of the cloud managed to turn green. At first I didn't believe my eyes, and rubbed them just to make sure I was seeing straight. On second glance, yes the cloud was actually green, and then changed to pink as well. I tried to take a picture, but the color didn't come out as well as I would have liked it.
This wasn't the legendary green flash that sailors often talk about as the sun disappears below the horizon, simply because the sun wasn't below the horizon, but it can probably be explained by someone with a much better scientific background than myself.
Its always a bit of a relief to see examples of foreign kids acting similarly to American kids (or maybe slightly disturbing if we've managed to export the behavior in question, like playing video games all day), but I guess certain traits are global. One global trait is that elementary school aged boys all have a bit of a sadistic streak in them. American kids get that out of their system through the use of magnifying glasses on ants, and easily obtained fire crackers. Vietnamese kids get their kicks by playing with matches--and torturing crabs. I see two Vietnamese boys, none older than 10, sitting on the ground, striking some matches and directing the flame on some small scurrying object, which I discover is a small, penny-sized crab desperately trying to flee.
My last night in Hoi An is spent as expected--at the bar, watching soccer, and talking to people--though I am forced to decline an invitation to stay out later, since my body was physically exhausted, and I had to catch a flight the next day.
Ugly Canadians...I hope
So, later that night, I'm back at the bar hanging out, and I hear a crash and see some commotion. Apparently a customer has caused a waitress to break a glass by hitting her serving tray. No big deal, I think, stuff like that happens all the time.
Well, evidently there was something that I missed because 30 minutes later, the girl that caused the breakage comes up to the bar and demands a gin and tonic (she could have been American or Canadian--as the only distinguishing part of her accent was that it was North American English). Apparently, the waitress refused to serve her (which makes me think that it was more than just an accident, or that this customer had done more than just broken some glass), so she came up to the bar, thinking she would get better service.
The bartenders immediately defer to the manager, who shakes his head and says "no." The girl gets irate and says, "no, I am spending a ton of cash here, and I want my freaking gin and tonic." At this point, all the bar staff and nearly all the wait staff are just standing there, staring at her with blank looks on their faces. The manager explains--she has already broken a couple of glasses, and has apparently been disrespectful to his waitstaff, so, no more for her. She then yells, "you know what? this is bad business. FUCK YOU!" and then storms off.
The manager just shakes his head, his staff have a look of shock on their faces. In SE Asia, the concept of saving face is extremely important--nobody wants to be embarrassed, shamed, or publicly disrespected--and the easiest way to lose face, and burn bridges with the locals observing your behavior, is by losing your cool and getting into a loud verbal argument and otherwise flipping out. While in the west, we might empathize with the person depending on the situation, in the east, you are always supposed to keep smiling while trying to work through the issue at hand, trying to find the best possible solution for both parties.
Admittedly, I'm biased when it comes to this particular scenario --I had prior encounters with both persons involved. I had gotten to know the manager over the course of several nights, and he was a good guy--he wasn't out to get tourists or purposely enrage his customers, and he seemed to be well liked by his staff. I had seen the girl several times--we had stayed at the same hostel in Hanoi, and I had also seen her out and about in Hoi An--she struck me as someone who, to put it politely, liked to have a good time--I don't think I ever saw her without a drink in her hand.
But she screwed herself over when she flipped out and became ultra-demanding. Besides, no matter where you are, you are never going to win an argument when you start throwing around insults. Fortunately, in the several nights I was there, that was the only incident of rude and ugly tourist behavior that I saw.
Well, evidently there was something that I missed because 30 minutes later, the girl that caused the breakage comes up to the bar and demands a gin and tonic (she could have been American or Canadian--as the only distinguishing part of her accent was that it was North American English). Apparently, the waitress refused to serve her (which makes me think that it was more than just an accident, or that this customer had done more than just broken some glass), so she came up to the bar, thinking she would get better service.
The bartenders immediately defer to the manager, who shakes his head and says "no." The girl gets irate and says, "no, I am spending a ton of cash here, and I want my freaking gin and tonic." At this point, all the bar staff and nearly all the wait staff are just standing there, staring at her with blank looks on their faces. The manager explains--she has already broken a couple of glasses, and has apparently been disrespectful to his waitstaff, so, no more for her. She then yells, "you know what? this is bad business. FUCK YOU!" and then storms off.
The manager just shakes his head, his staff have a look of shock on their faces. In SE Asia, the concept of saving face is extremely important--nobody wants to be embarrassed, shamed, or publicly disrespected--and the easiest way to lose face, and burn bridges with the locals observing your behavior, is by losing your cool and getting into a loud verbal argument and otherwise flipping out. While in the west, we might empathize with the person depending on the situation, in the east, you are always supposed to keep smiling while trying to work through the issue at hand, trying to find the best possible solution for both parties.
Admittedly, I'm biased when it comes to this particular scenario --I had prior encounters with both persons involved. I had gotten to know the manager over the course of several nights, and he was a good guy--he wasn't out to get tourists or purposely enrage his customers, and he seemed to be well liked by his staff. I had seen the girl several times--we had stayed at the same hostel in Hanoi, and I had also seen her out and about in Hoi An--she struck me as someone who, to put it politely, liked to have a good time--I don't think I ever saw her without a drink in her hand.
But she screwed herself over when she flipped out and became ultra-demanding. Besides, no matter where you are, you are never going to win an argument when you start throwing around insults. Fortunately, in the several nights I was there, that was the only incident of rude and ugly tourist behavior that I saw.
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