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.
Monday, June 28, 2010
biking to the beach
Whereas I needed the previous night just to rest up, following my impromptu attempt at being a nature photographer and taking pictures of lightning, I decided to see if I could find a place that was little more lively. Most of the restaurants are laid-back places--places to sit and sip wine. As I've mentioned, I'm not exactly a wine drinker, so I was looking for somewhere a little more bar-ish.
Forunately, as I wander around, I find a bar showing the world cup game that is packed to the gills with orange-clad dutch supporters watching their game against denmark. Fortunately, they have an upstairs area that was pleasantly deserted (which was fine, because I hadn't had dinner yet). I sit by one of the TV screens and end up talking with a guy sitting nearby (somehow, there was a time-lag of about several seconds between the upstairs feed and the downstairs feed, which was made evident by the downstairs screams occurring five seconds after the play in question was broadcast upstairs). Turns out, the guy was not only a Dane who was watching more out of morbid curiosity, but he was also the former manager of the bar, who is in the process of trying to set up his own restaurant in Hoi An. Not only was he the former manager, his girlfriend worked at the bar, which meant that all of the staff were coming over and talking to him.
Now, people in SE Asia tend to be relatively guarded--especially around tourists--but all you need is one "in" or "connection"--even if that connection is someone who literally just met--and the guard drops (to the extent that it can--generally, the culture views reserve as a desired personality trait, which means if someone who you just met is being overly friendly, they want something from you).
That was the same night that I broke two of my "rules"--I had red bull or at least a red bull knockoff (they actually make a sports drink that is red bull flavored gatorade without any of the taurine or whatever they use to give red bull the kick--and yes, red bull flavored gatorade does taste nasty--its called Sponsor, and avoid it at all costs), and I had a whiskey bucket. And yes, it was the same night that I ran into the girl whose family counts Kinky Friedman as a valued customer.
Fortunately, I wasn't planning on doing anything the next day, which was fine because I got to bed late. Of course, I was awakened by the sound of the air conditioner and power switching off in the morning because of the rolling blackouts due to the low water level in the Mekong not generating enough hydroelectricity.
After taking care of some errands, it was the middle of the day. Now, considering how hot and humid it was, I should have just found some nice cafe and rested and relaxed for the rest of the afternoon. That would have required some common sense, though.
Instead, I decided to rent a bike and ride out to a beach that was about 4kms away. I should also mention at this point that the only map I had was a small business card sized map of the city center. I had seen some signs pointing to where the beach was, but I generally had no clue where I was going. I just figured I'd take the road in the direction the sign said and see what would come of it. (Riding bikes and going up stairs are great ways of determining how out of shape you are, and what exactly is wrong with your body. Unsurprisingly, my tweaky left knee was still tweaky as always).
To summarize:
Nearly 100 degree heat with 100% humidity.
Feeling somewhat worn out/ill from the night before, and already sweating like a pig before hopping on a bike.
Having a tweaky left knee that is not up to full strength.
Only having a general idea where I was going--but no real map to speak of.
--and I decide to go anyway.
I'm sure my parents are glad to know that they've raised a kid capable of making such intelligent choices.
For a buck, I get a bike and start heading east on the main road. There's no official tradition of a "siesta" in Vietnam, but there might as well be--the once bustling streets turn eerily quiet between the hours of about 1 and 4pm, and the only people stupid enough to be out and about in the midday heat are tourists. So, I generally have the road to myself, except for other westerners heading that same way. The road isn't all that scenic for the first half--just pass a bunch of stores and various developments, although you do have to go over a couple of creeks--then you pass a river to your right and then are in the ricefields again for a little while as you have to climb over a bridge before finally arriving at the beach--a more crowded, less scenic, more developed China Beach stretch of sand, although with a better view of the Cham Islands.
By the time I arrived at the beach, I was sweating like a pig and decided to find some place to camp out in the shade (with the intention of writing in my journal) for a couple of hours before "witching hour"--as I came to dub the time between 415 and 515pm--approached and it was nice enough to walk around again. I found a shaded restaurant, parked my bike, covered the seat with the scarf I bought in Cambodia, and had a drink.
The nice thing about travelling in SE Asia is that it is pretty easy to strike up a conversation with a fellow tourist, especially if you are both solo. It helps that it is also easy to identify the tourists--they are either the people who don't look asian (read: mostly white people), or, if they are of asian heritage (whether that be korean, japanese, chinese, or asian-american/european), the people who don't dress like the locals. This is a good general rule for everywhere except Singapore, where, for non-asians, add the condition that they are not wearing a suit or any other form of professional attire.
****Social psychology sidetrack (skip if you wish--I have no background in psychology other than two classes, one of which I took credit/d/fail, the other I dropped before it could appear on my transcript, so what appears below is, at best, something approaching brain droppings)
I honestly don't know why it is easier to talk to a stranger and to meet new people on the road than when you are at home. It should be exact opposite: you and a stranger meeting at home are more likely to have shared traits (cultural background, ethnic background, life experience) that should make it easier to find common ground. Of course, the shared background presents its own difficulties: namely, a hierarchy of social rules and customs that govern interactions between two people at home, preconceived stereotypes based on the stranger's behavior and dress, and the realization that the two of you are probably share a common friend or acquaintance. Pigeon-holing while traveling is generally limited to age range and nationality, some of the b.s. rules that govern social interactions back home are thrown out (leaving you only with the essentials), and the chances of you having a shared contact is considerably less. There's also zero pressure, because you are also less likely to continue to run into this person. Of course, the simplest explanation is that people on vacation are just in a better mood and are friendlier than when they are at home. Again, I don't know the answer--the only conclusion I can make is that for whatever reason, people are just more approachable when they are on vacation.
****End social psychology sidetrack
Anyway, as I'm downing water bottle after water bottle to make up for all the sweating I've done, I'm watching some random movie in this outdoor restaurant underneath a fan (upon further in-depth research--wikipedia--I discovered that the movie was probably "airheads." Not one of Brendan Fraser's finest, but it is a cheap time machine to the early 90s) and strike up a conversation with a girl sitting at the table next to mine. Though she's a born and raised englishwoman, my hunch is that she's of mixed racial background, a hunch which is confirmed when she tells me that after Vietnam, she is headed to see her mother's family in Indonesia--and she is proficient enough in Bahasa to shock touts and merchants who try to overcharge her.
She's from Leeds (for whatever reason, the two most common hometowns/areas for the English that I met, other than London, were Leeds and Yorkshire), but works at the University of Manchester in their social anthropology department, and managed to get her ticket to Vietnam, as well as some expenses, paid for by the university, as she was conducting research in Saigon. It turns out she did a year abroad at Arizona State while studying photography (and had a blast).
We both notice an interesting phenomenon--the majority of the people on beaches in Vietnam between the hours of about 9 to 4pm are pale and pasty foreigners or wealthy vietnamese (which you can tell by their dress). As soon as 4pm rolls around, however, rush hour for the locals occurs, and the beach is swarming with extended families and groups of friends seeking to enjoy the last 2.5 hours of daylight--this probably isn't a coincidence, as 4pm to sunset is the nicest part of the day by far.
After considerably cooling off, we decide to join them and just walk on the beach for about an hour or so and see the good (older vietnamese couples burying each other in the sand, young vietnamese couples with their lifejacket swaddled children), the bad (merchants placing mats along the shoreline and pestering us to sit down and have some food, the sheer crowds), and the just plain ugly (villas/developments along one end of the shoreline, white "whales" sunbathing and wearing banana hammocks near said properties). It was a nice setting, but I thought China Beach was actually nicer because it was bigger, less touristy, and had better views.
Ride back as the sun again sets over the ricefields, and I do my usual routine of go to the bar, eat, and end up meeting an ex PWC employee from london, and a UBS worker from L.A. who is in the process of being transferred to New York.
Forunately, as I wander around, I find a bar showing the world cup game that is packed to the gills with orange-clad dutch supporters watching their game against denmark. Fortunately, they have an upstairs area that was pleasantly deserted (which was fine, because I hadn't had dinner yet). I sit by one of the TV screens and end up talking with a guy sitting nearby (somehow, there was a time-lag of about several seconds between the upstairs feed and the downstairs feed, which was made evident by the downstairs screams occurring five seconds after the play in question was broadcast upstairs). Turns out, the guy was not only a Dane who was watching more out of morbid curiosity, but he was also the former manager of the bar, who is in the process of trying to set up his own restaurant in Hoi An. Not only was he the former manager, his girlfriend worked at the bar, which meant that all of the staff were coming over and talking to him.
Now, people in SE Asia tend to be relatively guarded--especially around tourists--but all you need is one "in" or "connection"--even if that connection is someone who literally just met--and the guard drops (to the extent that it can--generally, the culture views reserve as a desired personality trait, which means if someone who you just met is being overly friendly, they want something from you).
That was the same night that I broke two of my "rules"--I had red bull or at least a red bull knockoff (they actually make a sports drink that is red bull flavored gatorade without any of the taurine or whatever they use to give red bull the kick--and yes, red bull flavored gatorade does taste nasty--its called Sponsor, and avoid it at all costs), and I had a whiskey bucket. And yes, it was the same night that I ran into the girl whose family counts Kinky Friedman as a valued customer.
Fortunately, I wasn't planning on doing anything the next day, which was fine because I got to bed late. Of course, I was awakened by the sound of the air conditioner and power switching off in the morning because of the rolling blackouts due to the low water level in the Mekong not generating enough hydroelectricity.
After taking care of some errands, it was the middle of the day. Now, considering how hot and humid it was, I should have just found some nice cafe and rested and relaxed for the rest of the afternoon. That would have required some common sense, though.
Instead, I decided to rent a bike and ride out to a beach that was about 4kms away. I should also mention at this point that the only map I had was a small business card sized map of the city center. I had seen some signs pointing to where the beach was, but I generally had no clue where I was going. I just figured I'd take the road in the direction the sign said and see what would come of it. (Riding bikes and going up stairs are great ways of determining how out of shape you are, and what exactly is wrong with your body. Unsurprisingly, my tweaky left knee was still tweaky as always).
To summarize:
Nearly 100 degree heat with 100% humidity.
Feeling somewhat worn out/ill from the night before, and already sweating like a pig before hopping on a bike.
Having a tweaky left knee that is not up to full strength.
Only having a general idea where I was going--but no real map to speak of.
--and I decide to go anyway.
I'm sure my parents are glad to know that they've raised a kid capable of making such intelligent choices.
For a buck, I get a bike and start heading east on the main road. There's no official tradition of a "siesta" in Vietnam, but there might as well be--the once bustling streets turn eerily quiet between the hours of about 1 and 4pm, and the only people stupid enough to be out and about in the midday heat are tourists. So, I generally have the road to myself, except for other westerners heading that same way. The road isn't all that scenic for the first half--just pass a bunch of stores and various developments, although you do have to go over a couple of creeks--then you pass a river to your right and then are in the ricefields again for a little while as you have to climb over a bridge before finally arriving at the beach--a more crowded, less scenic, more developed China Beach stretch of sand, although with a better view of the Cham Islands.
By the time I arrived at the beach, I was sweating like a pig and decided to find some place to camp out in the shade (with the intention of writing in my journal) for a couple of hours before "witching hour"--as I came to dub the time between 415 and 515pm--approached and it was nice enough to walk around again. I found a shaded restaurant, parked my bike, covered the seat with the scarf I bought in Cambodia, and had a drink.
The nice thing about travelling in SE Asia is that it is pretty easy to strike up a conversation with a fellow tourist, especially if you are both solo. It helps that it is also easy to identify the tourists--they are either the people who don't look asian (read: mostly white people), or, if they are of asian heritage (whether that be korean, japanese, chinese, or asian-american/european), the people who don't dress like the locals. This is a good general rule for everywhere except Singapore, where, for non-asians, add the condition that they are not wearing a suit or any other form of professional attire.
****Social psychology sidetrack (skip if you wish--I have no background in psychology other than two classes, one of which I took credit/d/fail, the other I dropped before it could appear on my transcript, so what appears below is, at best, something approaching brain droppings)
I honestly don't know why it is easier to talk to a stranger and to meet new people on the road than when you are at home. It should be exact opposite: you and a stranger meeting at home are more likely to have shared traits (cultural background, ethnic background, life experience) that should make it easier to find common ground. Of course, the shared background presents its own difficulties: namely, a hierarchy of social rules and customs that govern interactions between two people at home, preconceived stereotypes based on the stranger's behavior and dress, and the realization that the two of you are probably share a common friend or acquaintance. Pigeon-holing while traveling is generally limited to age range and nationality, some of the b.s. rules that govern social interactions back home are thrown out (leaving you only with the essentials), and the chances of you having a shared contact is considerably less. There's also zero pressure, because you are also less likely to continue to run into this person. Of course, the simplest explanation is that people on vacation are just in a better mood and are friendlier than when they are at home. Again, I don't know the answer--the only conclusion I can make is that for whatever reason, people are just more approachable when they are on vacation.
****End social psychology sidetrack
Anyway, as I'm downing water bottle after water bottle to make up for all the sweating I've done, I'm watching some random movie in this outdoor restaurant underneath a fan (upon further in-depth research--wikipedia--I discovered that the movie was probably "airheads." Not one of Brendan Fraser's finest, but it is a cheap time machine to the early 90s) and strike up a conversation with a girl sitting at the table next to mine. Though she's a born and raised englishwoman, my hunch is that she's of mixed racial background, a hunch which is confirmed when she tells me that after Vietnam, she is headed to see her mother's family in Indonesia--and she is proficient enough in Bahasa to shock touts and merchants who try to overcharge her.
She's from Leeds (for whatever reason, the two most common hometowns/areas for the English that I met, other than London, were Leeds and Yorkshire), but works at the University of Manchester in their social anthropology department, and managed to get her ticket to Vietnam, as well as some expenses, paid for by the university, as she was conducting research in Saigon. It turns out she did a year abroad at Arizona State while studying photography (and had a blast).
We both notice an interesting phenomenon--the majority of the people on beaches in Vietnam between the hours of about 9 to 4pm are pale and pasty foreigners or wealthy vietnamese (which you can tell by their dress). As soon as 4pm rolls around, however, rush hour for the locals occurs, and the beach is swarming with extended families and groups of friends seeking to enjoy the last 2.5 hours of daylight--this probably isn't a coincidence, as 4pm to sunset is the nicest part of the day by far.
After considerably cooling off, we decide to join them and just walk on the beach for about an hour or so and see the good (older vietnamese couples burying each other in the sand, young vietnamese couples with their lifejacket swaddled children), the bad (merchants placing mats along the shoreline and pestering us to sit down and have some food, the sheer crowds), and the just plain ugly (villas/developments along one end of the shoreline, white "whales" sunbathing and wearing banana hammocks near said properties). It was a nice setting, but I thought China Beach was actually nicer because it was bigger, less touristy, and had better views.
Ride back as the sun again sets over the ricefields, and I do my usual routine of go to the bar, eat, and end up meeting an ex PWC employee from london, and a UBS worker from L.A. who is in the process of being transferred to New York.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Hoi Ants
I forgot to mention in my previous post one important thing about the bus from Hoi An to Hue--considering that this SE Asia, it wouldn't have been a bus ride without some cheesy music videosof some sorts. The choice for this ride? A bunch of obscure B-side hits from the late 80s.
How obscure? I've listened to a lot of 80s music in my time--and dare I say, actually like it (I never said I had great musical taste)--and so I recognized some of the bands, but I had never heard of most of the songs played. I realize Vietnam was effectively closed off from the world of pop culture during the 1980s, but that doesn't mean that everything they missed out on was worth experiencing. Another bizarre scene--watching some spectacular scenery while trying to stifle my laughter as the corner of my eye spots gregory hines and mikhail baryshnikov (sp?) dancing in a Lionel Richie music video. I repeat: if there is any down, out of work, 80s new wave band who needs the money, launch a reunion tour in SE Asia, and maybe consider living there permanently--you may not make as much money as you did in your heyday, but at least the cost of living is much cheaper. Heck, if I can find a dirt cheap airfare, it might be worth it to start a tribute band and rake in the dough.
So, I arrive in Hoi An around 1pm after having made the customary 30 minute rest-stop for every 1.5 hours on the road. My first impression? This is it? Doesn't look like much to me. It turns out the bus had dropped us off about a couple of hundred yards from the main old town site, near a lot of the budget/good value guesthouses. It was also very hot--and the sun was brutal.
For $12, I agree on a fairly decent room. That's when I notice the ants. (Side note: I hate ants. Passionately. I was literally scarred for life when I was 8 or 9 years old when I reached my hand in some bushes to dig out a basketball after getting out of school for Christmas break, and found my right forearm swarming with fireants, and ran, screaming, into the playroom bathroom to wash them off. Bite scars are still visible to this day). At first, I think that they are no big deal--and, at worst, I can always change rooms or hotels the next night, and I purposely put all my bags on tables away from the ants.
After resting for a bit, I got a map and started to wander around--(another piece of advice: save weight during the daytime by getting a map from your hotel/hostel/tourist office, take it back to your hotel room, look at the guidebook, and mark up what you want to see on the map--then ditch the guidebook. Those things can be hefty, and you really don't need them if you are just wandering around a certain area for the day)--and discovered that the map was a little bit inaccurate and not to scale, but once you figured that out, it was smooth sailing.
They've managed to do a great job of preserving the old town part of Hoi An that clings to the river--the buildings are in the Vietnamese Colonial style--all painted yellow and with the standard roof decorations. I spent the afternoon walking (and sweating) while also avoiding some of the equipment being used to tear up and subsequently repave the streets of Hoi An. That first day, I managed to find an internet cafe--although, in hindsight, I should have skipped it--the place was the previously described internet cafe with a grand total of two fans in a room packed with about 20 or so people, next to a house that was being repaired--and was serenaded by the sound of drills and other construction equipment. The sound and the afternoon heat were just to much to bear and I had to get out of there. Luckily, I was able to find a place much closer (cooler and nicer) that I was able to use, and it became my routine spot--it was a small place run by a family who lived upstairs (very common in vietnam for the merchant or restaurant owner to live either beside or above their business), and also operated a combination dvd/radioshack type of shop.
Had dinner the first night at a nearby place that wasn't all that memorable, but it was decent.
I get back to my room, and go to sleep, purposely trying to avoid the ants. When I woke up the next morning, to my dismay, there were ants all over the place--even where I had put my bag to purposely avoid them. I managed to get all of them off, but enough was enough, and I decided to see if I could change my room. They gave me the key to another room, and I check it out, but discover that there are ants in there too. I get my bags and walk out after paying. Fortunately, I was in guesthouse heaven--there were at least 10 if not 15 within a 2-3 block radius. I literally walked two doors down to another guesthouse, found a comparable room for the exact same price (imagine that--collusion, probably, but who knows--I could have gotten it for cheaper had I tried to bargain it down, but it honestly wasn't worth it).
When I wandered around in the old town in the afternoon, I honestly had no idea what I was seeing. So, after first getting my measurements taken for suits, I explored the old town with a purpose. My problem is that I had no idea what I was actually looking at, so I basically retraced my steps and wandered around the place for the morning and early afternoon. Hoi An is a nice relaxing place with not a lot of pressure to do anything, so I certainly didn't mind having an easy day of sorts. Walked down to the river and crossed the bridge to an island that is slightly off the tourist track and saw some of the local fisherman and fishing vessels. Took pictures of about four kids playing marbles in the shade. They requested some American coins, but, unfortunately, I didn't have any--instead, I looked through my wallet and found four 1 baht coins (worth about 3 cents apiece), and gave them that instead.
If you can get away from the motorbike drivers, Vietnamese people can be extremely hospitable and welcoming. It was approaching midday, and I needed a break, so I stopped by a little roadside stand and had a coke. The shopkeeper was there with her 7 year old daughter and husband, and, in her limited english, tried to talk to me. I freely obliged, and, soon enough, the daughter took an interest in me and started practicing her english--which I didn't mind helping her with. Certain practices transcend cultural boundaries, and that includes bragging about their children. Proud of their daughter, the mother and father showed off her notebook from school--not only was her handwriting better than mine (don't be too impressed...elephants with paintbrushes have better handwriting than I do), but she received darn near perfect marks on everything.
If its "hot" at 9am, than its darn near boiling at between 1&2pm, so its a perfect time to go inside and take a rest--and that's exactly what I did.
The weird thing about Hoi An and central Vietnam in general is that as miserable as the weather can be in June from sunrise to about 2-3pm, by 4pm or so, the low-pressure systems that bring in the monsoons to other parts of Vietnam create coastal breezes and winds that cool the temperature considerably--by at least 5-10 degrees--and make it borderline pleasant outdoors.
In broad daylight, the scenery surrounding Hoi An and Danang, with mountains in the background and ricefields and rivers in the foreground, is pretty to look at. In the late afternoon sun, the setting is spectacular.
With the decent temperature and the late afternoon sun not nearly as harsh as it was midday or in the morning, I decided it was as good a time as any to check out China Beach--the long, crescent shaped stretch of sand about 20-30 minutes from Hoi An that served as the legendary R&R location for many an American soldier and civilian based at nearby Danang. It was also, according to wikipedia, the name of a critically acclaimed but poorly viewed TV drama based on the experiences of red cross workers and GIs that worked in Danang that aired around 1990--and that, to the dismay of many fans, hasn't been released on DVD (from the brief clips I saw on youtube, it actually wasn't half-bad). In a rare case of a moto driver actually undershooting my expected price--the first hotel I stayed at told me it should cost about 12 bucks round trip, the second hotel said 10 bucks--the moto driver offered to take me there for six bucks. And he actually approached me, not vice versa. Sold.
Back on the road that hugs the coast, the high mountains of Hai Van pass that stretch to the sea north of Danang are backlit and silhouetted by the fading sun--and the low light manages to magically illuminate the just off-shore Cham Islands--four of five tall karst uplifts known for their great diving. After we passed the Danang international telecom cable station, I had the driver pull over near some of the roadside land that bears the scars of having previously been developed and built on (depressions, cleared fields, levelled ground, etc.--I'm not sure that the land used to a be a military base, but it would be interesting to look at a map archive to see what exactly was built there) so I could take some pictures.
We pass the usual golf courses, future development sites, and resorts, and then turn off on a dirt road within spitting distance of the entrance to the Marble Mountains. To my surprise, I am one of a grand total of less than five white people on this beautiful beach on the South China Sea. Lots of Vietnamese are out on the beach with their families and friends, doing things that wouldn't be out of place in the U.S.--building sandcastles (you have to wonder if that started out in the west, and was exported to Vietnam, or its just innate for kids no matter where they are to build castles in the sand), playing volleyball/soccer, sitting with their romantic partner, playing in the water with their families. The most noticeable difference, though, between this scene and one in the U.S. is the modesty of the women--whereas men and boys are wearing the standard swimshorts, vietnamese women, after they pass puberty it seems, are generally pretty modest on the beach--covering their shoulders and wearing shorts that are, at minimum, just above knee-length.
The low light, the coastal breeze, the spectacular setting, and the laid-back ambience of a place with historical significance as a respite from war created a magical scene that seemed to wipe away any worry or care from your mind--because the only other people on the beach were vietnamese, it was easy to feel a pleasant sense of isolation of just being on your own.
I walked up and down the beach, and decided to explore a little inland to where I had seen some ruins of buildings and rusted barbed wire that sat by the main dirt road to the beach. This probably wasn't the smartest idea given the potential for tetanus because of the rusted wire, broken glass, and broken bricks. I tried to imagine what could have possibly been there--it certainly had the appearance of an old military base, with the barbed wire, but I wasn't sure. And that's when I saw it; I somehow managed to miss it at first because it was covered in foliage, but the concrete octagonal structure had clear open firing slits, and a back entrance. It was a pillbox, oriented towards the beach. There was a plaque by the entrance--which was too littered with broken glass to risk exploring--but it was only inscribed with vietnamese (I took a picture of it--hopefully I'll be able to get it translated).
With the light continuing to fade, and needing to get back for another fitting, I got back on the motorbike and headed back towards Hoi An.
As I have mentioned previously, it is easy to get cynical after being on the road for 8-9 weeks, but there are certain things that can still make you go "wow" and possess jaw-dropping capability. A Hoi An sunset is one of them. I had the driver pull over once more as we were about to go over a bridge, and I walked on the sidewalk to the center. The inland wetlands and fishing vessels were silhouetted by the orange glow of the setting sun--and the only thing on my mind was that I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
There was more to come, however, as we pulled over by some ricefields so I could take pictures of the setting sun behind the mountain ranges reflecting in the water-filled ricefields filled with green shoots.
There are certain moments that I hope will stay with me forever, and that late afternoon is one of them (fortunately, though, I was able to take lots of pictures, unlike the full-moonlit nights on Merapi and in Luang Prabang). After that experience, I vowed to return to China Beach before I left.
Got my fitting and wandered around Hoi An at night. Spent a while gazing from the middle of the An Hoi footbridge as lightning illuminated far off thunder clouds. In my dumb luck, while taking a picture of the bridge, I managed to get some lightning lit clouds in the background. Of course, when I tried to purposely take photos of the lightning, I failed miserably--only getting blackness instead.
How obscure? I've listened to a lot of 80s music in my time--and dare I say, actually like it (I never said I had great musical taste)--and so I recognized some of the bands, but I had never heard of most of the songs played. I realize Vietnam was effectively closed off from the world of pop culture during the 1980s, but that doesn't mean that everything they missed out on was worth experiencing. Another bizarre scene--watching some spectacular scenery while trying to stifle my laughter as the corner of my eye spots gregory hines and mikhail baryshnikov (sp?) dancing in a Lionel Richie music video. I repeat: if there is any down, out of work, 80s new wave band who needs the money, launch a reunion tour in SE Asia, and maybe consider living there permanently--you may not make as much money as you did in your heyday, but at least the cost of living is much cheaper. Heck, if I can find a dirt cheap airfare, it might be worth it to start a tribute band and rake in the dough.
So, I arrive in Hoi An around 1pm after having made the customary 30 minute rest-stop for every 1.5 hours on the road. My first impression? This is it? Doesn't look like much to me. It turns out the bus had dropped us off about a couple of hundred yards from the main old town site, near a lot of the budget/good value guesthouses. It was also very hot--and the sun was brutal.
For $12, I agree on a fairly decent room. That's when I notice the ants. (Side note: I hate ants. Passionately. I was literally scarred for life when I was 8 or 9 years old when I reached my hand in some bushes to dig out a basketball after getting out of school for Christmas break, and found my right forearm swarming with fireants, and ran, screaming, into the playroom bathroom to wash them off. Bite scars are still visible to this day). At first, I think that they are no big deal--and, at worst, I can always change rooms or hotels the next night, and I purposely put all my bags on tables away from the ants.
After resting for a bit, I got a map and started to wander around--(another piece of advice: save weight during the daytime by getting a map from your hotel/hostel/tourist office, take it back to your hotel room, look at the guidebook, and mark up what you want to see on the map--then ditch the guidebook. Those things can be hefty, and you really don't need them if you are just wandering around a certain area for the day)--and discovered that the map was a little bit inaccurate and not to scale, but once you figured that out, it was smooth sailing.
They've managed to do a great job of preserving the old town part of Hoi An that clings to the river--the buildings are in the Vietnamese Colonial style--all painted yellow and with the standard roof decorations. I spent the afternoon walking (and sweating) while also avoiding some of the equipment being used to tear up and subsequently repave the streets of Hoi An. That first day, I managed to find an internet cafe--although, in hindsight, I should have skipped it--the place was the previously described internet cafe with a grand total of two fans in a room packed with about 20 or so people, next to a house that was being repaired--and was serenaded by the sound of drills and other construction equipment. The sound and the afternoon heat were just to much to bear and I had to get out of there. Luckily, I was able to find a place much closer (cooler and nicer) that I was able to use, and it became my routine spot--it was a small place run by a family who lived upstairs (very common in vietnam for the merchant or restaurant owner to live either beside or above their business), and also operated a combination dvd/radioshack type of shop.
Had dinner the first night at a nearby place that wasn't all that memorable, but it was decent.
I get back to my room, and go to sleep, purposely trying to avoid the ants. When I woke up the next morning, to my dismay, there were ants all over the place--even where I had put my bag to purposely avoid them. I managed to get all of them off, but enough was enough, and I decided to see if I could change my room. They gave me the key to another room, and I check it out, but discover that there are ants in there too. I get my bags and walk out after paying. Fortunately, I was in guesthouse heaven--there were at least 10 if not 15 within a 2-3 block radius. I literally walked two doors down to another guesthouse, found a comparable room for the exact same price (imagine that--collusion, probably, but who knows--I could have gotten it for cheaper had I tried to bargain it down, but it honestly wasn't worth it).
When I wandered around in the old town in the afternoon, I honestly had no idea what I was seeing. So, after first getting my measurements taken for suits, I explored the old town with a purpose. My problem is that I had no idea what I was actually looking at, so I basically retraced my steps and wandered around the place for the morning and early afternoon. Hoi An is a nice relaxing place with not a lot of pressure to do anything, so I certainly didn't mind having an easy day of sorts. Walked down to the river and crossed the bridge to an island that is slightly off the tourist track and saw some of the local fisherman and fishing vessels. Took pictures of about four kids playing marbles in the shade. They requested some American coins, but, unfortunately, I didn't have any--instead, I looked through my wallet and found four 1 baht coins (worth about 3 cents apiece), and gave them that instead.
If you can get away from the motorbike drivers, Vietnamese people can be extremely hospitable and welcoming. It was approaching midday, and I needed a break, so I stopped by a little roadside stand and had a coke. The shopkeeper was there with her 7 year old daughter and husband, and, in her limited english, tried to talk to me. I freely obliged, and, soon enough, the daughter took an interest in me and started practicing her english--which I didn't mind helping her with. Certain practices transcend cultural boundaries, and that includes bragging about their children. Proud of their daughter, the mother and father showed off her notebook from school--not only was her handwriting better than mine (don't be too impressed...elephants with paintbrushes have better handwriting than I do), but she received darn near perfect marks on everything.
If its "hot" at 9am, than its darn near boiling at between 1&2pm, so its a perfect time to go inside and take a rest--and that's exactly what I did.
The weird thing about Hoi An and central Vietnam in general is that as miserable as the weather can be in June from sunrise to about 2-3pm, by 4pm or so, the low-pressure systems that bring in the monsoons to other parts of Vietnam create coastal breezes and winds that cool the temperature considerably--by at least 5-10 degrees--and make it borderline pleasant outdoors.
In broad daylight, the scenery surrounding Hoi An and Danang, with mountains in the background and ricefields and rivers in the foreground, is pretty to look at. In the late afternoon sun, the setting is spectacular.
With the decent temperature and the late afternoon sun not nearly as harsh as it was midday or in the morning, I decided it was as good a time as any to check out China Beach--the long, crescent shaped stretch of sand about 20-30 minutes from Hoi An that served as the legendary R&R location for many an American soldier and civilian based at nearby Danang. It was also, according to wikipedia, the name of a critically acclaimed but poorly viewed TV drama based on the experiences of red cross workers and GIs that worked in Danang that aired around 1990--and that, to the dismay of many fans, hasn't been released on DVD (from the brief clips I saw on youtube, it actually wasn't half-bad). In a rare case of a moto driver actually undershooting my expected price--the first hotel I stayed at told me it should cost about 12 bucks round trip, the second hotel said 10 bucks--the moto driver offered to take me there for six bucks. And he actually approached me, not vice versa. Sold.
Back on the road that hugs the coast, the high mountains of Hai Van pass that stretch to the sea north of Danang are backlit and silhouetted by the fading sun--and the low light manages to magically illuminate the just off-shore Cham Islands--four of five tall karst uplifts known for their great diving. After we passed the Danang international telecom cable station, I had the driver pull over near some of the roadside land that bears the scars of having previously been developed and built on (depressions, cleared fields, levelled ground, etc.--I'm not sure that the land used to a be a military base, but it would be interesting to look at a map archive to see what exactly was built there) so I could take some pictures.
We pass the usual golf courses, future development sites, and resorts, and then turn off on a dirt road within spitting distance of the entrance to the Marble Mountains. To my surprise, I am one of a grand total of less than five white people on this beautiful beach on the South China Sea. Lots of Vietnamese are out on the beach with their families and friends, doing things that wouldn't be out of place in the U.S.--building sandcastles (you have to wonder if that started out in the west, and was exported to Vietnam, or its just innate for kids no matter where they are to build castles in the sand), playing volleyball/soccer, sitting with their romantic partner, playing in the water with their families. The most noticeable difference, though, between this scene and one in the U.S. is the modesty of the women--whereas men and boys are wearing the standard swimshorts, vietnamese women, after they pass puberty it seems, are generally pretty modest on the beach--covering their shoulders and wearing shorts that are, at minimum, just above knee-length.
The low light, the coastal breeze, the spectacular setting, and the laid-back ambience of a place with historical significance as a respite from war created a magical scene that seemed to wipe away any worry or care from your mind--because the only other people on the beach were vietnamese, it was easy to feel a pleasant sense of isolation of just being on your own.
I walked up and down the beach, and decided to explore a little inland to where I had seen some ruins of buildings and rusted barbed wire that sat by the main dirt road to the beach. This probably wasn't the smartest idea given the potential for tetanus because of the rusted wire, broken glass, and broken bricks. I tried to imagine what could have possibly been there--it certainly had the appearance of an old military base, with the barbed wire, but I wasn't sure. And that's when I saw it; I somehow managed to miss it at first because it was covered in foliage, but the concrete octagonal structure had clear open firing slits, and a back entrance. It was a pillbox, oriented towards the beach. There was a plaque by the entrance--which was too littered with broken glass to risk exploring--but it was only inscribed with vietnamese (I took a picture of it--hopefully I'll be able to get it translated).
With the light continuing to fade, and needing to get back for another fitting, I got back on the motorbike and headed back towards Hoi An.
As I have mentioned previously, it is easy to get cynical after being on the road for 8-9 weeks, but there are certain things that can still make you go "wow" and possess jaw-dropping capability. A Hoi An sunset is one of them. I had the driver pull over once more as we were about to go over a bridge, and I walked on the sidewalk to the center. The inland wetlands and fishing vessels were silhouetted by the orange glow of the setting sun--and the only thing on my mind was that I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
There was more to come, however, as we pulled over by some ricefields so I could take pictures of the setting sun behind the mountain ranges reflecting in the water-filled ricefields filled with green shoots.
There are certain moments that I hope will stay with me forever, and that late afternoon is one of them (fortunately, though, I was able to take lots of pictures, unlike the full-moonlit nights on Merapi and in Luang Prabang). After that experience, I vowed to return to China Beach before I left.
Got my fitting and wandered around Hoi An at night. Spent a while gazing from the middle of the An Hoi footbridge as lightning illuminated far off thunder clouds. In my dumb luck, while taking a picture of the bridge, I managed to get some lightning lit clouds in the background. Of course, when I tried to purposely take photos of the lightning, I failed miserably--only getting blackness instead.
Friday, June 25, 2010
The Road to Hoi An
I didn't purposely plan my trip around taking a bus or the road from Hue to Hoi An or vice versa. I knew that I wanted to visit both places, and it just so happened that they were so close to each other (about 3-4 hours by bus) that it didn't make any sense to fly (not that there are any flights between the two). While I was in Hue, though, I saw advertisements about chartering a motorbike and doing the road that way, since apparently the road from Hue to Hoi An had been profiled on some famous British TV show known as "Top Gear" and is considered to be the most spectacular stretch of road in SE Asia.
Because I don't know how to ride, I would have had to hire a driver as well, which would result in a journey price 10x more expensive than taking the bus, and more expensive than some air tickets I had purchased on the trip. There's also the fact that being the passenger on the back of one of those things is only fun for about 30 minutes--after the first half hour, it starts to get tiresome, and you start to get saddle-sore--so I booked the bus instead, which proved to be a wise choice.
The only other option of getting from Hue to Hoi An is via rail. As the main highway runs parallel to the railroad for almost the entire stretch, it is really a question of timing and convenience--for me, it was simply more convenient to take the bus--it is air conditioned, and the roads are in much better shape in Vietnam than in Laos or Cambodia.
We head out of Hue, crossing over one of the many canals/streams that run throughout the city, and then start to head south. As the city passes by, tree covered ridgelike hills are visible behind the houses lining the railbed, which is on the right side of the bus (if heading south), and further hills/borderline mountains that are faintly lit in the distance become increasingly visible as the bus nears their location. It doesn't take long before you are in a rural area that matches the common image of Vietnam many of us have--clearings and fields surrounded by green forests and irregularly shaped hills and mountains.
As you move farther south, you cross over several rivers, and even higher mountains and hills loom in the distance, making the uplifts near Hue look like bunny slopes. In a perfect world, I would have gotten the bus driver to pull over every time I wanted to take a photo. Unfortunately, that would have meant spending the night somewhere between Hue and Hoi An. Forunate enough to get a seat on the west side of the bus, the morning light worked to my advantage as I dealt with limited glare while taking photos from the window. This means I was forced to shoot on the fly, and hope for the best. Fortunately, my photos came out great.
Following the lead of other people on my bus, I also left my seat several times to take pictures through the windshield of scenes that I couldn't have shot any other way. The road becomes increasingly spectacular as the mountains and hills crowd nearer to the coastline, creating some spectacular contrasts in scenery. Steep mountains with jagged ridgelines tower over flat as pancake kelly green ricefields and farmers houses.
The previously flat road starts to steepen, as we begin a climb in elevation to cross one of the various mountain passes, which provides an amazing vista of the surrounding area. The views are just stunning. Coming down from the first mountain pass, an even more stunning sight awaits--a sheltered, nearly perfectly spherical inlet/cove with aquamarine water presided over by steep and towering mountains that rise almost directly from the shoreline--it's not something you expect to see in Vietnam, which makes it all the more spectacular. There's an edenesque quality to the cove, as there's little in the way of tourism, and is only populated by local fisherman still casting their nets in the traditional means.
Then, you have to climb up the second and final mountain pass--and the most spectacular one as well. You emerge from a tunnel bored directly through a mountain staring directly below at aquamarine water, an almost perfect crescent shaped beach, and Danang--vietnam's third or fourth largest city, and where the US marines landed in 1965. The pass is known as Hai Van, and it is easily the most spectacular mountain pass in Vietnam--nowhere else will you get a vista with a such a unique combination of tall, offshore islands, clear water, a flesh colored beach, and an industrial city all in one frame.
Many Americans around my parents age will likely have a natural interest in seeing Danang, considering it was a major US military center during the Vietnam War, but little remains from that period, and Danang is just a massive, sprawling city, with no apparent character to it. If you are desperate to explore it, better to stay in Hoi An and take a day trip to Danang, which is only 30 kms away. The place kind of had a Miami vibe to it, only without the same cultural/artistic ambience. You could do a full scale model of Danang in the U.S., and it wouldn't be all that dissimilar from any number of communities and towns on the gulf coast.
You get past Danang, and see a cluster of about five or so karst hills in the middle of an otherwise flat coastline--these are the Marble Mountains, and can be seen as the traditional starting point for the legendary R&R spot of China Beach, which is actually just a general location name for the long, crescent-shaped stretch of sand from Danang to Hoi An.
You pass what appear to be relics of a US military presence--half oval concrete airplane hanger like structures that are now used as garages and for various other purposes.
You can also see in various places where the ground was definitely built on and had been previously altered, even though no structures currently exist there on site--these sites could be the former locales of military bases, or merely something less historical. It would be interesting to view old military maps of the area and find out, though.
Then the road passes by a cluster of golf courses and walled off properties bearing the names of Greg Norman, Colin Montgomerie, the Hyatt, and Le Meridien. China Beach--at least the part that's closest to Danang--looks like it is going to explode in the next five to ten years with the amount of development occuring along its coast, as Vietnam attempts to market it as their "golf coast." Big changes are in store, and it would be interesting to come back in several years to see what the place looks like.
You pass more land that looks like it once held a development of some kind, given how depressed some of the sand and the grass is, and the small size of the trees dotting the properties indicate that they were planted rather recently.
Then, its past the Danang International Cable building before crossing over a river, passing more ricefields and finally arriving in the quaint and quiet town of Hoi An, where I will pick up from in my next post.
Because I don't know how to ride, I would have had to hire a driver as well, which would result in a journey price 10x more expensive than taking the bus, and more expensive than some air tickets I had purchased on the trip. There's also the fact that being the passenger on the back of one of those things is only fun for about 30 minutes--after the first half hour, it starts to get tiresome, and you start to get saddle-sore--so I booked the bus instead, which proved to be a wise choice.
The only other option of getting from Hue to Hoi An is via rail. As the main highway runs parallel to the railroad for almost the entire stretch, it is really a question of timing and convenience--for me, it was simply more convenient to take the bus--it is air conditioned, and the roads are in much better shape in Vietnam than in Laos or Cambodia.
We head out of Hue, crossing over one of the many canals/streams that run throughout the city, and then start to head south. As the city passes by, tree covered ridgelike hills are visible behind the houses lining the railbed, which is on the right side of the bus (if heading south), and further hills/borderline mountains that are faintly lit in the distance become increasingly visible as the bus nears their location. It doesn't take long before you are in a rural area that matches the common image of Vietnam many of us have--clearings and fields surrounded by green forests and irregularly shaped hills and mountains.
As you move farther south, you cross over several rivers, and even higher mountains and hills loom in the distance, making the uplifts near Hue look like bunny slopes. In a perfect world, I would have gotten the bus driver to pull over every time I wanted to take a photo. Unfortunately, that would have meant spending the night somewhere between Hue and Hoi An. Forunate enough to get a seat on the west side of the bus, the morning light worked to my advantage as I dealt with limited glare while taking photos from the window. This means I was forced to shoot on the fly, and hope for the best. Fortunately, my photos came out great.
Following the lead of other people on my bus, I also left my seat several times to take pictures through the windshield of scenes that I couldn't have shot any other way. The road becomes increasingly spectacular as the mountains and hills crowd nearer to the coastline, creating some spectacular contrasts in scenery. Steep mountains with jagged ridgelines tower over flat as pancake kelly green ricefields and farmers houses.
The previously flat road starts to steepen, as we begin a climb in elevation to cross one of the various mountain passes, which provides an amazing vista of the surrounding area. The views are just stunning. Coming down from the first mountain pass, an even more stunning sight awaits--a sheltered, nearly perfectly spherical inlet/cove with aquamarine water presided over by steep and towering mountains that rise almost directly from the shoreline--it's not something you expect to see in Vietnam, which makes it all the more spectacular. There's an edenesque quality to the cove, as there's little in the way of tourism, and is only populated by local fisherman still casting their nets in the traditional means.
Then, you have to climb up the second and final mountain pass--and the most spectacular one as well. You emerge from a tunnel bored directly through a mountain staring directly below at aquamarine water, an almost perfect crescent shaped beach, and Danang--vietnam's third or fourth largest city, and where the US marines landed in 1965. The pass is known as Hai Van, and it is easily the most spectacular mountain pass in Vietnam--nowhere else will you get a vista with a such a unique combination of tall, offshore islands, clear water, a flesh colored beach, and an industrial city all in one frame.
Many Americans around my parents age will likely have a natural interest in seeing Danang, considering it was a major US military center during the Vietnam War, but little remains from that period, and Danang is just a massive, sprawling city, with no apparent character to it. If you are desperate to explore it, better to stay in Hoi An and take a day trip to Danang, which is only 30 kms away. The place kind of had a Miami vibe to it, only without the same cultural/artistic ambience. You could do a full scale model of Danang in the U.S., and it wouldn't be all that dissimilar from any number of communities and towns on the gulf coast.
You get past Danang, and see a cluster of about five or so karst hills in the middle of an otherwise flat coastline--these are the Marble Mountains, and can be seen as the traditional starting point for the legendary R&R spot of China Beach, which is actually just a general location name for the long, crescent-shaped stretch of sand from Danang to Hoi An.
You pass what appear to be relics of a US military presence--half oval concrete airplane hanger like structures that are now used as garages and for various other purposes.
You can also see in various places where the ground was definitely built on and had been previously altered, even though no structures currently exist there on site--these sites could be the former locales of military bases, or merely something less historical. It would be interesting to view old military maps of the area and find out, though.
Then the road passes by a cluster of golf courses and walled off properties bearing the names of Greg Norman, Colin Montgomerie, the Hyatt, and Le Meridien. China Beach--at least the part that's closest to Danang--looks like it is going to explode in the next five to ten years with the amount of development occuring along its coast, as Vietnam attempts to market it as their "golf coast." Big changes are in store, and it would be interesting to come back in several years to see what the place looks like.
You pass more land that looks like it once held a development of some kind, given how depressed some of the sand and the grass is, and the small size of the trees dotting the properties indicate that they were planted rather recently.
Then, its past the Danang International Cable building before crossing over a river, passing more ricefields and finally arriving in the quaint and quiet town of Hoi An, where I will pick up from in my next post.
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