Through Perspiration to The Perfumed Pagoda

Through Perspiration to The Perfumed Pagoda

At 08:30 sharp a beaming Nguyen appeared in the Hotel Foyer, to whisk us away to the Perfumed River.
Once more Cuong navigated us skilfully through the suicidal traffic. We had a long delay as all traffic was stopped by the Police to allow a wailing convoy of thirteen black Mercedes Limos to pass, carrying dignitaries to the APEC meetings. As a result we were soon surrounded by thousands of frustrated motorcyclists and had to play “Dodgems” for miles. But we were soon out of Hanoi and bumping along on rough rural roads.

The scenery and agriculture were totally different to the roads North, and we passed acres of lakes covered in a blizzard of ducks and field after field of marketable vegetables. It was odd to see family tombs placed haphazardly in virtually every field we passed, tombstones thrusting up amidst the growing crops. Mmm … tasty! Soon motorbikes were outnumbered by bicycles and tractors. The occasional emaciated horse staggered by, pulling a cart laden to the height of a house … often with the driver asleep on top.

We finally arrived at the Perfumed River and were amazed to see thousands (literally) of small boats piled up beside the road. Nguyen explained that this was a place of pilgrimage in Springtime and there would be so many Vietnamese here that the river would be jammed like the streets of Hanoi. But at this time of year only a few tourists would come, and the ladies who rowed the boats were rationed to one trip per month.

He warned us not to look at the locals in the eye and not to reply if we were spoken to. “The local people very aggressive and give you a hard time if you speak to them” he said.

As it turned out the few locals we met were lovely - with the odd exception - and wherever we went there were smiles and laughter. More than one called me “Happy Buddha” and I was “sort of” flattered. I assumed they were referring to my happy smile rather than my fat belly ;o)

We were soon wobbling precariously into our little flat-bottomed boat, squatting on rudimentary wooden benches which were loose on the floor. We were propelled along at a respectable speed by our oarswoman, who was a lovely, smiley lady. The sun was beaming down and the scenery to either side was staggeringly beautiful. Pink water lilies grew on either bank, half-obscuring cone-hatted ladies busily searching for snails. Numerous boats bobbled about containing fishermen, women transporting crops and sometimes piles of bricks. A lone fisherman stood in his boat armed with an electric prod to stun passing prey: Technology had arrived!

After an hour gently roasting in the bottom of the steel boat our legs were decidedly cramped and bums incredibly numb. When I attempted to shift position I fell backwards off my bench - evoking no sympathy whatsoever from my beloved or the cackling boat-lady. At last it was time to disembark - and I resolutely refused to assist she who laughed at my misfortune!

We were told that the path to the Perfumed Pagoda had been dug up by workmen. It was to be re-laid for the spring pilgrimage. Because of this we were offered the chance to ride up the mountain by cable-car (and secretly would have loved to ) but stupid British Pride made us say “No, we’d rather climb.”

And so it began - the journey of a thousand buckets of sweat! Within just a few hundred yards we were both drenched . Our hair hung in dripping rats tails, our shirts and trousers were stuck irritatingly to our overheating bodies and chafed our legs, while stinging salty rivers ran down our brows, cascading into our eyes. The climb itself was nothing compared to ascending Snowdon - it was a mere 4 kilometres and a fairly gentle slope. But the Heat! The Humidity! The Stupidity of it all!

We were joined by various assorted sweaty bodies, including a smashing couple from Oz. All were muttering about cable-cars and veering towards mutiny. But we were fortunate - we had Nguyen to cheer us up and jolly us along. More than once attempts were made to “poach” his services, and the lovely Oz couple were quick to tell us how fortunate we were. (They had recruited a “Drongo” who spoke very little English and wore a permanent scowl!)

I won’t bore you with the details of our trial: suffice it to say that we stopped many times to buy cold drinks, all of which exited via our pores within seconds. Nguyen, of course, never looked anything other than cool and immaculate (although he did accept a wet-wipe at one water stop.) The climb was worth the effort. We passed some spectacular view points before arriving at the Pagoda - which is, in reality, a deep, dark and wonderfully cool cave. The scent of incense drifted out to tantalise our senses and within the gloomy interior we could see Buddha statues and offerings….or, at least, Jan and Nguyen could. I couldn’t see anything at all once the cool cave air condensed the sweat from my steaming brow on my spectacle lenses :o(

The descent? Easy! We took the cable-car! The return trip in the boat was wonderful as the evening light softened and developed a mellow tone. We giggled helplessly as we watched a woman rowing a floating haystack - standing up occasionally to try and peer over the top of the stack to see where she was going.

Once we docked Jan gave our boatwoman a sizeable tip, mindful of the fact she wouldn’t get another customer for a month. “Ayee” was the reaction, accompanied by excited gesturing to the group of women who had helped us to dock.
The drive back to Hanoi was memorable only for the hordes of schoolchildren hurtling along the roads on ancient bicycles at “home-time”. An hour of free-time at the hotel gave us a chance to shower and post the “Halong Bay” Blog before heading off to a Water Puppet Show.

Water Puppet shows are a matter of taste. We found the music fascinating (initially) and some of the Puppet action was incredibly clever. We particularly liked two scenes - one involving fiery Dragons and the other a cat that was drowned for chasing ducks! But the music was over-amplified, destroying the subtlety of the sound, and the show was probably more than twice as long as the action could sustain. It was with some relief that we left the theatre and headed across the manic traffic on foot, in search of Kim Quy Restaurant.

Kim Quy restaurant came highly recommended - and deservedly so. We went upstairs hoping for a balcony table overlooking the lake. It was packed to the point of collapse, but as we walked up a party stood and left. Perfect timing! We ordered a Kim Quy special cocktail, which is normally served with great ceremony: A tower of glasses is built on top of a pair of chopsticks over a cocktail glass. Five spirits are layered in the cocktail glass, then a final glass of spirit is flamed and poured in a cascade down the tower. Following the cascade of blue fire the cocktail is drunk hot. Simple, really :o) Sadly there was a tropical storm lurking somewhere to the west, buffeting the balcony with a stiff breeze. As a result a great many matches were consumed with no effect. Then success: a fleeting cascade of fire. Finally the tasting: A lasting cascade of fire :o) Wonderful!

We ate and drank whilst watching the insane traffic below in the street, then ended the night with a circuit of the lake - as far as Fanny’s famous ice cream parlour and coffee shop. (Jan had been hinting that she wanted to go there all day long - her wish was my command). After gorging ourselves at Fanny’s we finally completed the circuit of the lake, weaving in and out of courting couples, before returning to our last night in the Opera House.
The end of another pretty special day :o)

Next episode: The APEC Impact

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