Drinking Beer With Uncle Ho

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Walking to Vietnam

From Kampot, Cambodia, we hired a taxi to take us to the border of Vietnam, about 1 ½ hours away. Our driver, somewhat surprisingly, showed up right on time, and we hopped into the taxi. Then, a fourth person popped in, not sure why. We thought maybe he wanted to hitch a ride to the border too. It turned out that he was practicing English, and had never been to the border before. He was along for the ride solely to see the new border between Cambodia and Vietnam. It was interesting because he shared some stories along the way. The Prime Minister, Hun Sen, recently added two new provinces to the country and changed several other provinces. Kampot province was one of the provinces changed. I understood that, similar to the US Hun Sen was engaging in a little redistricting to curry favor with some of the provinces to ensure he won the next election. The passenger also showed us an area that was once a vineyard, planted by the French before the war. The Khmer Rouge destroyed the vineyard, not surprisingly, and after the war it became a regular farm. It was like having a free tour guide to the border.

When we arrived at the border, it was a completely unique experience. We are used to crossing borders at airports, or in a car to Canada, and we even walked to Mexico and back. But this was different. At the Mexican border there were plenty of immigration and customs officials. The border looked very official. Cambodia - not so much. There was a large red and white striped gate. Just beyond the gate was a checkpoint with an officer that said absolutely nothing to us. On the left were several offices, with signs that read “check in” and “check out.” There was a sign that read customs. We tried to walk up to the offices but no one seemed to notice we were there. We had no idea where to go. We thought maybe we should continue to the next red and white gate and the next checkpoint to be stamped. It was not until we were half way to Vietnam that the officers finally paid attention, asked us to come to the office, took our passports for about ten minutes, and finally stamped our passport, clearing the way for us to enter Vietnam.

Once we passed the second checkpoint, we walked about a quarter mile to Vietnam. The Vietnamese side of the border looked much more official, with a large Arch de Triumphe style gate, an official stone marking to show where the border was. Okay, at this point, the transfer seemed much less sketchy. All along the way, moto drivers from Cambodia were asking us if we needed a moto. We said, no we will get a taxi in Vietnam. Of course, the Cambodians warned us, “oh, no taxis in Vietnam, only motos.” I don’t know if Eric and I would survive each of us on a moto with one large and one small backpack, particularly because it was a two hour drive from the other side of the border to our destination - Rach Gia. Luckily, as we approached the very official looking immigration building a taxi driver approached to strike a deal. I don’t know how much of a deal we really struck, though, because he was the only taxi on the other side. But, it was less than our budgeted amount, so we figured no problem. He just needed to wait for us to have our passport stamped to be officially allowed into Vietnam. This seemed like it would not be a problem, but oh it was.

The first check-in counter at the immigration building had two officers in their drab green communist style uniforms. They looked at our passports, saw that we had pre-arranged our visa from the US, and asked us to sit and wait. And wait. And wait. We were not clear what we were actually waiting for. And, it was hot. The immigration hall had doors on either end that were open, and some open windows, but no air conditioning and no fan. There was not an ounce of breeze coming through the hall. Eric and I took turns standing outside to catch a breeze, while the other waited patiently on the row of colorful plastic chairs. After about fifteen minutes, the still impatient American that I am, walked back to the check-in counter to ask what we were waiting for. I then understood that the last window at the immigration counter was where we would receive our stamp to be allowed into the country. The guy that stamps the passports was having breakfast, and we needed to wait for him to return. Really? After another fifteen minutes had passed, the immigration official returned from his breakfast. A group of people stormed his counter. There was no orderly line like at O’Hare or any other international airport. There was no sign telling visitors to wait behind the red line. Instead, visitors just pushed their passport towards him and waited for him to take it. One visitor had a stack of about twenty passports. For each passport or identification card, the official needed to type information into the computer, and would sometimes make a scan of the passport. After patiently waiting for the pushy people to finish, it was finally our turn. After a few clicks of the keyboard, our passport was stamped and we were able to complete our walk into Vietnam, near the town of Ha Tien. From start to finish it took roughly an hour from the moment we exited the taxi in Cambodia to the point where we entered the taxi in Vietnam. One hour to walk across an international border, with virtually no tourists. Hello Vietnam - the Hoffmans have finally arrived.

Headline: The Westerners Are Here

After crossing the border into Vietnam, we hired a taxi to drive us to the closest city, Rach Gia. Rach Gia is not on the tourism route. Its only use to tourists is a stopping point from the border or to take a hydrofoil to the nearby island of Phu Quoc. As for the border crossing at Ha Tien it has only been open for a little more than a year, so the tourists have not flooded to Rach Gia. Although I can safely say I do not know if the tourists will ever flock there.

Rach Gia is a commercial city, and seems utilitarian. There are river tributaries that run from the Mekong Delta to the Gulf of Thailand, most with houses on stilt built right into the river. There is a main market - the Trade Center. That is about it. We were easily the only Westerners in the city. We felt like mini celebrities, with people looking at us as we walked by and children and young adults constantly yelling “hello” from their motos as they sped by. It gave us a good insight into a typical Vietnamese city that has not started catering towards tourists. In fact, there was a Cadillac Escalade parked in the “lobby” of our hotel. You won’t find that at the Sheraton.

There was no English anywhere - no English signs nor English speakers. So, when we had our first bowl of “pho” (pronounced “fuh”)- the national dish of noodle soup with meat, we pointed to the soup, stuck up two fingers, and to ask how much offered a 20,000 Vietnamese Dong note to ask the price. We were successful though, despite our handicap. And, our first pho was very tasty. Our second pho was even more adventurous. For dinner we walked to the food stalls outside our hotel and near the Trade Center. They were fairly quiet, but we found one with several customers - if the place is busy it must be good. The pho stands usually have a glass window display showing the kinds of meats and items they can put in the pho. I pointed to what looked like pork tenderloin, and asked for two bowls. In addition to meat and noodles, pho generally has some fresh herbs, bamboo shoots, and this one had some tomatoes. We later found out that this was bun (pronounced “boon”), and not pho, although I am not sure what the difference is other than the kind of noodle and the type of meat. There are both tasty. The bun also had congealed blood and what looked like pig’s feet. Being the troopers that we are we each tried the blood. It looked like dark, almost black, tofu, and kind of had the same consistency. I was thinking of our vegetarian friends, and trying to describe to them that pig’s blood is so similar to tofu. He he! Eric tried the pig’s foot, but after several attempts to bite the skin on the outside with no success, we figured maybe it was meant to add flavor. Regardless, we ate as much as possible not to seem rude and went on our merry way.

Another note about our hotel besides the Escalade, it was cheap, less than $12. I was trying not to let the ants on the floor that occasionally made their way up to Eric’s bed bother me. Yes. Separate beds. Sometimes it is all they have, and we will take it. But, there was a gecko somewhere in the room - perhaps in the window or air conditioning unit. We heard him chirping before bed. I had no problem with the gecko so long as he stayed on his side of the room - and I warned him of that fact. So, I plugged my ears from the street noise and gecko chirps and went to bed. Next day - Saigon.

Dong

A note about the currency: when we were in Cambodia, Sonja asked if we had seen their 20,000 riel note, which equates to roughly $5. She was fairly amused that there a bill in such a large denomination. We, in exchange, showed her the 50,000 Lao kip note which spits out from the ATMs in Laos like twenties. The 50,000 kip equates to roughly $6. Vietnam has the most devalued currency of our travels thus far. $1 buys about 17,700 Vietnamese Dong. So, a bowl of pho for VD 20,000 is a pretty good deal. A large bottle of water can be had for VD 5,000 and a bottle of ice cold beer at a locals’ bar is only VD 10,000. Most hotels quote prices in USD and accept USD so that their prices are not quoted as VD 350,000. This means, though, that most ATMs spit out 100,000 and some 200,000 notes. They also recently rolled out a 500,000 note. Needless to say, we often carry a calculator, and I have created a little cheat sheet in the back of our Lonely Planet guide.

Uncle Ho and War Remnants

We arrived in Saigon - Ho Chi Minh City - which could be called the land of honking traffic. I don’t think there is an inch of road in the city that is spared a taxi, car, or moto from whizzing by consistently, every second of the day. I also do not think there is a second during the day where you do not hear horns honking from every different direction. I wonder whether on our return to Chicago, midday or rush hour traffic will seem silent in comparison.

After surviving the traffic, we checked into our hotel - Madame Cuc’s Hotel 127, in District 1, the backpackers’ area. Madame Cuc appears to be pretty famous, creating her own little hotel empire with three locations in HCMC and one in a beach side town called Mui Ne. They offer free wireless in the lobby, free tea and coffee throughout the day along with trays of sweet bananas, free breakfast of a large baguette with butter and jam, and free dinner of noodle soup and fried spring rolls. Although the room was $23, a little more than we planned - I am certainly glad we stayed for the two free meals each day! I would definitely recommend it.

After checking in, and dropping off some laundry, we started to explore. We stopped for some grilled pork and broken rice (seems like smaller rice pieces, but not sure what the taste difference is) on the street near Hotel 127. We then started to wander towards one of the main markets - Ben Thanh Market, which houses everything from fresh produce, meat, and seafood, to clothing and electronics. On the way we were stopped by a downpour. As it started to rain we hopped into a French style bakery and were in awe of the selection. I tried a tasty puff pastry filled with cream and topped with fresh whipped cream, strawberries, dragon fruit, and orange with a sprinkling of powdered sugar. At least French left something good in this part of the world! We sat upstairs and waited for the downpour to slow. The bakery had a wrap around outside patio on the second floor, with large glass doors. The glass doors, apparently, did not have weather sealing or anything keeping the hot out and the cool air conditioning in, which also meant the water started to pour into the bakery. I thought it amusing that we picked the one bakery to avoid getting wet where water started pouring down the floors and steps, coming at us like we were on the Titanic. It was also amusing watching the employees race around outside in the rain, and inside trying to make some progress on the water pouring in. We emerged as the rain slowed and made our way to the market. After shopping a bit at the market and making our way through the park in the center of the city, we returned for the free dinner at Madame Cuc’s- yummy.

Whenever you spend time in a guest house lobby eating, drinking, or using the internet you meet some fairly interesting people, and our first night in HCMC was no exception. We met a photographer/writer from England who has been traveling with his girlfriend for eight months. We bonded over our recent trips to Cambodia, him hating it so much more than we did. We certainly did not hate Cambodia, it just made us sad. He hated it. I don’t know how the conversation was started, but we found out that he is just about the biggest conspiracy theorist we have ever met. He is very well read, but spends a lot of his time (too much free time if you ask me) reading strange “books” on the internet and watching internet movies on politics and “the truth.” He has read the Federal Reserve Act of 1913, and was fairly surprised that I had not read it. He tried to convince me that there is no law on the books in the US that says people have to pay taxes. When I recited the Internal Revenue Code Section 1, pointing out that you don’t have to go far into the tax code to find a provision that says all income is taxed, he disagreed. He believes that Obama is trying to create a new world currency and new world order, that September 11 was financed and organized by Cheney and the Bush administration, right down to the bombs that were placed in the Twin Towers to ensure they were destroyed. He spoke of his theories on Iraq and our war crimes there, and informed us that the Rodhams and Bushes are long time friends and oil business partners. Now, I could believe some of what he said, finding it plausible, other stuff was preposterous. Before he started his trip he put his savings into gold because of his fear of the imminent collapse of the entire world order. After the conversation, I was desperate for a drink, but more on that later.

The next day we started with some errands. We needed to switch some of our travel plans for later in our Vietnam trip and did a walking tour of airline offices to change our flights. We stopped at one of the most beautiful buildings in the city - the Post Office, to ship a package to the US. We chose the surface method, rather than air, which was half the cost but takes up to 2-3 months. We are in no rush. City Hall was another beautiful building, with a wonderful statute of Uncle Ho, or Bac Ho, in the foreground. Uncle Ho has his arm around a child, and it looks like he is teaching her to read. Ah, Uncle Ho! We walked past Reunification Palace, which is a 1960s era monstrosity. The Palace was originally built in the late 1800s. It was completely rebuilt in the 1960s after it was destroyed by bombing, this time, not by the US or the French. The South Vietnamese leader was so hated by his people, that his own air force flew over the palace, dropping several bombs to destroy the palace, because they thought he was in there. The thanks of a grateful nation. The Reunification Palace is also close to the site where the former US Embassy stood, the famous embassy that was stormed and evacuated in April 1975 ending the US involvement in the Vietnam War. The embassy was in a serious state of disrepair, and only in the last few years was torn down.

After, we made our way to the aptly titled “War Remnants Museum.” The museum was once known as the Museum of Chinese and American War Crimes, which should give you an understanding of its contents. The museum grounds are filled with US armored vehicles, artillery pieces, airplanes, Huey helicopters, and bombs. The inside of the museum was filled with various US guns and ammunition as well as some of the most blatant propaganda I have seen to date. The walls were covered with photos of the atrocities that American soldiers committed, including the effects of Napalm, phosphorous bombs, and Agent Orange. They were some of the most heart wrenching photos I have seen. I am not saying that the photos were fakes - I understand this is what happened. But, if I were a Vietnamese citizen and this was the only knowledge I had about the Vietnam War, I would certainly leave the museum hating the US. I term the museum propaganda because there were no discussions of what involvement the South Vietnamese had in the war, nor the atrocities committed by the North Vietnamese, or Viet Cong. They were called “patriots” and “liberators.” It made me wonder how welcome I am going to be in this country. I understand that the Vietnamese government, both past and present, is not the same as the Vietnamese people, similar to the Khmer Rouge and the Cambodian people, and the Nazis and the Germans. I just hope that the Vietnamese people feel the same about us.

After the Museum, and after all of our walking, I wanted to take a taxi back to the hotel. We were bombarded by moto drivers offering to take us on two motos (I don’t think the two of us can fit on one, despite the fact that a Vietnamese family of 5 can fit on one). After negotiating the price (less than $3 for both, so Sonja would be proud considering we are in a bigger city than Phnom Penh - her limit was always $1 for a ride), we were on our way. This was my first experience on a motorized two wheeled vehicle. The woman who drove me offered a helmet, and I climbed on despite the skirt I was wearing. Many locals will ride side saddle, but that scared me too much at this point, feeling the little moto would lean too much to one side. Instead, I climbed behind her and held onto the “oh shit” bar on the back. Away we went, whizzing through traffic and almost being sideswiped by a bus. Traffic circles made me particularly unnerved. I started to notice that the locals don’t hold the “oh shit” bar, and instead just rest their hands on their legs. I was not sure I was ready for that step, and saw Eric speeding away in front of me holding onto his oh shit bar. So, as a compromise, to feel less like a Westerner, I held on with one hand and rested the other on my thigh, to look completely comfortable and at ease. Although I am sure the look on my face as we took the corners on what felt to me like a 45 degree angle, totally gave away the fear.

Mawt Hai Ba Yo!

After dinner our first night, and after our discussion with Mr. Conspiracy Theorist, we walked District 1 to seek out cheap beers. This did not seem like an easy task because we split a can of beer for almost $1.50 earlier the afternoon. I know a $1.50 for a beer seems cheap, but after being spoiled with $1 and $2 giant bottles of beer, and $2 large jugs of draft beer in Laos and Cambodia, it seemed like highway robbery! After being assaulted by bar and club promoters offering 2 for 1 and 3 for 1 which still did not amount to any deals, and after purchasing our first bootleg copy of a Lonely Planet guide for Vietnam, we started making our way back to Madame Cuc’s. Eric was feeling disappointed, as though the alcohol touts were discouraging him from drinking beer with their aggressive tactics.

As we headed home, we saw a “bar” of sorts. There were two store fronts next to each other, one which had a three small metal tables and a handful of tiny plastic chairs, like you would see in a kindergarten class. This store front also had a woman selling crab and snails. We crouched down into the tiny chairs and ordered two Saigon beers, a much better price than the beer in the afternoon - only VD 10,000 each. We spoke to a Brit and spent time speaking with someone from Madison, Wisconsin, who has been living in Vietnam, teaching English. Then, we met a German man, whose name we can’t remember, but let’s call him Fritz. Fritz was out with a quiet and shy Vietnamese woman and a Vietnamese man named Johnny. Johnny and Fritz were a trip. They invited us to try some of their snails, which we could not turn down. It would be impolite. After pulling the snail out of its shell with a toothpick and dousing it in hot sauce, I ate it in all of its saltiness. After commenting a few minutes later that my lips still tingled from the hot sauce, Johnny insisted that I try another with the sweet sauce. Yikes. Eric was smart to keep his mouth shut, and I learned my lesson. I graciously took the second snail and after about a minute of chewing swallowed it down.

Johnny spoke pretty good English, but as the evening wore on, his words became more difficult to understand. Fritz was also suggesting an itinerary for the rest of our stay in Vietnam, including a suggestion that we hop on the back of Johnny’s moto and allow him to be our tour guide of the Mekong Delta. Fritz promised that Johnny would show us the “real” Vietnam, not what the tour groups show. I thought I could trust Johnny because he taught me the most important phrase I learned in Vietnam. We took his mobile number and said we will call him when we return to HCMC in a few weeks.

By our second night in Vietnam, we had learned to say hello, goodbye, please, and thank you in Vietnamese. Eric was also trying to learn some numbers, and we brought a cheat sheet out with us to try to order “two beers please” in Vietnamese. Johnny taught us to say “Mawt, Hai, Ba, Yo!” which translates to “1, 2, 3, Drink!” This has become a very valuable phrase to know, not only for the obvious reasons. But, I started to use it to my advantage when people asked me what Vietnamese I could speak. Once I tell them, hello, goodbye, please, and thank you, telling them I also know 1, 2, 3, drink, breaks the ice and does not make me seem as much like a pathetic, lazy American who does not try to learn the local language. It has served me well.

During our second night in HCMC, we tried to recreate the experience of spending time talking to some locals at our little, tiny bar. We had a couple beers at the same bar, but decided to take it up a notch, by moving to the bar next door. They had an even smaller store front, with a toilet, and about a half dozen metal tables, and many minature plastic chairs. The tables were always crowded, so when two people left their seats open, we swooped on in. Because of the close quarters at the tiny bar, you share a table with other people. This is the best part because you have the opportunity to meet new people. The owner would add chairs when needed, and the party spilled not only into the alley, but into the street. By the end of the night, two members of our group were sitting on tiny chairs in the street, down the curb from the rest of us. Although many of the bar patrons were westerners, there were some locals as well, mingling with the westerners and practicing their English. We sat with a man from Estonia for quite some time talking about the seven years he has spent in Vietnam in the export business. He exports all sorts of food products. Recently, he exported packages of instant Asian noodles, like Ramen noodles, to the Russian prison system. He has an identical twin brother who owns a telecom business in Cameroon. The most interesting story he told was when he lost his passport in Vietnam. It was very difficult to obtain a replacement passport when there is no Estonian embassy in Vietnam. He was told he could go to an EU embassy, like the French embassy, and they would help him. When he arrived it was nearly impossible to receive a replacement in less than two or three months. But, he was virtually paralyzed in a country like Vietnam without a passport. So, his identical twin brother flew back to Estonia, took a picture of himself and took his brother’s information to the Estonian embassy, received a passport in only a few days, and mailed the passport to the brother in Vietnam. Genius.

As much as it was interesting to speak with Mr. Estonia, particularly because I have never met someone from Estonia before, we became jealous of the Aussie couple sitting next to us who had scored a Vietnamese gentleman to speak with who spoke very good English. Luckily, Mr. Estonia left and we were able to force ourselves into the conversation with Quay, a very nice, very smart, and very outspoken Vietnamese man. My conversation with Quay was one of the most honest conversations I have had during this trip, at least from his side. He was very outspoken about the US, the Vietnam War, and Iraq, and his views were not what you would assume from someone living in Communist Vietnam. As for my side, I was honest, but chose my words very carefully so as not to offend him. He thought I was very smart and well spoken, quite the complement. Quay started by talking about Barrack Obama. He is not a fan, but did not express in great detail why. Instead, he was a big fan of John McCain who, of course, is pretty famous in Vietnam. I came to find out that Quay is a hawk, similar to McCain. He asked me if I knew about the Vietnam War and what I thought of it. I told him that we had just been to the War Remnants Museum, and that it made me sad. I told him I did not think either side was right and that both sides were wrong. I wished that wars like that did not have to happen. I think he appreciated by views, but came right out and said the Museum was complete propaganda from the government - his words, not mine. He also, quite surprisingly, told me he did not like Ho Chi Minh and does not hold the same reverence that so many Vietnamese do. I asked him what he thought about the war and about Americans in particular, although part of me did not want to hear his answer. He likes Americans, but did not like the American government at the time of the war. He thought the Americans abandoned their allies, and did not satisfy the promises they made. To me, that was an insightful viewpoint to have. Quay is younger than I am, and therefore, did not live through the war. He is, however, very educated, having received an MBA in Singapore. He also said I was very educated and intelligent, more so than other Americans he met. He asked me some simple US history questions, which I aced. He said many Americans he met cannot answer the simple questions. He was proud of me. His hawkish side came out when he asked me what I thought of the war in Iraq. In his opinion, it was and still is completely necessary to prevent a potential future attack against the US. I respected his view, and agreed with him that Sadaam was a bad guy, but held concern about the innocent civilians caught in the crossfire, similar to what was experienced in Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. His response surprised me. Although he agreed to some extent, he said if civilians needed to die in Iraq to protect my fellow Americans in the US, then isn’t the war justified? I was stunned by his reasoning, particularly when he lives in a country where the US stuck our nose in someone’s business, resulting in a country still torn apart by the results of the war.

There ended the insightful part of the conversation. As the beers continued to flow and more people joined and left our group, the night took on a life of its own. The group continued to clink glasses and bottles as our group found any and every excuse to yell cheers and mawt, hai, ba yo! I tried dried squid and hot sauce, which supposedly goes well with beer. And bonded with the only other female at the table as she informed Eric he was very lucky to have me, and that she could tell I was very smart - smarter than Eric. He He. The man versus woman fight crosses many cultures. As much as we told two people in the US we would be back to our room to make a call on Skype between 9 and 11, as we have for almost every night of the trip thus far, we were having too good of a time. Once Eric started singing Hotel California, though, I knew it was time to call it a night and say goodbye to our new friends. Quay in particular needed to call it a night. At one point he disappeared and we think he was napping in the toilet. We were shocked when we realized it was after 1am as we said our goodbyes. Our latest night out, and certainly one of the most fun nights of the trip!

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Photos

So Long Cambodia
This was the spartan border control on the Cambodian side.

Good Morning Vietnam
Walking into Vietnam - a little more official than Cambodia.

Dong
Complete with Uncle Ho on every bill.

The Market
And Durian fruit on display

Shrimp
I never knew that tiny dried shrimp could come in so many varieties.

Me and Bac Ho
Uncle Ho in front of City Hall.

Lunch Break
Funny seeing people in business type attire having lunch on tiny stools on the side of the road.

Embassy Hotel
Near the old location of the US Embassy

Don't Jump!
Dangerous and quick motos are everywhere!

Tiny Bar
Tiny stools, big husband.

Tom heads for a drink
This is the local "draft" beer

Quay and I
Deep in conversation

Phoung Smiling
She was all smiles all night

Quay
He was pretty toasted by the end of the night and this shot does it justice.

Too Drunk
He was too drunk and we were too drunk to remember his name.

Comments

[Greg]

Mmmm, Beer
$1.50 for a beer. I cannot share your righteous indignation. I just got back from South Beach where I dropped $20 per libation at Phillipe Chow. Keep up the good work.