VIETNAMAZING VENTURES #1: A Ho Chi Minht Beginning

Asia » Vietnam » Southeast » Ho Chi Minh City
July 12th 2009

Published: July 13th 2009

Interesting Vietnam fact #1: They drive on the right in Vietnam. Or on the left. Or on both sides, or neither. As in, the wrong way down the middle of a one way motorway, or directly across massive roundabouts, or on pavements: if it's relatively flat and not actually prohibited by the laws of physics, then the chances are the Vietnamese have tried to drive on it.

He's Saigon Ho Chi Menhtal!

As bad as our day was when we got deported from Vietnam, it was nowhere near as bad as Michael Jackson's day. His heart forgot to beat it. Apparently it was an excessive combination of sunshine, moonlight, and good times, but I blame it on the boogie. It doesn't matter if he's black or white, because now he's dead. Ok, I'm sorry, that was bad. HA! BAD! GET IT?!

Anyhoo, the next day - after some more considerable visa-related stress - we managed to enter Vietnam. This, as you would imagine (if you were in the slight bit interested, which, given you're here, is still probably not the case), deserved celebration of the highest order. That's right, we transcended Viking Revelry and entered a whole new realm of "pArTaYiNg DoWn", as the kids would have it. And, as we all know, foreigners love it when British people come to their country and get obnoxiously drunk, and we weren't about to disappoint (Matt is attempting to give up disappointing having been addicted for the past 18 years). Having been condemned to dryness in Singapore by poverty, our livers were aching, but by chance it turns out that slightly-less-than-50p beers are the perfect cure!

Thusly, after watching the Lions lose wonderfully (I ain't talkin bout no rugby match: we actually watched a team of lions get the metaphorical shit metaphorically kicked out of them by some quite literal tigers in an event we mistakenly attended due to its being billed as a "Massive Cat Fight". In all seriousness, Matt actually did fall off his chair at one point during the match in over-excitement. It has since been rated #4 in the "Top 62 Things You Probably Will Never See, But That Were Pretty Funny" list published by Definitely Not Made Up Magazine) we headed to a place selling 3 for 2 cocktails. Now, one of said cocktails was called a "Happy Birthday", and this was when brilliance struck. In a smooth, casual manner that was definitely not drunken and slurred, I explained at the behest of the others to the waitress that it was Alex's birthday. Taking the hint (though clearly not well enough), she brought out a small cake-shaped candle and got the whole place to sing Happy Birthday to him. To be honest, it wasn't exactly what we were aiming for with the whole chirade. But what it was was step 1 on an inexorable path that led directly to YAY town, with a 4 night reservation at Fun Hotel. Let me introduce to thee: Crazy Lam.

Crazy Crazy Crazy Crazy Nights

Being struck by drunken munchies, we decided to stop at a random restaurant, where we discovered the eternal truth that authentic Vietnamese chicken curry tastes EVEN NICER than the tiny portions of chips with suspicious-looking cheese that we regularly pay 6 times as much for in England. Who knew? Whilst sat there, we more-or-less-accidentally befriended an American guy who spent slightly too much time talking about "young girrrrrrls" for even Matt's liking (and he's been Paedophile of the Year 6 times). And then, out of nowhere, the owner of the place comes over and introduces himself as "Crazy Lam". Luckily, it turned out that his name was actually Lam, and he hadn't just chosen the gayest nickname of all time.

On learning that it was Alex's birthday (chortle), Crazy Lam gave him a free birthday (chortle) beer. THEN, after disappearing for a brief period, he emerged with a glass of liquid approximately the size of a 4 year old and just as attractive (this fact was confirmed by the American), which was filled with what he had affectionately named as "Crazy Lam's Crazy Cocktail" (the mind of a genius), which was a crazy mixture of crazy alcohols in the aforementioned crazy glass. The best bit: it was entirely free! Crazy! So, all the crazy people at the crazy restaurant grabbed a crazy straw and helped down the crazy drink, and the whole thing was... well... you get the idea. Suitably car parked, Crazy Lam then took us to a club down the road, where he "spoke to some people" and got us in for free! Owing, of course, to its being Alex's birthday (chortle). And so we danced the night away.

Or, at least, we danced 15 minutes of it away before realising the club was awful, and so snuck (snuck? Sneaked? Sneakened?) out to try and avoid hurting Lam's feelings.

The next day, nursing hangovers the size of Matt's right testicle, we caught a bus to a town on the coast called Vung Tau in an episode of our adventure I'm refusing to put in its own blog because it's metaphysically impossible to make a pun on "Vung Tau". Any ideas are welcome though! And the best contributor will win a bike! Send your entry to youidiot@ofcourseIwontgiveyouabike.notreal.gov.uk.org

Anyway, Vung Tau is essentially a quiet beach town the highlight of which is definitely a giant statue of some breasts which had a vagina. As in, that's it. Breasts. Vagina. What more does a man need? It was perfect! Or it would have been if it hadn't been made out of stone. Trust me, that hurt. We spent a couple of pleasant days and one pleasant night chillaxing, maxing, relaxing all cool on the beach, walking by the sea, being followed around by men on motorbikes, and hanging with the local street children (it turns out that both chillaxing and living on the street are punishable by the gallows in Vietnam). It was cool. And then disaster struck.

On our return to Saigon, we bought a bottle of rum (2 pounds) and played a few rounds of drink-along-with-Wimbledon (1 finger for a forehand, 2 for a backhand) and braced ourselves for the next day. If you are easily scared, shocked, offended, appalled, betrayed, flabbergasted, or disgusted, I recommend you read the next section with your eyes shut.

The worst thing possible happened. Jess arrived.

The trip was ruined.

Nutritious, Delicious, and Slightly Suspicious

In actuality, Alex went to meet her at the airport (Matt and I were busy attempting to recreate a picture of me from Budapest where I'm jumping over a sprinkler. The sprinklers here are a lot higher, so it would've been epic. Matt got the camera ready, I took a long run up, planted my foot to jump, which slipped, sending me flying into the sprinkler, actually breaking it and naturally spraying water EVERYWHERE. After a panicked minute of repairs, we walked back through Saigon, me completely soaked... But I digress.) and then immediately got the two of them lost in the middle of Ho Chi Minh. Smooth. After Matt and I baled them out (being lost is a criminal offence in Vietnam, much like EVERYTHING is in Singapore), we all headed straight to a bar, where we met an awesome Swedish guy called Siam. After a fair few beers and a fair few (incredibly manly) happy hour cocktails, we decided that Jess and Siam had both been alive too long not to have experienced the phenomenon that is Crazy Lam, which is indeed true of everyone who hasn't met Crazy Lam - for shame. I'm looking at you. Metaphorically. The spycam's broken.

Naturally, we ended up on Crazy Lam's balcony eating delicious, nutritious, and slightly suspicious looking foods and belting out some Disney classics. We're still not quite sure whether or not we were kicked out, but we ended up heading back to the hotel, where we embarked on a mighty game of Kings, by the end of which we'd practically all gone blind, and those of us that hadn't were seeing at least triple (great if you're looking at a funky black man busting a bass solo, not so good if you're looking at Matt). We bid farewell to Siam, whose English had descended into a surprisingly eloquent mixture of slurred Swedish, English, Thai, and drunken sounds I'm pretty sure are universal, and decided to call it a night. Or, at least, the others decided to call it a night. I decided to call it an adventure waiting to happen! I was wrong.

Sadly, the drunken me suffers from a condition known as Rambosity, which annoying doesn't mean I grow obscenely muscular and star in all 4 of the movies that were recently voted equal top in a poll of the greatest movies of all time (in Rambo Weekly), but instead means I live by the philosophy of "Nothing is over! NOTHING!" at all times. And thus, with everyone else passed out in their beds, I headed out into the moonlit city in search of excitement, enjoyment, and adventure. Unfortunately, what I found was one cold, lonely beer, a sudden intense nausea, and an empty park. There have been better nights. But then, considering the existence of the Litten Tree and Cindies, there have been worse ones.

Attempted Recovery (or, Crazy Crazy Crazy Crazy Nights, Mark 2)

Now, it goes without saying that the following morning we were all feeling fantastic. So, to cheer ourselves up even more (and thus achieve Metahappiness, a level previously only reachable by receiving a backstage pass to an Iron Maiden concert, or getting a cake-shaped candle brought out for you when IT'S NOT ACTUALLY YOUR BIRTHDAY) we headed to the War Remnants museum. As the saying goes, "There's nothing like the visceral documentation of a genocide of a people committed by the most powerful nation on the planet to cure a hangover". I guess you could say it was a sobering experience, but to do so would be to score a cheap pun deriving humour from an horrific event, and thus is something I would never stoop to in a blog of such character. On a happier note (F sharp) we headed to the Imperial Palace, which it turns out is exactly as badass as it sounds, and then got caught in a monsoon the size of Matt's right testicle (yes, that thing really is big enough to warrant 2 comparisons in one blog) on the way home. Epic.

That night, we ritualistically headed to Lam's for dinner. At the end of the meal, Lam announced that we had to have a Crazy Cocktail since Jess was yet to experience. Nice thinking. Again, completely for free, the 4 of us and Lam saw this thing off, wincing at the obscene alcohol content, before Lam gopt angry that it was NOT STRONG ENOUGH, shouted at his sister (who had made it), and got her to make another one, but properly. That man really was crazy. That's where he gets his name. Crazy Lam. Because he's crazy, see, and his name's Lam. So, he's crazy Lam. You get it? Good. Anyway, we saw off the next badboy, and Lam instantly decided to go and make another.

If you're thinking "These guys have had 3 Crazy Lam Crazy Cocktails in one night! Crazy!" then don't because you're wrong. The moment the third one was gone he ran off to make a fourth. Each one was downed immediately. It was pretty much what heaven's going to be like, only the drinks will be served by a naked Tom Gault.

Feeling decidedly better than we had been (alcohol can have that effect. Who knew?), we headed to the hotel to see off the last of our rum and vodka, before picking up Lam to head to Saigon's biggest club, the tastefully named "Apocalypse Now". The drinks were expensive (a pound a pint) but this time we did manage to dance the night away for a few hours, before Lam picked up a girl (the playa - she was almost certainly a hooker), and we decided to head off.

Mekong Madness and Delta Dementia

The next day, we arose early as hell to go on a tour of the Mekong Delta, a beautiful area in the south of 'nam (in case you're wondering, official guidelines state you can refer to Vietnam as 'nam only when you have been there, and if you do so in a grisled, weary voice with a thousand yard stare). It really was amazing - we got to boat on up the Mekong, go up the tributaries through the jungle on a row boat (the guide myteriously wouldn't let me sit on a 4 person boat with the other 3, and instead made me ride with 3 strangers. Go figure), cycle along to small remote Vietnamese villages in the middle of the jungle, chill in hammocks, eat exotic fruits, and hold some bees! BEES! A downside was the local "music", which consisted entirely of tunless "singing" over the top of a random mish-mash of instruments playing notes seemingly at random. When Opeth do it, it's cool. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times: villagers in remote jungles in the far East should not try and imitate Opeth. There. Now it's one the internet, hopefully someone will listen.

After the trip, we bid a tearful farewell to the almighty Crazy Lam, and caught the midnight train going ANYWHERE! As long as it was Hoi An (a small town halfway up Vietnam, not to be confused with the anagramatic Hanoi, the capital). The Great Conundrum, as of then, remained unsolved.