On the trail of Uncle Ho!

Firstly before I begin my blog a big thank you to Chris Brinkworth, all the pictures used are his after my camera was stolen, he has a site with video footage at www.chrisbrinkworth.com. You may even see a little of me at Halong Bay if not some of his footage and commentary is very funny and definitely worth some of your spare time if you want to get a little closer to the travel experience.

Okay here we go, its going to be another novel so it may take you a couple days to print and read it at you leisure. With China finally behind me I was keen to get to Vietnam, hearing so many good things about this country had got me excited for this land of the man, the locals refer to as Uncle. I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (formely Saigon) in the South and immediately the Vietnam experience began as I walked into the Customs Hall. Three International flights had arrived simultaneously, four officials were being painstaking slow and meticulous at checking visa's and passports and four long lines were now snaking around the inapproriately small hall until the tail and head were entwined hopelessly. The temperature and humidity were well above 85 in a non air-conditioned hall and everyones paitience and humility was being severly tested and pushed to the limits of endurance. Finally after what seemed like 3 days I received my 'admitted' stamp and a severe stare for a full minute from the official and I could move onto the baggage reclaim hall. I walked into a scene reminiscent of the fall of Saigon in the 70's. The conveyor belts were tiny less than half the size of the ones in any normal international airport, the hall itself was tiny the conveyor belts only leaving no more than 20 yards to the back wall in which to stand. Suitcases and various forms of baggage were piled haphazardly 2 to 3 high, wobbling precariously like pennies about to fall at a cheap amusement arcade slot machine. Others were getting firmly stuck in the doorway out, stopping the conveyors and preventing yet more baggage fodder from joining the merry mayhem. People were clambering over this mess pulling the stuck baggage free and throwing it like Olympic athletes in any direction, soon small peaks started to form 4 or 5 suitcases high with small valleys of 2 or 3 in between. There was no space to stand with the luggaage trollies and families, locals, backpackers and holiday tourists jossled 5/6 deep for the same small bit of standing room, they were all shouting 'left, no right, straight ahead, look under that one in front of you' at their representative who was by now climbing up and down the increasing peaks. 'There's gold in those there hills' or ceratinly your luggage if you have the energy to get out there and find it! I decided I could watch no longer, I summoned up the courage and energy and began the long climb to my conveyor avoiding stepping on the odd cardboard box that simply crushed flat under my weight 'oops nothing breakable or valuable I hope'. After a 10 minute hard climb I reached the plateau that led me straight to my conveyor belt which was by now moving again. I jumped on and was soon on a fairground merry-go-round and began lifting luggage in search of my rucksack, finally I spotted it lying upside down and at an odd angle, lying 10m from where the Olympian had thrown it. I was out of here and climbed toward the 'Exit' sign which luckily was high enough to be seen above the hilltops.

As I exited it was clear that I was out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. I immediately faced a mass of Asian faces at least 10 deep and 5 high, they all shouted for my attention at once many waving white papers or arms until it all belnded and I was hit by a wall of noise, any discernable detail was impossible. As I approached this wall it magically opened like the 'biblical' seas parting to let me through and like the egyptians it closed in and on me as I stepped into the gap. I was engulfed and pulled in all directions by many hands each follwed by a swift voice of 'hotel, taxi, I take you, very cheap!' I calmly and without word carried on walking ignoring the chaos and hands, some pushing and shoving amonst taxi drivers began as each one claimed they had seen me first. Finally I cleared the mass and found a quiet spot on the pavement at the rear and sat down with a bottle of water and I watched and I waited. I was soon forgotten and it was like watching a re-runs of old episodes of 'friends', the same jokes and plots you have seen many times but still make you laugh all the same. Every person who walked out was treated to the same madness as myself as the taxi drivers try to con some tourist and make a few easy dollars taking the unsuspecting around the city a few times to make it look like the journey was far from the airport. Finally I found a taxi, haggled and negotiated with the driver and ten minutes later was soon 'far from the madding crowd' leaving the show to play out over and over until the last plane of the day had long since landed.

The first thing that strikes you on the roads of Saigon and indeed any Asian country is the amount of mopeds on the roads. They simply outnumber people by a ratio of at least 10:1 or so it seemed, as many as four people balance precariously on small Honda's, some carry bags full of fruit or vegetables, some appeared they were moving house and balanced a huge mass of bags and belongings. I even saw a person holding two thick panes of sheet glass that towered high above him and just as wide any thoughts of safety or personal injury are simply ignored, if it can be carried or balanced it goes on a bike. They zip about in and out at high speed the dominant species on the road, my taxi crawled along the road like some large whale through a shaol of plankton. Finally after an hour I reached my hotel, took a shower and decided to explore my new found surroundings. Walking the streets of Saigon ranges from at best downright difficult to at worse suicidal, hardly anyone walks the pavements except tourists. Every other motorbike is a Xe Om (motorbike taxi) they constantly stop next to you in order to take you somewhere/anywhere, you simply negotiate a price and hop on the back. Once on the back its a white knuckle experience as your driver turns into Carl Foggerty, he zips in and out braking suddenly every hundred yards, runs red lights, drives down the street the wrong way onto the on coming traffic, all the time holding his finger on the horn as if he had the ultimate right of way on the road. Every ride is the same regardless of driver the same road 'Saigon roulette' experience of holding on tight followed by the celebration of life as you reach your intended destination, usually so quickly you arrive the same time as you left as for a brief moment time actually appears to stand still. Walking the pavements is great for at least a hundred yards when at some point you have cross the road to the other side. Pedestrians have no right of way or is it no right at all, whatever, looking both ways reveals there is no break ever in the traffic and no crossings to help. Whatever happens you cant run, slowly keep walking and keep watching and by some miracle the mopeds seem to pass around you as though you have a lucky force field around you to protect you, it works but it pays never to get complacement.

So Saigon is literally one large big melting pot, the temperature hot and humid, bikes cram the roads moving people around the city constantly and cooking smells fuse with the smog and fumes of the traffic. At night fast food street cafes appear on every street corner, cheap fast food drive aways for the masses on the constant move, going out or simply driving around. The pot is now brimming just add some street bars with neon lights and some tourists, local girls looking for 'bang bang' and you have a city as intoxicating and as exciting as Khao San road in Bangkok. Local Vietnamese girls patrol the bars fishing for either free drinks or a good time, street beggers patrol the restaurants for handouts and Xe Om drivers for a fare. By dawn the street cafes have vanished like bats hibernating for the day, tourists are sleeping in their hotel rooms not all of them alone I'm sure, however the streets pulse with the same intense traffic that never seems to subside whatever time of day. If you like fast paced city life then Saigon is as fast as Micheal Schumacher in the wet, many travellers I have met since either love it or hate it. I was one of the ones that loved it. Of course its dirty, noisy and smelly in places most cities are but its vibrant enough to grab you and make you sit up and take notice if you will allow it to. So moving on, this is clearly starting to become a novel again, my moped taxi drove me around the sights: the US Embassey, War Musuem, Reunification Hall, Chinese Market, Buddhist Temples an America Market which oddly sells everything the US troops left behind like zippo lighters, old dog tags, helmets, web belts even letters and pictures taken from the front line. The Cu Chi tunnel complex which are fascinating insight into 'the resiliance of the glorious heroes of Vietnamese People's Republic' (note: their propoganda quote from the information film which is compulsory to watch not mine). Massive B52 bomb craters litter the tunnel site and a wrecked shell of an American tank are reminders of the fierce fighting that took place here. I went in some of the tunnel complex at first easy as it had been widened for tourists but as I was led deeper ended up on my hands and knees crawling after the guide who continued to run bent over leaving me in the darkness. Narrow tunnels would open up into small rooms or led to small wooden ladders going up or further down, some rooms were for sleeping some for cooking, some were reinforced with tree trunks to act as bomb shelters. Sometimes I would simply pop up above ground near a tree or in a hut from a hole in the ground like a 'mearcat' suprise some tourists and disappear back the way I had come. You are shown weapons manufactured from bomb shrapnel, bamboo stakes, landmines and booby traps and are finally invited to shoot an AK47, M16 or M61 machine gun on the range. Of course I went for the biggest 'rambo' gun they had and shot a round off, whether I hit a a target didn't really matter every squeeze of the trigger resulted in voilent shaking as to blur my vision, an ear deafening crack and instant piles of sand thrown high into the air at the far end of the range. This was far to much fun to worry about hitting anything so I bought an extra round and did it all over again.

Saigon now done and the box ticked it was time to move on. I moved onto Hoi An along the coast a small fishing village not far from Danang. Hoi An is a sleepy coastal town with world heritage status set on a river inlet of old style french colonial buildings, narrow streets peppered with craft shops, cafes and restaurants. The pace of life relaxes into strolling the streets stop for an iced coffee of fresh fish lunch before ambling onto the local museum for some local history. Hiring a bike for the day allows you the freedom to explore the coastline and local villages and its easy to find a secluded beach where the only soul in either direction is yourself. In the evening the restaurants are aglow with fairylights and the river is full of floating chinese lanterns that bob on the currents gently like fireflies. All the restaurants sell freshly caught local fish and indeed the local market is well worth a visit to watch the locals bartering and selling produce everything from fresh fruit to vegetables to clothes. Hoi An is a special place and I had an amazing time and for the first time in months I felt relaxed, it was and has remained my favourite part of travelling through Vietnam. I then took the overnight train to Nha Trang also on the coast and was to take a bus up into the central highlands to Dalat. The overnight train proved to be Vietnam's version of 'endurance' my 'soft sleeper' being only 2mm of vinyl covered foam was far from the term 'soft' and the used bedding of long black hairs piled in a heap on my bunk meant that my sleeping bag was to be of some use afterall. The train sped along at the snails pace of 45km an hour, it rocked constantly and furiously from side to side and the wheels of the carriage squeeled so loudly every two minutes I thought my eardrums would burst. this was to be my world for the next 11 hours and as I sat with resigned acceptance my dinner was delivered to my cabin. Four foil covered cartons revealed the most unappetising and ill prepared food imaginable, it was visually clear that even the slightest mouthfull or taste would have resulted in instant stomach cramps followed closely by an untimely death. On my waiters return I suggested to him that in future the lids carry a health warning, he politely smiled back and said "thank you sir, glad you like so much" and he was gone with my candidate Ramsay Hell tray. Instead I dined in style with my box of Pringles and packet of Oreos and slid from head to foot of my bunk on the vinyl and became immune to the constant squeeling of the wheels or maybe I was in fact now deaf. I slept little that night and at 4am the pounding on my door that continued unabated until I opened it in response revealed I was finally at my destination. Sleepy and bleery eyed I picked up my rucksack only to discover there was no platform, in fact there are simply no platforms in any station in Vietnam they dont exist. I descended down the carriage ladder leaping the last foot to the ground only to be suddenly pushed back aginst the carriage and stood motionless as a train on the next rail sped past me so close that the wind slipstream buffeted me until it had passed. I stood there some seconds after it had disappeard into the distance before making sure I was still alive or hadnt lost anything. Then looking in both direction crossed the tracks and headed for the station exit. As I did so the now familiar taxi frenzy took place around me as I was pulled this and then that away, I tried to explain that my connecting bus didn't leave until 8am, it was now 4am and there was nowhere for me to go. However no never means no in Asia and the quest for my custom narrowed to just two die-hard drivers, shouting began and fists were raised. Suddenly one driver revealed a large plank of wood and was threatening to hit the other, more shouting and two large crowds quickly surrounded both irrate drivers trying to prevent the imminent all out fight. By this time I had found a street cafe on the other side of the road and was enjoying a cup of coffee slightly bemused by events on the opposite side of the road. Within half an hour normality had been restored to the taxi rank and I was left in peace to enjoy more coffee and an early breakfast.

It took the best part of that day for my bus to reach Dalat. Travelling Vietnam isn't an exact science as you can now appreciate so instead of arriving as scheduled at midday I finally checked in at 5pm, you have factor this into travelling by any means of Asian transport. Drivers stop for a smoke whenever they want or if they need a drink or are hungry or toilet etc etc you have to be patient and grin and bear it. Dalat is surrounded by pine forests the soil is very fertile and there are coffee plantations, flower farms and vineyards in the surrounding area. My moped driver took me to all the tourist spots and the more I told him not to the more frustrated I got as I was taken to silk farms in order to buy a scarf or tie. It was a little disappointing not to get into and see the real countryside or visit a local village but this something that frustrated me a little about Vietnam as a whole. I spent one day which maybe was too short to see the area closely but 'tet' or Chinese New Year was imminent and already public transport was full and closing down for four days, also hotels/guesthouses were filling quickly. I had to find somewhere to stay quickly and put for four days until the celebrations were over and everything started up again. I went back to Nha trang and decided four days on the beach topping up the tan was the sensible and proper option. The next four days were spent sitting on the beach watching dragon dancing everynight in the streets and generally putting my feet up. After the fuss began to die down I headed to Hanoi in the north. Hanoi is different to Saigon, in fact they have a saying in Vietnam and throughout SE Asia generally which is 'same same but different' meaning same but not the same. Whenever you negotiate to buy anything regardless if you are buying some fruit or clothes its always 'same same but different'. Therefore Hanoi is 'same same but different' same road madness as Saigon but different on the streets. The old quarter is a warren of narrow streets rammed with restaurants and shops and homes, overhead washing hangs to dry and people live in small apartments just above the noisy street level. More people work and walk the street and at times its hard to walk about as you avoid streetside cafes, shops and bikes all competing for right of way. From Hanoi I headed out for Halong Bay famous when used as a backdrop in the James Bond movie Man with the Golden Gun and again its another world heritage site. Halong Bay is by organised tour only and I was joined by a dozen other travellers including Chris whom I mentioned at the beginning of this journal. We travelled by bus to Halong harbour and boarded our boat, looking like an old Chinese junk complete with fan sails (although they serve no purpose and are hardly ever raised) and bright redwood interior and cabins. We sailed out into the great blue yonder, actually the diesel engine billowed out black smoke behind us and made enough noise that we all had to sit up front to be able to talk to oneanother. The sky was not blue but a decent shade of grey not to disimilar to a normal day back in London and rain looked likely. I stood on deck up front gulped in fresh air 'aahh the open sea, the peace, the tranquility' and turned around to see at least 200 other vessels in convoy behind us. If anyone has ever imagined what the hundreds of vessels used in the withdrawl of Dunkirk may have looked like then surely this is the closest reinactment around and you should get yourself along for a look. Our first stop were at some caves, at least fifty boats were already moored up and as our vessel muscled in more waited like 'junk vultures' out in the bay for any space. We joined a long line of tourists and like the sheep we had become patiently grazed at the view around us and waited for our turn to enter the caves. Here's an odd thing, as I waited I noticed the rubbish bins on the way up to the cave entrance were all bemused looking penguins the beaks wide open where the rubbish was discarded, but with a facial expression that said 'dont ask me I dont know either'. Penguins aren't a natural species to Vietnam's tropical shores as I reacall. Were they left overs from 'seaworld' or was it just simply a job lot 'no we got no dolphins but Ive got some penguins, give you a good price' or maybe they said 'same same but different'. On entering the impressive cave entrance you enter another world, a world of limestone walls and odd shaped rocks and stallactites'n'mites all lit with neon green, red, pink and blue and you suddenly realise you have been here before. The last time you saw this was at Christmas in some department store's Santas Grotto when you were just 10 only of course on a much smaller scale. Our guide points to a rock and calls it the dragon, 'look there's its eye and tail', another an elephant 'there's its trunk' it bears a vague similarity I suppose but the dragon looked like an upturned basket of fruit pouring onto the floor in my eyes - just like modern art darlings you see what you want to see!.

That night we moored in a nice quiet and secluded bay with at least 300 other vessels, and all that disturbed the peace and tranquility that was ours to enjoy and savour for the rest of our lives was the music, drinking and partying of the boat closest to us. I was awoken suddenly in my cabin the next morning at 6.30am by a loud gun shot or was it a canon and sat bolt upright in bed and in shock. Suddenly my room began to fill with black billowing smoke 'we're on fire, a gas bottle in the kitchen has exploded' the permutations raced through my head. I threw back my curtains, in the night our boat had swung about on the tide so we were now rear to rear with the nearest boat to us. My cabin was taking the full blast of their diesel engine starting up for the day and thick black diesel smoke was filling my room, I pulled my window shut only to realise it was of no use, it had no glass, it was just an empty window pane. Thoughts of jumping out of the window and drowning myself lasted but a mere few seconds and I was soon up on deck drinking coffee while my fellow shipmates slept in their bunks. That day we visited a couple of Islands and went mountainbiking to a small village, one such island was Monkey Island we were dumped on the beach and told we had an hour to relax and see the monkeys. After 20 mins we had seen no monkeys and as I sat there on the beach my mind began to wander aimlessly about (like it sometimes does), if indeed there were any monkeys, how had they gotten to the island. Had they built a raft of reeds from another island and been aware of tides and currents, could they navigate by the stars, or had some mad scientist named Dr Moreau bought them here to do some odd experiment years ago. The answer was soon to become apparent. When our guide returned we told him we had seen no monkeys he replied 'monkey like banana's, you have no bananas so monkey stay away' and we boarded our boat and moved on. Here's my last monkey note, that night we were in a bar talking to a group that had left the island just before we arrived. They had told us there were indeed many monkeys but they had got quite aggitated with them for being on their Island with also no aforementioned banana's. The group in fear of being attacked had thrown stones at the monkeys fearing for their safety to eventually scare them off. So there's your answer, they are bad convict monkeys and this is Monkey Alcatraz, this is where they do hard time. I went kayaking in the Bay on my own and got very lost. There are so many Islands they all look the same and after an hour was totally disorientated as to my direction and where the boat was. I was in fact paddling the wrong direction away from the boat and could find no islandmark I recognised, I began to panic and I was already nearly an hour late. I waved at distant boats shouting at the same time and I could see them waving back at me, this wasnt helping me. I was in the middle of an Island range it was like a warren, get lost in this lot and it could take hours/days/months/never to be found. Visions of my dusty skeletal body being found still sitting upright holding the paddles years later went through my mind. Eventually I started retracing my route and paddled hard for the next hour until I was sweating in the heat and purely by accident noticed our boat. No one seem bothered that I was so late or had been lost and we moved on. We spent the next night on bland Cat Ba island which is pretty unimpressive and has a sea front like Blackpool with cheesey flashing lights at night and then the next day we sailed back to port returned to Hanoi.

The following day I took the overnight train to Sapa in the mountains in the north.

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