Trains, Planes and Automobiles

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Currently sitting by the pool in Hue, having just ordered a Tropical Ice Tea. With my cocktail coming with ice, something I didn’t anticipate, I have quickly sculled the drink before the ice could begin to melt. So if the paragraphs below lack the usual flow, you know why 😉

This Vietnam return trip wasn’t something designed on a whim. Both Michelle and I first visited Vietnam in 2009, where our stay was shared between the two major capitals, Ho Chi Minh in the south and Hanoi in the north. This time round we wanted to fill in the gaps that we missed with flying between Ho Chi Minh and Hanoi. This time round, having arrived in Hanoi, our first destination was the quaint farming rural area of Sapa, along the Chinese and Vietnam border. After this, we would fly from Hanoi to Da Nang, where we would then drive two hours to the city of Hue. From Hue, a further three hour drive to the Surfers Paradise of Vietnam; Hoi An. From Hoi An we then fly to Na Trang, and from Na Trang drive onwards to the mountain range of Dalat where we then fly to Ho Chi Minh to then leave Vietnam

Although a typical 200km drive in Australia would usually take you under two hours, in Vietnam this time is usually doubled due to the congested traffic and (although I cannot speak for all drives of Vietnam) the transfer vehicles driving a VERY safe and cautious 50 to 60km/h. I kid you not, if I see the driver shift into fourth gear with a speed in excess of 60 kph, I do a little dance in the back seat.
This of course is all tolerated, simply because the scenery you see from the road is priceless. You miss so much from flying from one destination to the other. For instance driving to Hue, there was a woman pouring out a basket of wheat on the road, for the simple reason, this is how she dried it. By taking the road less travelled you see the heart of Vietnam, you see the people for what they are. Along the way to Hue we also passed through the mountain range in a 6km tunnel, now for most Perthies’ the longest tunnel they have driven through would be to 400m stretch of the Graham Farmer tunnel. It is all about the little things, and they all added up to a colourful Vietnam picture.

Anyway, I digress. Trains, Planes and Automobiles...

The evening we left Sapa was a late one. Having secured a late checkout of 6pm, we waited in the bar area for our 7pm transfer; the hour long drive (30km) from Sapa to Lao Cai, where the Victorian Express sleeper train was waiting to take us back to Hanoi. Meriana and Sharon were also in the bar. It is always a pleasant surprise to bump into a familiar face while abroad. We all chatted for a while about our experience of Sapa, Michelle’s and mine was far different to both Sharons and Merianas; where Michelle and I spent a great deal of our Sapa experience in the rural remotes (my idea), Sharon spent hers at the markets and villages, where Meriana simply soaked up the relaxing atmosphere of Sapa from the hotel’s upstairs lounge looking out onto the mountain range dividing China and Vietnam. If there was ever a place to slow down and relax in Vietnam, Sapa was definitely the place; I wish I was still there.

Unlike Meriana and Sharon, we had a private escort down to the train station, with our new found friends leaving moments before us via hotel transfer we raced down the Sapa mountainous country side to catch them up. Despite the quiet roads our driver was hesitant to go faster than 50kph, meaning our 30km journey would easily take an hour if not more. Along the way our guide, the same one whom had shown us the real Sapa in the rural rice field outback regaled stories about the illicit activities that occurred in the area due to being so close to the Chinese border, most notably people smuggling, and by people I mean young women. Some taken naively in the promise of a better lifestyle with better opportunities than a rural community could offer, others are taken completely by force in some instances rather violently. The simple truth is, these girls are taken away, smuggled into China and sold on as slaves to the highest bidder, they never return. It wasn’t until sometime later I read a security brief about the long windy road between Sapa and Lao Cai, strongly advising to avoid the stretch at night time, as the roads are usually quiet and the smugglers can use any means they feel to achieve their objective, as no one for miles will hear your cry for help. Of course our driver would of been aware of this, but short of locking the doors and stepping on the gas to evade, there wouldn’t of been much else to do.

We arrived at the train station in Lao Cai moments after the Sapa hotel transfer Sharon and Meriana had taken arrived. Thinking things would be far smoother if we simply followed them through to the platform (the old safety in numbers) we were quite eager to get out and catch up to them. However before we could even open the doors our guide swung around from the front seat with a tour evaluation form for us to complete with all the usual questions ‘are you happy with the tours you went on?’, ‘was the guide easy to understand?’, next to each question were a series of boxes ranging from excellent to poor, quickly skimming down the page, whilst trying to look like I was taking serious though and consideration into my answers I quickly ticked off ‘excellent’, ‘excellent’, ‘excellent’ all the way down the questionnaire, signed the bottom of the form, thanked the guide once again and exited the car. By then our other travel mates were already inside the train station.

The train arrived on schedule and Michelle and I, along with the usual suspects all from the trip from Hanoi to Sapa boarded our Victoria Express carriage, unpacking and preparing to settle in for the long nights ride back to Hanoi. Catching up with Sharon and Meriana in the carriage we chatted outside their cabin while enjoying a drop of French red Meriana had intended to open earlier in Sapa and with that night cap returned to our cabin to fall asleep to the clickity-clack sound and rocking motion of the rail beneath us.

We arrived in Hanoi around 6.00am the following morning, our transfer driver waiting for us as we stepped off the train. We lingered around for a few moments for our other travel companions to step off, but the train seemed motionless and our driver was already making his way across the numerous rail lines towards his car with some of our luggage in tow, so we followed. For 6am the train station was very busy, carriages were been shunted about the lines by various diesels. We dragged out suitcases across the rail lines, looking left and right just in case one of the engines had swapped lines with no notice. Finally making it up onto the main platform we were surprised that rather having to worry about losing our driver in the crowd on the platform we were more preoccupied with avoiding being run over by the mini taxi cabs that were driving on the platform instead. Only in Vietnam can you dismount from a train with your luggage, walking on and across five or six rows of active rail giving way to engines that pass less than a meter away from you, onto a platform that has more cars on it than people! We followed our driver out through the main entrance and jumped in the car. As he started the car he turned back at us and in broken English muttered ‘Airport?!’, in unison Michelle and I nodded in reply, ‘yes, airport please.’ And with that we were on our way, closing one chapter preparing to begin the next.

To both of our surprise, the roads of Hanoi were just as busy as the platform of the train station for the very logical reason that the sun was up, therefore so were the people; quite different to western countries whom don’t budge in the morning until the second cup of coffee. After navigating through the streets of Hanoi for a few minutes our driver muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘hotel’, but I dismissed it, after all, he was already taking us to the airport. Sure enough after a good twenty minutes of driving the scenery from the car window started to look familiar; we started to recognize hotels, cafes and restaurants, then we realised, he was taking us back to the bloody hotel! Leaning forward I asked the driver, ‘we’re going to the airport aren’t we?’, the driver looking through the rear vision mirror and in broken English replied, ‘you don’t want hotel?, okay airport’ and with that we changed direction and began our journey to the airport. We were both exhausted, Michelle didn’t sleep well on the train, even I on the trip back struggled at times, as a result my eyelids weighed like lead bars. Sinking back into the back seat I glanced at Michelle, her head was tilted up and she was out like a light. I was so envious, but I couldn’t trust this driver, I kept looking out the window, the moment I could see the rice fields from the highway, I knew we’d be on the right path. Our car was cruising at 40kph on the motor way, vans and motorbikes were beeping us and overtaking us at twice the speed, for a while there I couldn’t help but wonder if our driver was lost, eventually the rice fields came into view and not long after that so did the Hanoi airport terminal. That I thought, was by far one of the more interesting Vietnamese drives I had been on, but that was nothing to what happened when Meriana and Sharon left the train station for the airport.

As it turned despite our detour through the old quarter we still made good time arriving at the airport at 7am, five hours before our flight. Not sure whether we could check in or not we stopped by the Vietnam Airlines help desk. The desk clerk shook her head, ‘no, check in not for another 4 hour, but you can go on 7.45 flight instead?’. Unfortunately, since we had a transfer waiting for us in Da Nang, changing schedule now seemed more effort than it was worth. Thinking we must of been crazy for turning down such a great offer we thanked her and made our way down stairs setting up base at one of the many cafes. Despite it being breakfast time I didn’t really have much of an appetite. I was sick and tired of waiting at Vietnam airports. Unlike Australian airports, the Vietnamese ones are always over crowded with people, there are no shops to browse through to help kill time, and eating at the cafes are like playing Russian roulette with your stomach. All I wanted was to board that plane and be going somewhere, not stuck still. Our food came out, Michelles sandwich seemed alright, aside from being a little bland looking, my pizza on the other hand was clearly a nuked left over from the night before. I took one small nibble – it just wasn’t going to happen. Flagging down the waitress I ordered a sandwich like Michelles. For the next hour to kill time we played a game of Canasta, I won the first few, but then my mind slipped away and Michelle who has no mercy with this game swiftly conquered in the end. No sooner had the game ended I ventured back upstairs to check in, desperate to at the very least be able to sit in front of the gate, to be that little bit closer to going somewhere. As it turned out, the check in opened early, and we were first in line.

It was an hour now til boarding time, the gate lounge had gone from near empty when Michelle and I first checked in to now fairly full. We of course were sitting closest to our boarding gate, gate 9. Oddly there had been no sign of Meriana and Sharon since we left them on the train. ‘They must of gotten on that earlier flight’, Michelle thought, ‘good for them’, though had we realised we might miss them we would of said goodbye back on the train. No sooner had we spoken an exhausted, yet relieved Meriana walked out from behind us, ‘ah, here you are!’ waving over Sharon, both the girls dropping their bags and taking a seat alongside us. ‘You won’t believe what happened to us’ said Sharon still catching her breath. The two of them clearly looked flustered over the saga.

Their story began at the Hanoi train station. Both the girls had just exited the train carriage with their luggage. Unlike Michelle and I who had arranged a transfer and had the driver waiting for us as we exited the carriage, the girls had no one to greet them as they departed. They made their way with the luggage over the rail lines towards the platform. Out of nowhere a Vietnamese in a uniform stepped out to assist the girls – still grogged up with sleep from the ride back the girls mistook the gentleman for an official and allowed him to assist with the bags. Once at the platform the man further extended his services by finding the girls a cab. It wasn’t until the man wanted to accompany the girls that red flags started going up. Despite telling the cab driver that they didn’t want this stranger to accompany them, the stranger had already buckled up his seat belt in the front seat alongside the cabby and in Vietnamese started giving the cabby instructions. Feeling outnumbered and rather sick to the stomach of it all Sharon and Meriana promptly exited the car. The driver quickly reacted not wanting to lose his fare and also jumped out to but the girls already had their luggage and had moved on only to come across the taxi official for the station who hailed down a passing cab for them to get into. As fate would have it, with a cruel sense of irony, it was the same cab they had just left, except the crazy man that first escorted them was no longer there. Feeling reassured by the cab driver they hopped in and began their journey to the airport. Tired from the excitement of events moments earlier along with the long ride into Hanoi the night before, Sharon sunk back in the seat gazing out the window into the streets of Hanoi. The cab rolled up to a set of lights and stopped. A bike pulled up alongside the cab, and sure enough riding on the back was the crazy man from the station. Gasping in disbelief the girls wound up the windows and locked the doors, the crazy man pulling at the door handles trying to get in, shouting in Vietnamese to the girls and driver demanding that the doors be opened. By this time the lights had turned green, the traffic flowed through but the cab remained in siege by the crazy man. The girls were screaming in the back, trying to get attention of somebody, anybody, but all they got were a series of onlookers who seemed more interested in pulling out their phones to record the event rather than assist. By this time the crazy man had managed to get his arm through the drivers window (who had failed to wind it up) and was fumbling for the rear door trying to unlock it from inside. Slapping his hand away in a desperate attempt to keep the car secure, Sharon pleaded with the taxi driver to keep going. Finally he did, and took off leaving the crazy man behind once and for all.

The flight from Hanoi to Da Nang was brief, despite being a fully serviced flight we only had enough time to receive some water before we came in for landing. We taxied into the terminal where portable staircases and bus waited to take us to the terminal door. Waiting for our luggage at the carousel, this is where we parted company with Meriana and Sharon as they were going on to Hoi An where we were going to Hue, driving in complete opposite directions. Since we were overlapping in Hoi An for a day, Meriana gave us their hotel details in case we were able to catch up with them for a drink, with that we said our goodbyes and began our two hour car journey to Hue.

The drive to Hue was very picturesque, filled with tired buildings from the communist era contrasting against the beautiful stretch of blue coastline, with the odd rice field dotted in for effect. On the road ahead before us lay another tall mountain range, the sight of it instantly filling me with the fond memories of Sapa, wishing I was still there in that small quiet town. If St Petersburg was to be regarded as the Venice of the North with all of its French and Italian influenced buildings and canals, then Sapa to me was definitely the Venice of the IndoChina region, its French architectural impressionism a vibrant addition to the mountainous country side landscape.

The drive was peaceful, and feeling like I could finally relax, I relieved the weight of my eye lids, only to wake up in Hue.

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