North Vietnam

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Well, what to say of Northern Vietnam. To be honest, I'm reminded of Obi Wan's comment about Mos Eisley, but that is overly harsh I think. I had heard a great deal about the country before I arrived here. Some people said they loved it, other hated it. It has been described as being more hostile to travellers, and that you need to be more cautious about being ripped off. However, I spoke to a chap who ran a bar on Cat Ba Island who believed that ripping each other off was a sort of North Vietnamese national pastime. To be honest, I arrived with very little preconceptions.

We (Lyndesy and myself) arrived from Saigion at Hanoi airport after dark, to be met with a chill in the air. No longer were we in the world of flip-flops and suntan lotion. It was very odd to see people all wrapped up against the cold. Thankfully, the airline laid on a bus from the airport to the centre of town, so we didn't have to hang about. As we drove towards Hanoi, we both refelcted on how familair it looked. There was little to distigush it from many other industrial towns. We were dropped off, and begain the familar experience of looking for a hotel, while a million moto-drivers want to help us find one. We decided on one, and headed of in a taxi. This quickly became an expensive ride, as the driver didn't seem to know where we were going (or we hadn't explained it very well). Still, as we got near, some guys leapt out of a nearby hotel, onto a moto, and took of after us, banging on the doors and wanting to take us to their hotel.

Our hotel was full, so with a little trepidation we decided to go with them. The room was nice, on the top floor, so we took it and the price was right ($10). The people were very friendly also, but when we went across the street the guy in the shop tried to warn us about the hotel ("Bad people"). I wasn't sure how to take this, but we'd already booked in and I was very tired.

The next day we arose to discover Hanoi. We were staying in the Old Quater, which is a maze of little streets, packed with shops, people and noise. I've found that the arcitecture takes a little will to get used to. I thought that it was quite ugly, but now I see the charm of it. It's like lots of Ashton Lanes in Glasgow. One thing I find very strange is the way the streets seem to be seperated by what the shops sell. SO you have clothing street, ironmongery street, cake street, big aluminium box street. Each shop identical to the next, selling the same things. I suppose I'm just used to the supermarket, and this is how it used to be.

We visited the massive covered market in the heart of the old town. A strange bustling maze on a number of levels, filled with more clothes than I think their are people on the planet. Lots of women selling things, and men sleeping, drinking tea or reading the paper.

We then wandered to the lake, where we met a very nice young Vietnamese man who took us for a coffee. But no ordinary coffee. This was sort of like a cappucino, but had egg instead of milk. I was actually much more appealing than I imagined.

However, it quickly becameapparent that the coffee and chat was merely a cunning ruse. This man was a tout for a Snake restraunt, and wanted us to eat there. I guess he hangs out at the lake hunting for suggestable people. This happens a lot out here, when the nice person at the temple or the wat turns out to be a tout. I find it as bit depressing, because it's sad to realize that the only reason someone is wanting to have a conversation is so they can sell you something. Also, whilst the person initially give the impression that they are a fountain of usefull information and freindly advice, they turn out to be nothing of the sort. The hotel you're in is no good, your plan to take the train is a mistake, and you shouldn't travel to that part of the country. Instead you should stay in their hotle, travel on their overpacked tourist bus and go on their tour to the local wonder.

In this case, we were asured that there is no restraunts in the old quataur open. This was patently ridiculous, and after a good few minutes of trying to extracate ourselves, we agreed to maybe visit the snake restraunt next time we come to Hanoi, and off we popped.

I was looking for an indian restraunt, but it was impossible to find. By then, Lyndsey and I were both faint with hunger, so we fell into a little vietnases place. This seemed pretty rough around the edges, full of guys drinking tosts of vodka. I figured that they don't get many westerners here, seeing as the english menu was on one sheet, handwritten, mispelt and falling apart. I got the impression that the owner guy was disappointed we were not russian.

Still the food was pretty nice, and we got to taste many dishes due to some comunication mix ups. The glasses of vodka weren't too bad either.

After we left, we staggered though the old quarter, which was jumping this time of night. We packed in more food, incuding Bahn Bao, a great steamed dumpling with pork inside. We finished off on a road side bar, which a lovely family and an adorable little kid who had the entire group (including us) wrapped around his finger.

The next day we headed off for Halong Bay.

In my usual impulsive style, I had rented a motorbike from the hotel we were staying. But not your run-of-the-mill honda, oh no. This was a minsk, a mighty, russian (or north vietnamese), red, two stroke beast. It sounded like hell, and when I hired it I was shown where all the spares are kept. But with this I hoped to explore the north east of Vietnam.

Before leaving, we bought a giant bike poncho (this has two head holes, one for passenger, one for driver, and a big clear panel on the front for the headlight. Thankfully we never had to use it, we looked completely ridiculous. We also bought a massive chain and padlock for the bike, because there was no ignition system witha key. Anyone could just hop on and off they'd go.

So, with bags strapped on the bike, Lyndsey navigating from the back seat, I gingerly headed out into the Hanoi traffic. It was surprisingly easy to drive. With ample use of the horn, and the mighty presense of the bike, and the inate common sense of the vietnamese to get the hell out of the way of a nervous looking westerner on an antique moterbike, the traffic was manageable and soon enough we were on the highway to HaiPhong. The road out of Hanoi may be one of the ugliest I've travelled, but it was wonderful to be on the road. After a while though, I realized that their was a funny noise coming from the bike. Also, it was getting chilly. Our stops for warming coffee and absolutely disgusting tea gave us some comfort. It was back in the land of few westerners, and we attracted many curious smiles and stares. After three hours, we arrived in Haiphong. It was dark, and we hd no idea of where to go. We stopped for a warming bowl of beef noodle soup, and with the aid of lots of arm-waving, and the use of chopsticks as navigational aids, we were directed to Dien Bin Phu street and the heart of the town.

But then, inevitably, the gears on the bike started acting up. I realized that I'd lost the first and fourth gears. We need to find a hotel, but the ones on Dien Bin Phu were to expensive for us. A friendly moto driver was able to overcome our state of irritation, and directed us to a lovely hotel called the Ahn Ahn. There we crashed out, after gorging ourselves on junk food (Pringles, M&Ms, chocolate and Dalat wine).

The next day, I needed to be up early to get the bike fixed. Thankfully there was a mechanics next door. He looked it over, but made it clear that there was nothing he could do. I tried to ask the guy if he knew any other mechanics, but to no luck. Whilst we needed a mechanic for the bike, we also needed to get on to Cat Ba island. So, it was decide to leave the bike at the hotel. Boo.

We took the bike to the ferry port to get our tickets. One of the ticket touts offered to show me to a mechanic. The mechanic poked around, scratched his head, tightened a few nuts but wasn't able to do anything. However, our freindly tout explained to us that he'd fixed the problem! And it only cost a mere 30, 000 dong, which she had paid him and I was to pay her. I was willing to believe her, she had been so helpful, but it was clear that nothing had changed, and the bike was still busted. I was being ripped off.

We got into rather a heated argument, where it was then explained to me that she had been "helping", and I now owed her. I said no, we went back to the now rather bemused looking mechanic, we when I asked how much he wanted, showed me a ten-thousand. So, a good day for him, not for the tout. Ha!

We hired another, smaller bike from the hotel, which we were told we could take on the ferry to Cat Ba. Of course, it wasn't a car ferry, and the bike had to be hoisted onto the roof by the crew, who wanted some more cash for that. It's amazing how paranoid and money obsessed you become when you are constantly at risk of being rippped off. The pity is that it is actually quite small amounts of money, but i guess not to them.

The journey was uneventful, and soon we were at Cat Ba, which is were the previous entry takes off!

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Photos

The Minsk
Pre-breakdown.

Break stop
Kids at our coffee shop stop.

Comments

[Dad]

Hi Adam!
Greetings from a freezing Bervie (and hello to Lyndsey): This blog is better than TV, Adam (faint praise, I know). Never buy me a motorbike. Granny and Granda, and Granma, send their best wishes and are following your progress by hard copy. Two top-rated photos now - well done, David Bailey. Looking forward to the next episode. Take care of yourself. Dad