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Published: December 4th 2006
Hanoi After laid back Laos,
Hanoi came as a bit of a shock. Everyone over 3 feet tall has a motorbike and seems to use it. Or at least leave it parked inconveniently on the pavement. Crossing the street is a test of nerves where right of way is more a case of who breaks (or brakes) first.
Another road rule is that beeping your horn makes you invincible, thus you can overtake on blind bends and fit through non-existent gaps. And of course there's the Hanoi tattoo, painfully sported on the lower leg by the unfotunate tourists who neglected to keep their legs away from the hot exhaust.
After driving, eating is the second most popular pastime amongst Hanoi residents. Little food stalls occupy every corner, or at least where they can fit in between the motorbike repair shops. These motorbike repair shops also double as a handy local bar. It's a bit like Kwik Fit becoming a licenced premises. You can picture the scene; "A puncture sir? Certainly, we'll have that sorted in ten minutes. Now can we interest you in a pint while you wait?"
Anyway, back to the food stalls, where the hygiene standards
could best be described as questionable, the food as delicious and the stools as frankly too small. Sitting eating dinner evokes a feeling similar to that of returning to a primary school class once you're a fully grown adult. Not a good thing with David's record for breaking seats.
A Scotsman, an Englishman and an Irishman These restaurants (and motorbike bars) were places to be frequented with our new found travelling companions. What are the chances of meeting a Scotsman, an Englishman and an Irishman, or even more unlikely, a Rangers fan in Vietnam on the evening Dundee United beat Rangers? David wasn't gloating at all of course.
Amazingly no offence was taken and we continued to travel together for the next three weeks. The friendship was cemented over the course of 40 glasses of Bia Hoi, the local brew. This expensive night out cost a grand total of 4 quid.
Unfortunately, this quantity of any liquid leads to a rather pressing need to visit the 'bathroom' on a regular basis. And with the toilet design somewhat lacking in privacy, it was hard not to get to know each other better than we may have originally envisaged.
The beer led to us sampling some more local culture by venturing into New Century night club. We're sure we fitted in well in our flipflops. Although a considerable portion of the locals failed to notice our attire, engrossed as they were in the live English Premiership match being shown on the countless screens around the club. Seriously, can you imagine if they showed Match of the Day in clubs in Britain? As if it isn't hard enough to get guys on the dancefloor as it is.
Although this seems not to be a problem in Vietnam, where the gentlemen certainly take the lead when it comes to strutting their stuff. It also appears they like to mirror the dancing of western visitors. It's possible this is down to our devilish performance when it comes to our best moves. Or perhaps it's the vast quantity of Hennessey all the locals seem to pour down their necks.
So what better way to finish off an evening of alcohol fuelled dancing, than a nice bit of food to sort out the munchies. Pho Ga (chicken noodle soup) is a somewhat less portable alternative to chips and cheese after a
night out. It is the staple diet here and can be eaten for breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, pre dinner snacks or any other hobbit-style meal time.
Halong time ago in a galaxy far far away Having sampled a fair bit of Hanoi, it was time to stretch our horizons a little and head out to the stunning
Halong Bay, around 3 hours by bus from Hanoi. Or 2 hours if you could persuade them to drive above 35mph and not stop at the ridiculous tourist trap shop on the way.
Our journey was entertaining enough though, thanks to our guide, Don. Well, Don for the purposes of this blog and our inability to come close to pronouncing his Vietnamese name. Don was close enough according to him. He did rather better with the names, however, even managing to get Carolyn correct. It's not Caroline, and woe betide anyone who makes that mistake! Although according to the pompous French professor who joined us on this trip, English is wrong, and Carolyn should be called Caroline. Hmmm.
Our group were fortunate enough to get a boat with no other passengers booked on, so there was plenty of room
Bath time
Halong Bayfor the eleven of us when we arrived. And plenty of room for the beer we proceeded to purchase from the hoardes of woman rowing around in boats offering to sell everything from bananas to Oreo cookies.
The crew weren't too impressed with our carry out, but with some 'diplomacy' from Mark and Brendan, helped along by Don, we managed to persaude them to let us drink the imported beer in favour of their overpriced nonsense, provided we took our rubbish with us. This seemed a fair deal. This was before we realised that transferring 40-odd empty bottles from one boat to another isn't the easiest job. Especially when the captain of the first boat isn't your biggest fan.
The beer in no way contributed to the seemingly senseless decision to leap from the top deck of the boat (anywhere between 25 and 700 feet, depending on who you listened to) in the pitch dark, shortly after finishing a 5 course seafood dinner. Don was very encouraging, offering us a ladder to get back in the boat, and insisting the water would still be warm.
The water was indeed warm, and salty. Very salty. As each of
Karst Away
Halong Bay the happy jumpers will confirm. Given our blogging moniker, it seemed only fair that one of us went over the side first. With Carolyn still not convinced it was the best way to cure her cold, David took on the challenge. With the aid of a trusty sunbed and the shoulders of two volunteers, he flung himself feet first into the darkness.
As those viewing from above later confirmed, it was a less than elegant entry, falling slightly backwards. A reverse belly-flop if you like. But it convinced the rest that they wouldn't die on impact and Louis quickly splashed in beside him. Followed not too long after by Mark, and a less than enthusiastic Brendan. By this stage Carolyn, and a couple of English girls, had decided it looked like too much fun to miss out, and so flung themselves in too.
It was a great end to the first day, and one that would be repeated the following morning before our trip to a beautiful private beach where we were to spend our second night in bungalows on the waterfront.
In amongst the beach volleyball with the staff, and attempting to steer a kayak in
Rush Hour
Halong Bay a straight line for more than three strokes was a rather impressive seafood barbeque, served on the beach. Each bungalow offered sarongs for the inhabitants. A particularly fine example of how to sport these items can be seen among our pictures.
Sapa On return from Halong Bay we made plans to head to Sapa, a former French hill station in the far north of the country, almost at the border with China.
With an overnight train the best option from Hanoi, we booked ourselves five berths in a hard sleeper cabin. And when they say hard, boy do they mean hard. Our beds consisted of a fairly thin plank of wood with nothing more than a straw mat to cushion you against the rumbling train. Simply getting into the bunks was a task in itself. Particularly for Brendan, who had to fit round the ceiling fan to squeeze into his impossibly small top bunk.
The only thing for it was to head to the even less comfortable hard seat carriages to drink beer with the locals, and learn a little of the local lingo. With a 30 strong contingent of tourism students eager to practice their English,
not much Vietnamese was picked up, beyond hello, goodbye and thankyou. Oh, and I Love You, which strangely all the guys seemed to want to hear.
Lessons came to an abrupt end when Mark was banished to his bed by the student's leader. His crime? Hesitating before answering the impossible question; "do you think she's more beautiful than me?"
After very little sleep, we were unceremoniously dumped from the train and into a minibus for the trip up the mountain to our accommodation. There were more than a few green faces an hour later when we arrived.
It was all to prove worth it though as we ventured out on our trek through the rice terraces and local villages dotted around the surrounding mountains. The scenery was breathtaking, as were the steeper parts of the walk. This didn't seem to bother our guide, who accomplished the walk in her flip-flops, pausing only to show us the home she shares with 6 other family members, and to make us a well earned lunch. The house made our complaints about hard sleeper seem a little pathetic.
However, the local guides don't do much complaining. If they do want
Lady Boys
Louis and Brendan show some fine cross dressing form (thanks to Brendan for this pic) a bit of revenge on the tourists that have them trudging through the hills every day, they exact it on the pool table in one of Sapa's few late opening bars.
The local rules are that anything goes, including using the thick end of the cue rather than the rest, when you can't reach a shot. Playing partners are dictated by the forceful locals who decide whether it'll be doubles or singles, and whether you've earned the right for another game.
Shot selection tips are also forthcoming, and on some ocassions welcome, particularly after several rounds of their favourite drinking game. This involves placing an entire pack of cards on top of a full glass of beer, with each contestant taking a turn to blow some of the cards off. He who blows the last card, drinks the full glass. As may be apparent from the photos, Mark was either very bad or very unlucky when it came to this game. Seven consecutive losses led to him withdrawing from the game altogether for a brief spell.
He was however fit the following day to embark on a motorbike tour of the surrounding area. After a few near
Hard Sleeper
Preparing for 10 hours on a bit of wood (thanks to Brendan for this pic) misses during the practice runs, the four guys headed out with Carolyn riding pillion. Quite why she trusted David more than herself remains one of life's great unanswered questions.
Admittedly, it would be better than her trusting Louis, who set out without even a car licence to his name. Such things are a triviality here, where all you need to get your hands on a motorbike for the day is some dollars and a willingness to haggle. We all had dollars, and Brendan has the will to haggle for an entire nation.
It was a great way to see the surrounding countryside and visit some remote villages, while expending considerably less effort than we did on the trek.
Should you have chosen to find out just what benefits you had reaped from the trek, you could have made use of the quite ingenious mobile weight and height machines we saw being paraded around outside the train station as we waited for our return journey to begin. They announce their presence, like an ice-cream van, by playing some catchy little tunes. In this case, a choice between Jingle Bells and Auld Lang Syne. Probably one of the most
You Buy From Me?
Sapa silver sales bizarre things we've witnessed so far.
So long, and thanks for all the requests To all those who have been prodding us for the next installment, you'll be glad to hear that Vietnam has been split in two. No, not another divisive war, just us blogging in two parts. Part two will follow soon. If we can get off the beach for long enough :o)
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Basher
non-member comment
Rangers Fans
Dave, the only place you can find a Rangers fan nowadays is in Vietnam! Good to finally see another entry, thought you'd been kidnapped!