Mountain biking through the countryside of central Vietnam. No visits to rice paper makers. No stops at farms, bars, cafes, arts centres. Just me and Pascal biking. We took the ferry across to a smaller island:
… and made a 45km circuit through villages, woodland and across rivers. Oh yes, across rivers. On robust constructions such as this:
And the concrete bridge (“It looks OK, but only walk on these two lines – the rest could give way anytime.”) And sometimes we just rode straight through the middle.
I didn’t take many photos, but these give a flavour:
Shouts of “hello!” met us everywhere we went. It actually got kinda wearing towards the end! Everyone, young and old wanted to greet us. It was obviously a lucky day for weddings (dates aren’t chosen arbitrarily, or for logistical reasons, in these parts: the relevant authorities are consulted well in advance and they advise when the luckiest date is. I told you they believe in luck. And superstition). We saw four. Going past one, I was being very British and trying not to look too intrusively… and was met with cries of “Hello! Hello!” They’re friendly folk, especially in the countryside where they don’t see many tourists.
Wildlife was abundant:
water buffalo
geese
a snake (that I almost ran over because it bolted when we came close)
herons
lots and lots of dogs (all in very good condition, APU)
a ma-hoosive butterfly (about the size of a starling – just gutted that they never alight so I can’t get a decent photo)
and, the piece de resistance, a magnificent kingfisher (it parked right in front of us, startlingly blue; just beautiful)
And then, in the midst of the beautiful countryside we hit a bank. At the top was this:
They can’t extend the existing highway. So they’re building another. And this is a communist country so none of this protesting, and the like. If they say it’s going to be built, you can’t do anything about it. The good of the country comes before the individual. I question who’s deciding what’s “good for the country”, though…
Going was slow in places (ever tried cycling on sand – one step forward, two steps back?), but so glad I did it. Great to be out on the bike, just for the pleasure of it. And there’s another difference. At one point, a lorry passed us and, as he neared, the driver made a sign with his hands and shook his head. “He’s telling us the road doesn’t go anywhere,” explained Pascal (a Frenchman who met his wife-to-be travelling in 1994, married and lived in France for 13 years until fire devastated his business; “if I was going to have to re-build anyway, I decided I’d rather do it in Vietnam”). Apparently, the concept of going for a cycle bike is alien to them:
cycles are used by poor people, those who can’t afford a motorbike
bikes are a mode of transport used for work only, so why go when you can lie in a hammock (remember their way of life is much more physical than ours)
outdoors is to be avoided – it’s hot (which makes the skin brown, and here white is idealised)
Another first-world brain moment.
I arrived back in Hoi An tired, happy and hungry. Oh, and saddlesore. Glad I’ve a day for my bruised sitbones and lady bits to recover before I get on that motorbike.
Everything was fine. It was fine. Yes, it was fine.
OK, it wasn’t fine. I’ve stayed in some horrible places, but this took things to a new level. The room hadn’t been serviced since the last person, and I don’t think the wet room had ever been cleaned. It wasn’t so much the hair in the sink, or the taps that came off in your hands, but the mould crawling up the wall. I swear it moved. I knew from past experience that a terrible hotel was a recipe for not enjoying a place (c.f. Otres Beach), but I didn’t want to spend part of my two days looking for a new one – I knew that prices were quite high here because it’s a popular tourist spot. I’d noticed a “Travel Lodge” opposite, but prices on TripAdvisor were outside my budget. I decided on a maximum and went over. Got a basement room. The hotel’s only been open three months. It’s spotless. A bit outside my budget, but instantly I knew I’d made the right decision.
Suddenly, I liked Hoi An a whole lot more (and I’d liked it the previous evening). Towns in Asia have all been kind of similar – dusty streets, concrete (Vietnam) or wooden (Cambodia) houses, work and personal life intertwined. Hoi An was completely different. French colonial architecture dominated, especially in the old town:
Bustling, but with a sense of calm and a happy vibe. I liked it. I wanted to stay longer. A quick call to Hai and I extended my stay.
Tang Ky is an example of the old style merchant house incorporating Japanese, Chinese and Vietnamese influences as, once upon a time, they lived here side-by-side. It’s also completely restored. Again. Interesting how the concept of “maintaining historical buildings” differs by country.
Long and narrow, goods were brought in from the river on one side, and sold at the street on the other. No windows made it very dark (but there would have been houses each side originally).
Confucius’ cup. You may have heard of the ancient Chinese philospher Confucius. Well, he came across a cup. When you fill it up, it empties. To drink from it, you have to fill it only 80%. The physics are interesting. It has two columns; when filled, liquid rises above the chamber of the second column, spills through the chamber and out of the bottom of the cup. Hydro-static pressure creates a siphon and empties the entire cup. By filling it only 80%, the system isn’t triggered.
The psychological aspects of it are more interesting. It teaches us moderation. We constantly strive for one hundred percent – to do it all, have it all and be it all. But what if 80 percent was enough, accepting that ourselves and others don’t have to be perfect. Taking the pressure off, no longer striving for perfection. Wouldn’t that be kinda nice. Isn’t eighty percent more than enough?
“Sam!”
Someone knew my name. But I was in Hoi An. It was Joan – I’d met her and her son in Saigon and we’d gone to the War Remnants Museum together. She was great fun to be with, but had had to leave straight after our visit to go to Vung Tau (I’d have made a stop there too, if I hadn’t been seriously running out of time). And here she was – right in front of me in Hoi An. Small world.
So after an afternoon spent wandering the beautiful streets of Hoi An:
Marvelling at the buildings:
And buying a little backpack (my bumbag can’t hold much water, and it’s hard on the hands holding a 1.5l bottle):
… we met up for the evening. The place was buzzing, lanterns filled the world:
.. and we wandered. I really like it here. Glad I’m staying an extra day.
Warning: this post contains some disturbing images.
“I sent them a good boy and they made him a murderer.” Myrtle Meadlo
It’s the morning of 16 Mar 1968. You’re a soldier in the US’s Charlie Company. Intelligence has pinpointed VC activity in a region in central Vietnam and you’ve been helicoptered in. You and your colleagues run through the forest, ready for attack. But when you arrive, you find civilians in a quiet village having breakfast. Errrr….. So you round them up – men, women and children. And then the order comes in: kill everyone in the village. What do you do?
Over the next four hours, US soldiers set houses alight:
.. and tortured, raped and murdered 504 victims from 247 families:
Morally groundless, the killings were cowardly. Here, the older brother tries to protect his younger sibling. Both were finished off by the soldiers:
Twenty-four families were wiped out, three generations lost in one fateful morning. It wasn’t an isolated incident, but the My Lai massacre serves as the “flagship” village (at least four other villages were targeted at the same time).
Why? What caused the rampage on innocent, unarmed victims? It is a question that has been asked many times. In the words of one officer:
” [It] Did take a load off my conscience… The buddies we’d lost. It was just revenge, that’s all it was”
Theories have emerged. First let’s put it in context. America was losing the war, their death toll high. Soldiers had lost buddies, what was left of morale was ebbing away. Everyone was the enemy, the embodiment of communism.
“It’s the moment, it’s the opportunity”
Many of the soldiers involved tried to justify their actions on the basis that they were given an order. As a lawyer explained:
“There is no legal order that allows you to blast an 18-month-old baby in a trench”
An interview with one of the soldiers who was there that day was thought-provoking. He repeatedly tried to avoid direct questions, not explicitly confirming the extent of his involvement that day. He claimed that he “never even dreamt about Vietnam”. Other soldiers have sought help for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), whilst many committed suicide, unable to cope with the knowledge of what they did that day. It reminded me of a famous experiment: participants were told that researchers were investigating how the body responds to stress and that, each time the subject (that they couldn’t see) answered a question incorrectly, they were to administer an electric shock, the force of which gradually increased. What was actually being researched was how far a “normal” human being would go when instructed to do something by someone in authority. Some participants refused, some didn’t. All agreed that the experience had made them realise what they were capable of.
I’d like to think that I’d have done the right thing. In the interests of balanced reporting it’s worth remembering that many of them did – some faked injuries to get removed from the zone, others refused to kill, others saved some of the civilians. But it’s easy to make that decision sat safe, comfortable and content. My life isn’t in danger. Nobody’s killing my friends. My mental well-being is good. My environment isn’t hostile. Without all these things, I’d still like to think I’d make the right decision. I can just get a glimpse of how the rabidness of war, combined with crazed officers, could easily escalate, but ultimately, there can be no justification for this abhorrent crime.
The ex-soldier who was interviewed was dealing with it by burying. He avoided questions, was defensive, showed little emotion on screen, gave shallow (“All I can do now is apologise for it”) and unsatisfactory (“I shot until I realised what was wrong”) responses. His interviewer had lost his family in the massacre. He tried to say the right thing, but I felt the ex-soldier’s conduct did nothing to ease his pain. Culturally, I’ve noticed that Asian males have less “machismo” than westerners. This contrast was painfully clear during the interview with the American keen to “save face”, and the Vietnamese softer. Had the American shown his real feelings (he was clearly distressed, and his agreement to even meet the victim showed his willingness, however small, to confront the situation: painful denial covering undeniable pain), I felt that, whilst families cannot be brought back, it would have helped the community to deal with the memory. Perpetrators’ remorse can be a powerful healer. But it was not to be.
Only one officer has ever been convicted of his role in the massacre (Lieutenant Calley). This is, in itself, disgusting. Especially given the evidence available for a prosecution and the blatant infringement of international law. Furthermore, I see nothing being done to stop it happening again. Those involved learn, but the lessons aren’t transmitted to younger generations, who then make the same mistakes: “never is the cycle of war broken”. Education and training should also cover the mental and pyschological aspects of warfare.
It is human tendency to seek reasons, justification and reconciliation. It is said that the My Lai massacre may have helped end US involvement in Vietnam: once reported (which, I believe, took about a year and is a strong argument for freedom of speech), it increased already very negative sentiment against the war. It was a massive waste of life that should never have happened. One can only hope that something good did indeed come of the loss.
Someone walked into my room this morning without knocking. It was only my door stop that prevented them coming face to face with me naked ( I’d just got out of the shower), even though I called them not to come in. No apology. Nothing. Very bad practice. And it’s not the first time.
Back at the train station in Da Nang, hanging with the locals in the waiting room (and notice the young chap on the right: the first Down’s person I’ve seen in Asia – I wondered what life is like here for him):
The soft seats were actually quite comfortable (much more so than English trains), with ample leg room, even for a westerner but I definitely made the right decision yesterday to get a soft bed – good ergonomics is making sure you can change position and that’s limited in a conventional seat.
But this seat had the distinct advantage of having a view.
And someone came through during the journey and swept and mopped the floor – being extensively acquainted with the floor of most South West trains, I’d be surprised if any of them were cleaned. Ever.
And the view once again reminded me of why I’m overlanding as much as I can even though flights are so cheap.
A grave in the middle of a series of ploughed fields. Apparently, in rural areas, the Vietnamese can bury their deceased wherever they chose (with reason, I assume). By burying them in their rice fields, they take comfort from taking in a piece of their relative, however small.
Random observation: the soft seats are, obviously, more expensive than the hard seats. People on the soft seats were also plumper. Me included.
“Taxi?”
“No, bus station”.
“I take you taxi. Very cheap. 140.”
“No thanks, where is the bus station?”
“Very far from here.”
“How far?”
“One kilometre.”
“OK, I walk.”
But I was also hungry. Really hungry. So I paused, and then, “Where you go?”
“Hoi An.”
“I take you, twenty-thousand.”
The guidebook had said it would be about 140,000 VND, so that was cheap. A little bit too cheap. I said I needed the toilet – it gave me thinking time. Too cheap. Bus it was. But when I came out, he’d gone and a gentleman in khakis and a smart top was there offering to take me for 140… then 120… then 100. Now were were talking. Motos also have the advantage of being able to take you somewhere exact, not to a bus station that, when you arrive, you’ve no idea where you are in relation to the town (note: Tripadvisor maps are helping in this respect). Long story short: turns out he’s an “EasyRider” – a company that does bespoke tours throughout Vietnam. And they’ve a good reputation. I ate at local prices (thanks to “Hai”, pronounced “Hi”) and we set off for Hoi An. It was a 40 minute journey.
We stopped for a photo opportunity (and a look at a local fishing boat):
… when I noticed the giant Buddha further up the coast. Next minute, we were winging our way up there for an impromptu visit. “Go look, take your time, come back here.”
Marble mountains loomed as we came back, so we detoured again:
Yes, of course that’s a lift up the mountain. What else would it be, for goodness sake?
I wasn’t entirely sure what the marble mountain was about because Hai explained that the marble tat (sorry, artistic sculptures) were made of materials shipped in, but the views were good:
And the caves were impressive:
And another pagoda. Close up some bits looked like concrete, but perhaps I’m just being picky:
And so my transfer to Hoi An commenced with a tour of Da Nang – very useful as it meant I didn’t have to backtrack. It also saved me about $20. So I signed up for the two-day tour via the Ho Chi Minh trail. Everyone I’ve spoken to says I did the right thing. I hope so *fingers crossed*
With nowhere to stay, when we arrived Hai suggested a hotel. It’s always a tough one this, as it’s difficult to say no. But the room looked kinda okay, I was tired and it was getting late. So I checked in. I was to check out the next morning…
I really don’t want to be here. Which is a shame as I was originally planning to camp in Nha Trang for a while to surf. But the lack of waves and character makes me want to move on. Thank goodness for my flexible schedule – it’s meant I’ve stayed longer in places I’ve liked (Siem Reap, Kratie, Kampot) and cut short time in those I’ve not clicked with (Banlung, Nha Trang). So off via the streets to the station:
No soft seats left so it was either a hard seat, hard bed or soft bed. My butt just couldn’t take any more so I upgraded to a soft bed, not really knowing what I was getting either way. For the seven hour journey, I paid an extra £6. Mind you, this was double the cost of a hard seat and I got four times the space. Let’s take a moment to put this in real terms:
You’re travelling from southern England to, say, Edinburgh. You arrive at the station to buy a ticket for £141, but there aren’t any seats left. So you’re offered a seat on the service for £314 for a “soft bed”. Or you can wait 3 hours and get the next service (which has seats for £141), but arrives into your destination at midnight. What would you do? Yeah, I’d probably wait, too. You’ve probably got the money, but don’t want to spend it on that. So here’s the question: how much money would you have to have/earn to make you take the sleeper option on the service you originally intended? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands? It’s another £173 you’re paying so you don’t have to wait around for three hours. As this isn’t interactive, I’m going to hazard that, for me, I’d need to have about £100,000 in the bank to make me not think too much about spending £173 to make life easier. This isn’t a completely accurate comparison, because train travel is relativley more expensive in England, but you get the point. We’re rich in this country. Seriously rich.
Anyway, this is what rail luxury in Vietnam looks like, folks (actually, I think there were first-class cabins, but I didn’t enquire or poke my nose in):
Each carriage has a designated porter:
I’d chosen the train for this leg of the journey (which was during the day), so I could sit and take in the countryside. Being on the top bunk meant this was rather difficult. And some athleticism was required to get up there, so not for the immobile (but, of course, they are much fewer people here with limited mobility):
However, the kind lady on the lower bunk let me gatecrash her’s for a while. Beautiful countryside, shame about the bars on the windows:
And now the desire to be able to communicate with these people was overwhelming. Despite professing to be an English teacher, she spoke noticeably little English. How wonderful if I’d been able to speak to them in their native language – I wanted to ask them about themselves, their families and their way of life. But I couldn’t. I realised how much my previous trips have been enhanced by being able to communicate with the locals and resolved that, upon my return to England, Spanish and Norwegian learning will be renewed with extra vigour and motivation…
… to the accompaniment of honking and bumping. It was 4am. The road was pitted, and the horn is used as part of driving in Vietnam. It’s not aggressive (well, only occasionally), but to warn other (especially smaller) vehicles that you’re there. And the bus is big. So lots of honking. This is not conducive to sleep. But I was tired. So with my eye mask and ear plugs I managed to sleep for six of the nine hours, including through two wee stops*. There weren’t many people on board, and I was surprised at how much sleep I got – enough to function the next day. On a busier bus, however, it’d be very uncomfortable, not least because the berths are designed by and for Vietnamese who are at least a foot shorter than me, and significantly narrower.
Arriving in Nha Trang, I immediately didn’t click with the place. I was expecting more life (and surf), but the streets were lined with characterless hotels, and the water was flat:
So I booked into a local hotel (I couldn’t even find it on TripAdvisor, let alone on any booking sites), and admired the creativity of their key ring design team:
Made me chuckle, anyway – it looked just like an upside-down “T” 😉
Two sights in Nha Trang, which I did in an afternoon. The pagoda (what else you were expecting?!) was a circus outside (Chinese tour groups overran the cafe immediately outside the top building), but pleasantly calm inside:
And here’s Great A’Tuin**:
Or, of course, it could be Chukwa or Akupara from Hindu mythology, but my bet is that Pratchett’s reached here.
There were terraces outside with what appeared to be rows upon rows of funeral urns:
Each one with a plaque:
Tourists lined the beach, but just one block inland was dominated by locals:
Cards, dominoes and Chinese chess were being played on plastic tables (with low plastic chairs) at the side of the road:
With an outdoor barber (I had to do a double take):
And then I went via the bridge:
… where I saw this motorbike – there clearly aren’t regulations regarding the carriage of goods. It was very impressive:
.. to the temple where, on arrival, a funeral passed, complete with brass band and coffin (which surprised me because the Cambodian’s cremate, so I was expecting the Buddhist Vietnamese to do the same):
“Ruins of the temple” were looking surprisingly good. Like new, in fact. And a small exhibition (completely devoid of visitors, as ever) showed what it looked like before:
And here it is in all its present glory:
Walking back, I looked for a place to eat. Unsurprisingly, seafood featured highly and most were pick-your-own: in the colour bowls are live animals/fish so you can choose exactly which one you want:
Menus were a little unappetising – the “Grilled fingernails with green onion” had obviously lost something in translation***.
And my first artistic shot:
I wanted out, so detoured via the station to check out my escape route. Standing in the queue, someone just came and stood right in front of me. I’d been warned about this – the concept of queuing is alien to them. A friendly but firm “Er, I think I was here first” caused a slightly embarrassed smile, and a move to the next cashier. Then sunset on the beach before a night in a proper bed. Bliss 🙂
*When I asked the driver if there was a toilet on board, he looked at me in confusion. Whilst we have the privilege of being aware of the rest of the world and, in some cases, experiencing first-hand how other people do things, I have to remind myself that most of the people I meet here don’t. So the concept of “another way of doing things” is often beyond them.
**Another Discworld reference that you’ll all, of course, appreciate by now 😉
***I forgot to mention the case where translation had enhanced the message: at the pool in Kratie, the penultimate rule of a long, serious list was “No pissing in pool”. Exactly.
I listen hard, ask questions and take notes. Some people think I’m a journalist. I’ve found this has the unexpected benefit of unofficial semi-VIP service. I won’t be disuading them of the notion.
Learning Vietnamese
Vietnam’s written language was originally visually similar to Chinese, using symbols. In C19, a French missionary called Alexandre de Rhodes, identified that the inaccessibility of the written language meant that only rich, important people could learn to read and write. In an attempt to increase overall literacy, he redesigned the language. As he was French, he used the Latin alphabet. Being English, this is useful. What’s not so easy is that he also used accents. Lots and lots of accents to indicate different pronouciations:
Vietnamese is a tonal language: the pitch of your voice at the start of the syllable, and how it changes during it, can change the meaning of the word completely:
Ostensibly there are six tones, but they can be combined. For speakers of non-tonal languages, this can be a bit daunting. But the best thing is to just get on with it – just as you learn the gender of a noun when learning French, you learn the “musicality” of a word when learning Vietnamese.
Each word is only one syllable, so there’s none of this accent malarkey (for instance, in English the word “content” has two different meanings when you accent either the first or second syllable – this doesn’t happen in Vietnamese). So that’s another way it’s easier. Unfortunately, each “word” can be made up of two different written words. So in English, each collection of letters is a distinct word (mostly), whereas each noun/adjective/verb, etc in Vietnamese can be made up of more than one written word. And there’s no indication when you’ve reached the end of a word – you just have to learn it – which doesn’t help.
But every language has it’s challenges and, once you’ve learnt a few languages, your brain just gets on with it. I’m trying, but have to admit that I’m struggling with the tone thing. Work in progress.
Smoking
Pretty much everyone smokes. And you can smoke pretty much anywhere. Although not like Cambodia. The march of “progress” brings with it smoke-free zones.
Face mask
More people wear dust masks over here (you might have seen them in some of the photos – most scooter drivers wear them). Two reasons: firstly to stop the dust, and secondly to stop the spread of germs if you’re ill. Good idea.
Flip flops
My shoes are attracting attention (along with my phone, but not so much in Vietnam, which is richer), partly because they’re old but good quality, and partly because almost everyone else is wearing flipflops. I was given some flipflops at a massage place, and failed to move in them. Climbing the stairs could have ended messily, so I politely declined. I see this as a positive thing: flip flops are *really* bad for your feet (google Kelly Starrett’s MWOD for further details if you’d like the educated view), so the fact that I can’t walk at all in them I see as a good thing. But it means that I’m constantly tying and untying my shoelaces as it’s polite to remove your shoes when going inside.
Luggage
It’s small. I can keep it with me. Makes me feel safer.
Organised tours are a blessing and a curse. It’s great to be able to switch off and be herded to the main sights. It often works out cheaper, too. But there are plenty of downsides. For one, you’re never sure until you’re on board whether you’ve picked a good one or not. Most are mediocre and, even with TripAdvisor, it’s difficult to sort the wheat from the chaff. And the itinerary always includes “commission stops” (my phrase), where we’re bussed to a local business and the tour guide/company receives a commission for anything bought. There’s rarely any hard sell, but it eats up valuable time (and I’m running low on this!).
And so it was that we (“we” refers not just to our collective gaggle of tourists, but Ellie, Danny and I – after sharing our trip to the floating market in Can Tho, we bumped into each other again on this tour) ended up at an arts shop on the way to the tunnels. Proceeds apparently support those affected by Agent Orange (cf Day 41), with some impressive artistry:
But production on a scale like this inevitably produces mostly average stuff:
Extensive bombing forced the VC underground. Literally. Between 1945 and 1975, 250km of tunnels were constructed. Oh, and they were built by hand (what, you thought they’d just get some diggers in? First-world brain moment) at a rate of 10m per day. That’s serious diligence. Against the US’s bombs and technology were the VC’s tunnels and booby traps. And remember, of course, that the VC won.
Ingenuity ruled. Tunnels were too small for foreigners to negotiate:
A sharp bend near each entrance prevented grenades going very far into the network, thus limiting their effect; tunnels drained into the Mekong allowing them to be used year-round (i.e. even during rainy season); entrances and exits were completely hidden beneath dirt and leaves allowing the VC to effectively come and go as they pleased (it took a while, for instance, for the Americans, who had inadvertently built a base on top of part of the network, to work out why they kept getting shot in their tents during the night):
When the US deployed dogs to locate the VC, they started washing with US soap and putting out the uniforms of US troops – the dogs recognised the smell as friendly. Air holes were made to look like termite mounds:
They repurposed US ammunition into booby traps and weapons:
Delay grenades were dropped into US tanks, allowing the VC to run away before the explosion.
Finally, we were allowed into the tunnels (this is another disadvantage of organised tours – they’re in control; we spent two hours at the site, including a 30 min break, of which less than 10 mins were spent in the tunnels themselves). They had obviously been modified to enable giant Europeans to participate, which I did:
One advantage of tours, however, is that you can pick up some useful info. Saigon is Vietnam’s second city (after Hanoi) with a population of 10m spread throughout 19 districts (total population of Vietnam = 92m). Eighty percent of Vietnamese are farmers, the country being the second biggest export of rice (after Thailand – I think I’ve mentioned that before). He then generously advised us that “if you have any questions, just go for me anytime.”
Back in Saigon, I grabbed dinner from a street vendor (I’m finding that these are a much better deal – not only is it a third of the price of a restaurant meal, it’s tastier and more consistently good):
… and then started planning my next move. A few hours later, I’d cancelled my room for the evening and was on the sleeper bus, leaving behind Ho Chi Minh City for the next part of my adventure:
Warning: you may find the photos in the first part of this post disturbing. To skip this (summary: US didn’t fight legally in Vietnam), whizz to the bottom of the page, and scroll up until you see the photo of a wide, white, poor-quality photo of what could be a palace, and the green lawn and fountain in front. You’re safe from here down.
Vietnam was divided, and North Vietnam wanted to unify the country under communist rule. South Vietnam didn’t like the sound of that, and neither did America and other anti-communist allies. And so America joined the “Vietnam War” (also called the “Second Indochina War” but known in Vietnam as the “American War”). On 30 April 1975, Saigon fell to the North Vietnam “Viet Cong” (VC) and, from this date, the country has been united under communist rule.
But, of course, it wasn’t nice and neat like that. It was bloody, rabid and devastating. And whilst the “War Remnants Museum” clearly has a bias, the atrocities committed by the US are indefensible, their involvement questionable. And they, and the world knew it:
“In Vietnam, we have totally flouted the rule of law, and we have flouted the United Nations Charter. Ever since our first violations of the Geneva Accords, starting with the imposition of the first puppet regime in South Vietnam, the Diem regime, we have violated one tenet after another of international law and one treaty obligation after another, and the world knows it… a sad and shocking chronicle of our repudiation of the rule of law in our foreign policy practices.” American Senator Wayne Morse, Sept 23, 1965
So why did the US get involved at all? The main reason was that they didn’t want the communism of the north spreading to the south, and it was clear that South Vietnam didn’t have the military might to resist without help. They believed that if South Vietnam fell, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand (and then Burma and India) would follow (the “domino theory”).
What did they do? OK, where to start. They bombed the place to oblivion:
And this helps show the relative size of the operation:
But it was their treatment of the people and the planet that caused most international outcry. One figure put the death toll at 3 million. Of which 2 million were innocent civilians. Yep, two thirds of the people who died were the likes of you and me. The US killed indiscriminately. Photographers were present throughout the conflict, and on all sides. Individual images were distressing, but it was the effect of the whole exhibition that is difficult reproduce: image after harrowing image of death, torture and a disrespect for life.
Treatment of the enemy and prisoners repeatedly broke international law. But it was the dehumanising effect of war that stunned me. In this photo, the decapitated bodies are upsetting enough, but it’s the expressions on their victors’ faces that disturbs me more. As the caption says, war screws with your mind:
Napalm bombs were used on civilians. I cannot see how this could ever be justified. Another example of red rage clouding judgement at all levels:
In an attempt to curb the VC, they dropped defoliant on extensive swathes of Vietnam, the environmental and human consequences of which will last for generations:
“Agent Orange” contained an extremely toxic dioxin compound, which has devastating effects on not just plants but humans. Herbicides were dropped over Vietnam – 80 million tonnes between 1961 and 1971. Birth defects will last for generations. And we’re talking “serious” here, guys:
With the exception of one high-profile case (more on this another day), no US citizens have been punished for their crimes. In May 2009, it was decreed that the US, and those who made Agent Orange, were to compensate the victims and perform environmental remedial work. American citizens who were affected have been addressed, but to-date no compensation for the Vietnamese has been forth-coming.
A more upbeat exhibition tried to demonstrate how Vietnam have recovered from the devastation, with photos of sporting, academic and social success. It felt like a courageous attempt to end positively, but the images of the previous two hours couldn’t be that easily overlaid.
The Reunification Palace (or “Independence Palace”) was a light relief after the morning’s input. Designed around Eastern philosophical symbols of truth, fidelity, humanity, wisdom and prosperity (amongst others), it’s still used (occasionally) for state meetings*.
It was airy and full of natural light, even in the corridors:
Rooms looked impressive and pleasant to spend hours and hours of meetings in (if this is possible):
It also housed the only piano I’ve seen since I’ve been in Asia:
Unfortunately, it was also the only time I’ve ever been refused a play in a public building. And it wasn’t an individual “No”, it was a “this is not part of our culture and there’s not a chance you’ll get your hands on it, so don’t even try” kind of “No”. I looked wistfully at it, and moved on.
Underneath all this was where the real action took place, though. Maps, communications equipment and furniture recreated the “bunker” used during wartime to direct military activity:
Random comment: here’s another example to help you understand Chinese tourists. The sign clearly asks people not to touch the exhibits, and I pointed this out to the man. Ken was right – they’ve just gotta touch everything:
*I was walking round to the entrance when he stopped me, pointed to a locked side gate and explained that the palace was closed today due to an army meeting. He showed me leaflets for other attractions, and seemed content when I thanked him for the information. Firstly, it was very unlikely I’d chosen the same day as a meeting, as they happen very rarely. Secondly, they’d have almost certainly put it on their website. Thirdly, it was Sunday. I assume he was being paid by the other attractions to divert visitors. Or maybe he was just getting kicks out of thwarting tourists’ plans. Nowt as queer as folk.
Notre Dame Cathedral was impressive, both outside:
And inside:
I sat on a pew and reflected (and took a breather) and inadvertently got caught up in some hymn practice:
It was actually very useful to see the written words, and hear how they sounded. I reckon that more time and immersion in everyday life would make it much easier to pick up the language. Supermarket visits help, too 🙂
Then to the French colonial-style post office:
And back via the Opera House:
And the park. We’d walked through here this morning and Halloween events were in full swing (it was 8am on Sunday morning – these people start early and don’t stop!):
The place was alive with people exercising, socialising and just having a good time.
And, finally, these are just to give you a sense of the place that is Saigon:
Vietnam = Cambodia + 20 years. It’s like Cambodia’s big brother. Natural features are very like it’s neighbour, but it’s more advanced. I use that word hesitantly because it implies that commerical, economic and infrastructural development is “better”.
No tuk-tuks – that’s the first thing I noticed. And I kinda missed them. Whilst their hassling got wearing, tuk-tuk drivers were a friendly bunch. Part of the reason for their absence is the road networks – at times it felt like being in America, as we left the Mekong Delta behind:
Tourist buses have replaced local vans. I gained a comfortable seat and wifi (as long as you weren’t sitting at the back), but felt I lost some authenticity, even though the majority of passengers were Vietnamese. Second world, not third. As the bus station was 15km outside the city centre (why do they do that?), I got a moto and really enjoyed the journey (complete with helmet, which was a first):
Lots of bustling side streets extend from the main backpacker drag (Saigon’s answer to Bangkok’s Khao San Road), but it’s cleverly numbered: the first number indicates the position on the main road, and the second number shows where on the side road your destination is. So to find my hotel (address number: 185/20) I went to 185 on the main road, and as I walked down the side street, the addresses increased, so the closest to the main road was 185/1… so I just walked until I got to number 20 (about 25m).
Bitexco’s Financial Tower was never going to match up to the Burj Khalifa, but the BJ isn’t in Saigon (now known as Ho Chi Minh City or “HCMC”, but all the locals still refer to it as Saigon). A $5 Sprite bought me a seat on the 52nd floor (it was free to go up) from where I watched the sunset:
Is this a photobomb, d’ya reckon?
Although I’ve never been to a bar where you’ve had to apply for cocktails:
Blues guitar music from the other side of the bar started out OK, but got gradually worse (something to do with the beer he was knocking back?!). It was pretty posh. Or at least, they wanted it to be posh. But I wasn’t the only one going casual – the Chinese and Vietnamese were dressed up, but a group of western middle-aged ladies were in beach attire – and I wondered whether we were let in because we were clearly western; ergo, we are rich. Finding out how the other half live. And it doesn’t sit quite right.
Wandering back through the park, I noticed groups of Vietnamese crowded round westerners. I wondered if they were doing some ad hoc cultural exchange of sorts, but didn’t stop to find out.
On the surface, Vietnam appears to be very similar to Cambodia:
landscape
lots of dogs
detached properties
scooters
dust
relatively poor
building boom
terrible music (sorry, I really am trying)
shops and dwellings open to the street
But there were some immediately apparent differences:
scooter drivers (and their passengers) wear helmets
buses are government-run
Lots and lots and lots of lorries
More scooters than Cambodia
Lots more cars that Cambodia
Written language is based on the Latin alphabet (more on this later)
More exposed flesh
Higher-class establishments (i.e. more high-quality hotels, etc)
High buildings – I can’t recall seeing many skyscrapers in Phnom Penh
Western brands (food, clothing, etc); for instance, the shopping mall below the Bitexco Tower (of course there was) had a Top Shop:
… and did you notice that 12 was the largest size offered?
Random photo: you remember I mentioned that the middle-aged lady attire of choice was the matching top/bottom combo? Here it is again:
An early start to catch the market at its most vibrant, chugging past the riverside of Can Tho:
… including a watery petrol station:
And this one shows how wide the Mekong river is here:
Completely different from the floating market I visited from Bangkok, which was mainly for the tourists, this one was locals selling and re-selling produce. Larger boats brought supplies from which the smaller boats would buy to re-sell elsewhere:
We weren’t hassled at all… because the market isn’t for us (or they’ve learnt that tourists tend to watch, not buy). For example, this was essentially a floating corner shop selling refreshments to the Vietnamese traders:
Signs along the riverside consisted of a large “P” above a white number (blue background) and often black numbers on white arrows pointing up- or down-river. Kan (our guide) didn’t know what they were so we hypothesised that the big blue number was the depth (maybe in feet) as this would be important information for the various vessels – some were really big. The arrows seemed to be distances but it wasn’t clear what to:
Suggestions on a postcard.
Damp was clearly a problem for the dwellings on the riverside but life is different here – if UK building regulations were applied, everyone would be on the streets!
This residential defence on the short walk to the noodle factory would also fall foul of our laws but here it’s commonsense-based: you hurt yourself trying to trespass on my property and that’s your fault.
It didn’t stop there: handmade noodles were mixed and cooked as large discs in a building with a dirt floor, workers in flip-flops and the obligatory dog:
After being left to dry in the sun on bamboo panels:
… they were put through the shredder (the only part of the process that can be automated):
It was like stepping back into pre-industrial revolution times. It’s easy to get “too much red tape” about the UK laws and regulations but we’re manufacturing on scales far exceeding these… and they’re there for a reason. Mostly. Oh, and the factory also has this room – clearly someone lives here:
Street food was being sold outside – it was peanuts and coconut wrapped in some kind of jelly-like substance:
Vegetables are grown, but to prevent and control disease, they’re on raised bamboo platforms:
And then to the second, much smaller, market (where many of the smaller boats come to re-sell the produce they bought earlier).
We’d been travelling for a good 90 minutes by this point but were still in Can Tho – we passed through three different districts in total. However, Can Tho is also the name of the province (as well as the main city), so something may have been lost in translation here.
Here’s a star apple (when you slice horizontally, there’s the shape of a five-pronged star, but we cut it into four):
Monkey bridges are how locals cross the river out in the country – we saw quite a few on the trip, some with living trees as part of the structure:
A boat going underneath whilst you cross is, I can confirm, very distracting:
For those that are interested, this chili plant was growing on the riverbank (not sure of the type):
Various methods of fishing are employed. For instance this net is lowered and simply raised:
Another longer-term approach was to lay a net on the bottom and entice many fish with leftovers – raising it a month later brought home a veritable feast. Unfortunately, this no longer appears to be the case – mass overfishing means there’s slim pickings here now.
Our final stop was a “homestay”. Exactly what it says on the tin it started out as tourists staying with locals. As with most things it’s become more commercialised with many (including this one) metamorphosing into a hostel experience with separate showers and flush toilets. I’d been considering a homestay in this region but was also conscious that I needed to get a move on (end of October already?!) so it was useful to see what it was really all about.
The main (given) reason we were there was to see the fruit garden, which was interesting but nothing spectacular. Kan, our guide, is studying plant management which enhanced our experience no end because he knew what plants were what. I’ve never seen a banana tree flower before:
Apparently banana trees only fruit once and are then cut down; the stump then grows into a new tree, producing fruit again in just four months (which explains how a single tree can produce a thousand bananas, as mentioned by another guide). This lotus flower was impressive, too, with the leaves being a popular salad ingredient (I tried them in Siem Reap):
Given reason aside, we then found out the real purpose of our visit: we were presented with a menu (like I said, not a convincing homestay) and then asked if we wanted to get something for our guide..? (“yeah, sure”)… and our boat driver..? (“yeah, fine”). I then noticed she wrote something on the bill but no price. Hmm. But I figured that even a couple of glasses of wine wouldn’t break the bank. When the bill arrived, however, it was over four times the cost of our drinks along with an offer of an explanation. Turns out we had also been charged for their lunch.i had no problem with this but was unimpressed at how it was done: getting us to pay is one thing but not warning us is another. However, Kan had proved such a good guide that we’d already arranged a tip for him and Juan, our driver. So we just used that. Can’t help but wonder whether they’d just have preferred the cash. And it’ll be going on the feedback form, too – tourists don’t mind saying “thank you” but we don’t appreciate surprises.
Engaging guides in conversation enhances the tour experience no end – once they realise you’re genuinely interested in learning about them and their culture, they’re a mine of information (but I’ve not validated any of it!):
Education
Children are supposed to go to school, but as parents have to pay, attendance becomes dependent on wealth. Despite fees being low (more a contribution) it’s still out of the reach of the poorer families, who need the extra hands to run their business. Whilst they’re likely to take over said business, it means they’re likely to be poorly-educated and/or illiterate, thus exacerbating the rich/poor divide.
Alcohol
Habits are forming. With the rise of the middle-class, drinking is increasing – another sign of the westernisation of Asia. There is no minimum age (apparently) with parents judging (or not?) when to introduce the substance to their children – in the rural districts, this can be quite young. Not necessarily a bad thing, as long as it’s age-appropriate, I guess.
Rice fields
Hard work. Really hard work. Kan’s parents work all day, every day. Canals channel the Mekong to the necessary places to irrigate the crop, which is on raised beds. Three months after sowing (and daily tending), the rice is harvested and the beds drained (which is why they’re above the waterline) ready to start again. Hard work. Eighty percent of Vietnamese are farmers – the country is the second biggest exporter of rice, after Thailand.
Smoking
At $1 a packet, it’s not difficult to see why smoking is so prevalent – the vast majority of Vietnamese smoke (those I’ve met, so it may be less common in the middle-class that I don’t see so much of).
Death
Family is important here, just like in Cambodia. Homes have tombs where deceased relatives are buried so they can stay close to their family.
Fishing
Over-fishing is a real problem, with stocks non-existent in places. I believe there are quotas, but illegal fishing seems commonplace. How these people will make a living in the future is uncertain.
Two meals
In rural Vietnam, only two meals a day are eaten: late morning and late afternoon. He said these were big meals, but I suspect that it’s because they can’t afford the standard three meals a day. No wonder they’re so slight.
Grandfather
Kan recalled visiting his grandfather who lived on the water. Life is hard. A boat trip is required to the mainland, so it’s very isolating. A tough way of life. But most don’t have much of a choice.
I’ve always known that I’m lucky, and I make sure I’m conscious of it and remind myself on a regular basis. But I’ve spent the last six weeks being reminded of it at least thirty times a day. It’s sobering.
After a “full day tour” (seven hours), it was still only lunchtime when we docked back in Can Tho. Spring rolls at a local joint had been recommended – and it turned out to be the Vietnamese “construct your own” meal (“Phan”, but with accents that I won’t bother to add):
A kind lady offered to show me how to put it together. Delicious. And cheap at $2.50.
See the monks? They were kind of chanting with basic percussive accompaniment. It was quite entrancing and I sat quite happily in the “Vietnamese” pagoda for some time:
This guy freaked me out though (who does he remind me of? I can’t place him):
The Cambodian pagoda on the other side of the road wasn’t quite so good, so I wandered… and came across a supermarket.
Yes, I know it’s not exactly world heritage material, but it was actually very interesting to see the differences. For instance, “pick your own” is taken to a new level here:
Many recognisable brands. And a great way to extend your vocabulary (motivation: not getting milk with added sugar – ugh!). The meat/fish section was the most different with wares presented in open trays – not western standards, but I haven’t had any problems since I’ve been travelling, so can’t be that bad.
A long, interesting day. And looking forward to moving on again…
