November 2015 – Page 4 – three pairs of pants

4 November 201526 January 2018

Day 51 (Wed 4 Nov): Hue (DMZ tour)

Information from the English-speaking tour guide, Thu, was a bit hazy… because I couldn’t really understand what she was saying, so had to gently ask additional questions during the breaks to find out what she had actually said. I think this is the general gist (backed up by some research).

In 1954, the French were defeated and the Geneva Agreement officially separated Vietnam into two parts: North (main city: Hanoi) and South (main city: Saigon). That’s when the South were left to fight against the communist North. The Demilitarised Zone (DMZ) was a tract of land separating the North and South. She then said Vietnam was unified in 1956, but I don’t believe it was because, in 1959, Ho Chi Minh declared a “People’s War” to unite Vietnam (which began the Second Indochina War). Fighting continued until it became the Vietnam War (which we’ve already covered).

During the conflict, the DMZ suffered massive bombing – the highest ordnance per inhabitant – and was totally obliterated. America set up a radio station (1966 – 69) on what is now called, quite appropriately, The Rockpile as it also afforded views of the area:

… and a combat base (which has lots of rubber plants growing on it now). When the base was surrounded by the VC (Viet Cong, who were fighting for the communist North), the US bombed round them. Everything was wiped out, but now it’s a rubber plantation. It was difficult to reconcile the description of past events with what my eyes were seeing. But the remoteness and desolation of the place was tangible.

The areas around here were subject to heavy fighting. Like Khe Sanh (pronounced “Ke Sharn”). The VC (Viet Cong, who were fighting for the communist North) had surrounded the American base, so the US just bombed them. So many soldiers were killed in the bunkers that they have been unable to identify individual bodies. A memorial has been erected to honour them:

Seeing rows upon rows of memorial stones was a stark reminder of the waste of life that comes with war:

Civilians who were in the way (the US thought they were supplying food and weapons to the North) decided to go underground. Between 400 and 600 people lived in the Vinh Moc tunnels for six years. It’s really easy to write those words, and you probably just flitted across them. Think about it. Your village is in the firing line. But you’ve nowhere else to go and you don’t want to leave anyway. It’s your land. So you decide to go underground and hand-dig 2km of tunnels (limestone is apparently quite easy to dig, but is structurally sound). At first they’re 10m deep but when the American’s develop bombs that burrow, you go deeper. And you live there, with 60 other families. No natural light. Dank air. Small, cramped spaces:

You try to get to the surface when bombing ceases to get some fresh air, but you never properly see daylight. But it means you’re safe (no villagers lost their lives). So you stay. Today. Tomrrow. The next day. Every single day, for six years. But when you’re down there, you don’t know that it’ll be six years. You don’t know how long it’ll be. It turned out that the little man following us, enthusiastically shaking our hands and showing us the tunnels was born there. His tiny frame and old-for-his-age looks was living proof of the health effects of growing up in that stifling environment.

I’m conscious that the version of events that’s presented is Vietnam’s version, but the North’s victory genuinely seems to be a triumph of ingenuity and sheer determination over technology and money. Thought-provoking stuff. Makes my everyday discomforts seem not just trivial, but non-existent.

Another ethnic minority village, but this ones seems less well financed than the one I visited with Hai. Houses were basic:

They marry young (sometimes 15 or 16 years old), and have lots of children (five to ten is normal). But the government is trying to get them back to school (which is free) and provides healthcare. They grow cassava, pineapple and rice. No, that’s what they do. They get up in the morning, spend their day working to grow stuff, selling it, cooking, eating and then going to bed. Day after day. Sometimes they’ll scour the countryside for scrap metal (kindly supplied by the US) to sell. Annual leave, ballet classes and piano lessons are completely alien concepts to them.

Some other random stuff:

It is estimated that one third of all ordnance dropped on Vietnam failed to explode. Since 1975 (when the war ended), about 40,000 people have died and 66,000 have been injured from explosions. Guidebooks strongly advise not going off the beaten track. The scale? It is estimated that it will take about 300 years to clear it all. That’s a long time. But lots of potential deaths if it’s not done.

A German couple asked Thu, our guide, about government policies that had been introduced at the beginning of this year. She wouldn’t even talk about it, let alone express an opinion. They just don’t go there. I recalled how freely we talk about our leaders, government policy and international affairs. To be somewhere that people don’t feel comfortable doing that reminded me again how lucky we are.

Thu told me off for picking my nails. Reminded me of when the lady in Sihanoukville walked past me at breakfast, pointed to my legs and told me to shave them. Cheeky devil. Very un-British, too, which is why it took me aback a little. Not that I mind. I can do as I wish in both these respects, but their blunt approach, and my reaction, amused me.

3 November 201526 January 2018

Day 50 (Tue 3 Nov): P’rao to Hue (HCM trail, school, minority village, Minh Mang tomb)

The Ho Chi Minh Trail was a “logistical system” following the “S” shape of the country from North to South Vietnam. Parts of what became the trail had existed for centuries as primitive footpaths through jungle and rainforests, and it was a strategic channel during the First and Second Indochina Wars. The current trail was built 15 years ago. And it’s a spectacular road trip through miles and miles of rugged mountains:

Hai was keen I had proof I’d been here (his suggestions for photos bordered on demands):

Do you fancy me? No, really, do you? The only reason I ask is that the sticker on my helmet made impressive claims:

Spending hour after hour on the back of the bike was certainly a core body workout. Keeping upright through the twists and turns was equivalent to an eight-hour Pilates class.

Based on my experience in Cambodia, I was expecting the minority village to be primitive, but the houses were more modern and (mostly) in good condition, with a narrow concrete road through it:

With most houses having satellite television!

Apparently, the government provides money, so they pay no school fees. Rice is grown, but a special variety that can grow with little water (it rains up here, but very quickly drains to the lowlands). They also sell birds. I’ve seen this quite a lot in Asia so far – cages of birds, cramped and ill-treated. They sell them to put in coffee shops, and the like.

I visited (intruded upon?) a local family, with sweet bribes for the children, and was warmly welcomed with tea:

And a proud display of mice skulls (the mice having long been eaten) on the equivalent of their mantelpiece:

I asked what they did during the day. Making fishing nets takes about four days, but can be up to a month because they’re busy with other things. Except they didn’t seem to be. Unlike most places I’ve seen in Vietnam, there didn’t seem to be much action. There was no urgency to produce goods to sell, so I suspect the government money is sufficient. Like being on the dole, but in poverty. Yet they seemed much happier than their English counterparts.

When I left, the children were outside playing, so I took the opportunity to give the adults some of the sweets I’d “reserved”. Their faces lit up more than the children’s had 🙂

A thatched building served as a community hall:

With a bamboo floor that had seen better days in places (although, like the village, most of it was in good condition):

A child stared at me interestedly, but with little emotion… until I pulled a sweet out of my pocket. His face lit up. I left him tackling the wrapper:

I did wonder how representative the “minority village” was: my route is not touristy, but surely the government is aware that tourists stop here and wondered if this was a “flagship” example.

We then stopped at a school:

This was a little surreal. I asked Hai if they were expecting us. He shook his head. “But they know me,” he explained. I think it was a “Hai special” stop as the children weren’t shy, but didn’t seem used to tourists arriving out of the blue. When I arrived, we played “ball” with some rolled up newspaper, which made the language difference irrelevant. But Hai insisted I give them some sweets, which broke the magic:

Not for the first time, I desperately wished I could speak Vietnamese. I would have dearly loved to talk with them. I’m quite good at accents, so when I say “hello” in Vietnamese, people’s faces light up because they think I can speak with them. Such a shame I can’t.

Another impromptu stop:

… and another example of lack of respect for wildlife:

But they don’t see it like that, of course. To them, they’re making medicine to sell.

I regretted not getting a guide for Minh Mang’s tomb. Snippets from eavesdropping on other tours, and a little research, unearthed the following:

there are seven tombs for 13 emperors (one died very suddenly, so didn’t have a chance to build his tomb; and others house related emperors)
an emperor would have one main wife, but many “concubines”
Minh Mang ruled from 1820 to 1841
He opposed French involvement in Vietnam

At some point, I may research further, but not now. His tomb is made up of a series of buildings including a shrine to the “cult” of his father, and temples in which his concubines would live in after his death, preparing for the next emperor:

And then I ascended the stairs to what I thought was the main event. It turned out to be a mount of earth behind gates that were unlocked only once a year. And it was raining. Hard. I was soaked. We pressed on through more jaw-dropping scenery.

Between 1802 and 1945, Hue (pronounced “hway”) was the imperial capital of the Nguyen dynasty. It still retains a majestic, grandiose air. I stopped for dinner at a street cafe where I met a Vietnamese lady who spoke incredibly good English. Turns out she lives in Manchester (no Mancuian accent, unfortunately – that would have been even better!). Well, she lives in Manchester six months of the year, alternating three month stints between England and Vietnam where she looks after her mother. What a difference in lifestyles. It was fascinating to talk with her, and once again I wished I could do the same with other locals.

On the way back to my hotel, I was offered motos. But this time, when I declined, the offer changed to marijuana. And the hotel keyring looked decidedly familiar:

2 November 201526 January 2018

Week 7: Travellers’ tales

Malarone

I’m off the anti-malarial tablets. Still no adverse reactions… #bodyofsteel

Salak

That small, spiky fruit that I posted about in Cambodia is a salak and is indigenous to Thailand. So now you know 😉

How to cross the road

Look all ways (remember, traffic direction is only a suggestion – they could be coming at you from any which way), start when there’s a gap in the first line of traffic and proceed slowly, steadily, confidently and predictably. Traffic will accommodate you. Resist the urge to run. Yes, I know it’s your instinct but suppress it – else you’ll get run over.

Diva cup

When used correctly, the diva cup (google it, ladies) is mildly life-changing. When not used correctly, it’s very, very messy. Even used incorrectly, tampons and towels provide some protection. Not the diva cup. Wrongly inserted, it’s like wearing nothing. So it got messy. I think I’ve now sussed not only how to put it in correctly but also, and more importantly, how to work out whether I’ve done it right. And then my period ended so I didn’t get chance to consolidate my learning. Diva cup success means an end to taking supplies everywhere. Period pains were less too (not sure why this would be, though), just as some others had reported, but the evidence is not yet conclusive as bleeding has been very light. Two light cycles in a row isn’t particularly unusual, but I’ve also noticed that my breasts are smaller. I think I’ve lost weight (it’s too hot to eat, the portions are smaller and the food has less sugar), but I’ve noticed it up top. And that got me wondering whether biology was at work; whilst I’ve known many, and been good friends with quite a few, Asian males, I’ve never been at all sexually attracted to them. And they’re pretty much all I’ve seen for the last seven weeks so, with no mateable material around (biologically speaking, I don’t fancy every Caucasian man I meet, honest), I wonder whether my fertility has taken a holiday, too. The human body is amazing, especially the female’s, so it wouldn’t surprise me. Not enough evidence so far, but I await my next period with interest.

Chairs

“The smaller the chair, the better (and cheaper) the food”. There is a lot of truth in this. And the chairs are sometimes tiny, which maybe part of the reason they’re all so mobile – use or, it lose it.

Vodafone

Vodafone’s incompetence deserves special mention. With a few minor glitches, every other company I’ve dealt with had taken my travels in their stride (eg Nationwide whose online system let me tell them about my travels, but only one country at a time; but a quick call unblocked my credit card for the whole of South East Asia), but Vodafone have not only screwed up at every opportunity, but then also failed to deal with the mess they’ve made. Let me explain briefly. Before I left I contacted Vodafone who confirmed that Cambodia (C), Vietnam (V) and Thailand (T) were in their World Traveller (VWT) package which meant I could pay £5 per day (local time) and access my UK allowance (and I’m on an unlimited package). I double-checked this and signed up. When I arrived in Thailand I received a text detailed their roaming charges. Using Live Chat, I confirmed that this was an error, and I was OK to use VWT. So I called home… and called to check I’d been billed correctly. “David” couldn’t tell because the charges hadn’t hit my account, but advised that all my countries were included in VWT, and made a note on my account that I’ve been told this and I’m to be charged £5 per day of usage. A few days later I check my account and I’ve been billed at the roaming rate. Live Chat again. Everything’s fine, don’t worry. Sure? Yes. A few days later, I get cut off (because my bill is racking up). Live Chat yet again. Told it wasn’t done properly, all is now well, I won’t be cut off and that VWT isn’t applied until bill generation, so charges will continue to rack up. They do. I get cut off again. Live Chat again. Again told it wasn’t done correctly, all is well and that all countries are included. My bill gets generated… it’s £1,140. Live Chat again. I’m told that none of my countries are included in VWT and so I have to pay. What about the notes on my account? He can’t see any notes on my account. Problem is, every time I contact Vodafone, I have to go through security and wait for ten minutes (at least) whilst they read all the notes. Electricity and telephone signals in this part of the world aren’t very reliable. But the end, having been cut off when speaking to the accounts department (who were also saying I’d have to pay), I was really, really upset. It was ruining my holiday, and I’d spent at least three whole days (cumulatively) on Live Chats with them. Eventually, in despair, I give someone else authority to speak to them on my behalf, and it gets sorted (thanks, MC :)). The countries aren’t included, they’ll credit the charges so far. But they still haven’t, so I’ve had to fund over a grand from my trip funds to prevent me going overdrawn. Not impressed, Vodafone. Seriously not impressed. Apart from agreeing to waive the charges (eventually), absolutely everything you’ve done is wrong.

Cable lock

I can put the lock through my backpack’s ring pulls. It gives me piece of mind.

Hello Kitty

“Hello Kitty” is really popular out here… but with the twenty-somethings. It’s a bit strange to see hordes of young ladies in coats and masks with the familiar cartoon cat on them, when I associate it with girls of 7 or 8.

Chinese rudeness

It continues to astonish me. On Marble Mountain, I was man-handled by a man and then a woman. Confusedly, I tried to figure out what was going on – was I in danger? I realised that I was the way of their photo, so instead of asking me to move (this is quite possible even if you don’t speak the same language), they grabbed my arm and shoved me out of the way. I was astonished. And made it clear that I wasn’t happy.

And they never say “thank you” or “sorry”. Giving them right of way, or getting poked in the face with an umbrella results in absolutely no response whatsoever – they act like it never happened. And they’ll push past you without so much as an acknowledgement that you exist. I’m trying not to let it, but it’s starting to irk me.

Black hair

Whilst the sun has been notably absent this past week, since my trip started, my hair has been bleached by the sun. None of the Asians’ has – all have jet black hair. Odd. I assumed that most things, when exposed to the sun, would bleach.

2 November 201526 January 2018

Day 49 (Mon 2 Nov): Hoi An to P’rao (HCM trail)

I really didn’t want to leave Hoi An. Or my hotel. I enjoyed both very much. But onwards and upwards (geographically speaking at least).

My Son (pronounced “me sun”) is a series of groups (inspiringly named A – H, with a few missing due to reasons unknown) of Hindu temples constructed between C4 and C14 by the kings of the region (for those who’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that this is the same time as the Cambodian ones). Except there’s not much left of them, partly due to time but mostly due to American bombs. I asked Hai if he’d seen them. He had. And before the American War. So he didn’t want to come with me – I’m not sure I’d want to go back to see the remains either.

Some interesting information about the place:

no cement or mortar was used, but a kind of glue (how this differs to the concept of cement and mortar, which are essentially adhesives, I’m not sure, but let’s go with it)
All the doors open to either the east or west (as per the Cambodian ones)
One of their main characteristics are their square corners:

And this is….?

Yep, a shiva linga (and the font was pointing north, as expected). And this cheeky (mythical) chappy:

He’s a cross between an elephant and a lion.

Displayed alongside the ancient carvings were more recent additions:

Whilst they weren’t as physically impressive as the Angkor temples, they had something about them. Maybe the shadow of war, the lack of tourists, and certainly the valley setting. It was peaceful yet powerful.

Again, much evidence of “restoration”:

I fear that they are gradually working their way round the 70 or so temples and, whilst it’s nice to see how one or two would have looked, I’d rather just see them as they are.

A different sort of wildlife review now, starting with a tree. Which drop “branches” that are really roots:

And some pre-bacon specimens:

Finally managed to catch a pic of a dragonfly:

But this beaut is my fave of the day:

She was selling tobacco. Strong tobacco, I’m reliably informed. In its raw form – none of this filter cigarette stuff. What fascinated me more, however, was her flexibility and her age. She looked well into her 80s, but it’s difficult to tell as people round here have a hard life. I’d noticed walking through the markets of Hoi An how many traders were elderly women. But, of course, there is no social security and they live hand-to-mouth so the concept of retirement is alien to much of the population. Life’s tough in these parts.

Mechanical looms. They’d stop the machine to sort bits out every now and again, but otherwise it was a deafening clickety-clack. Oh, and notice his attire and bare feet. That’s the way it’s done out here.

And then I had a go at making rice paper. Not difficult, to be honest – just spread out a ladle of gunge (this is not, obviously the technical name, but quite descriptive of the ground rice and water mixture) in a circle:

… steam for a minute or so and then lift out:

She makes 200 a day. Every day. Mind-blowing work, but she and her family seemed content. Making a dollar out here means you’re lucky…

Boarding the boat from the pier:

… I pondered how accustomed to Asian life I’d become. If this had been my first river trip, the condition of the pier and the boat, and the “turn up and go” shuttle service would have made me notice. Today I just took it in my stride.

As we neared the other side, Hai pointed out these boats:

They’re peoples homes. That’s all they have, a whole family living on one of these, the children going off to school in the morning and returning here in the afternoon. Fishing for food, and maybe some to sell, is how they survive. And that’s all they do – survive. Yet their satisfaction (in the main) for life is evident – cruising through the small villages, they seemed happy. Certainly happier than their English counterparts. Our culture is to be dissatisfied, to whinge, to want everything perfect. Here, they just get on with it, and enjoy it more in the process. Perhaps because, for many of them, the horrors of war are still fresh in their minds. I’ve only ever lived in “peace time”. I’m slowly becoming aware of what this really means, how lucky I am and how much my life would change if war broke out.

Random picture: when we got to the other side, it was bin day.

And so we sped through the mountains by (very powerful) motorbike. The views were magnificent. I took lots of photos (there’s not much else to do when you’re sat on the back of a bike for hours), but here are my favourites:

Pulled up at our guest house for the night… where a big government meeting had convened “to do business”. Same the world over – lots of handshakes, toasts, drinking, men and laughter.

View from my room:

And then dinner with Hai:

… and the rice wine (with ginseng), which is strong but apparently doesn’t give you a hangover (can’t validate either way, I’m afraid, as I drank three sips and that was only out of politeness; Hai, on the other hand, was knocking it back):

Turns out Hai fought in the war for southern Vietnam: he has the war wounds (chest and leg) to prove it, and he’s deaf in one ear due to a bomb going off in close proximity.

Quote of the day: “What sort of fish is this?”

“Fish. From the sea.”

Ah yes, of course. Silly me 😉

1 November 201526 January 2018

Day 48 (Sun 1 Nov): Hoi An (day off, old town)

A day chilling in Hoi An. Having bought a tourist ticket, I felt like I should visit a few more of the sites. The Chinese Assembly hall was good:

… but without information boards, I didn’t really know what it was all about and, quite frankly, I couldn’t be bothered to research it. Sorry 🙁

And then I stumbled across the (free!) folk museum which contained traditional instruments:

And was treated to a performance by the resident artiste:

It’s interesting how every culture has developed similar instruments. Same, but different 😉

Walking past the Central Market:

… I noticed these two (see ’em?):

I thought she might be picking out lice (it can be a problem here) but on questioning and closer inspection, I realised she was picking out early-growth grey hairs. I’d noticed that Vietnamese have jet-black hair, seemingly immune to the bleaching effect of the sun. But not immune to a bit of grey. Personally, I’ve never seen the point. It’s a slippery slope… And explains why some of the old ladies are bald.

I ache after yesterday’s biking (it’s been a while as I’ve been travelling), but massage prices are high here, and I’ve been advised that the quality is variable. But then, suddenly, the price dropped from $25 to $15, for a decent spa the other side of the river. I’m not sure whether this was a RAOK* or because I’m nice 😉 or something to do with them seeing me blogging. However, given that she dropped me back at my hotel, too but wouldn’t let me pay her, I suspect that it was because she was nice 😉 I was gently pummeled back to life.

It was a good day to take off – it rained. Unfortunately, I think the rain has set in, which means my mountain tour may be slightly ill-timed. But I’m here now. So it’s now that I’ll go. I also managed to get my phone wet, so I’ve taken the precaution of removing it from its case and switching it off. Uploading and taking photos will cease for a while.

Oh, and I went for a swim in the hotel pool. Swam a few (short) lengths, tried to tumble and promptly choked. Turns out that my body has remembered the snorkelling. It wouldn’t let me exhale through my nose underwater. If you don’t do this, water goes up your nose when you turn upside down. Just couldn’t breathe out underwater. Oh my. How long to re-retrain? Luckily, it was another 5 minutes. Still not quite comfortable, but it meant I could get a few laps in. Astonished how quickly it’s forgotten its previous training.

And now to dinner and then bed – tomorrow I hit the mountains of central Vietnam 🙂

*Random Act Of Kindness