… 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.
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…
Great hotel, but was really looking forward to moving on, via van:
… and “Superdong” (that’s the name of the boat, by the way).
The two-and-a-half-hour crossing would have been quite nice (had an upper-deck seat this time, so could enjoy the view), apart from the very loud, poor-quality Vietnamese “music videos” that played constantly throughout (even my very good earplugs weren’t able to save me). Lu’u Chi Vy and D’u’ong Hong Loan (maybe YouTube them?) were the only two artists, samey songs, with backing dancers from a (poor) local dance school. Lost the will to live.
Is this the Virgin Mary? Certainly looks like it from this distance:
And then the tourist bus from the Rach Gia port (pronounced “reck zah” – yeah exactly, not easy this whole Vietnamese thing). Here is, nominally, a photo of a biscuit, but note the legs behind (he was absolutely tiny, with large hands and ears; I wondered whether, like a puppy, he’d grow into them. A nice lad, but freaked me out when he wanted a selfie with me. No, I don’t know either):
Driving through the Mekong Delta was amazing – worth the bus ticket in itself. Shacks similar to those in Cambodia lined the road which backed right on to the main waterway:
And cables. Lots and lots of cables. I reckon you could quite easily take out large parts of the region with a few choice cuts:
Buildings are similar in style to Cambodia, but made from more robust materials (much more brick and less wood). Roads are narrow, but in fairly good condition. But it was slow going as there’s only one road. Motorbike laws are clearly observed: only one adult and one child passenger per moto and, most importantly, helmets are required for all (and it’s actually enforced, whereas in Cambodia they’ll have the odd day when they warn the locals and then sting the tourists/ex-pats for an $8 fine). Oh, and petrol is 51p per litre:
Eventually arrived in Can Tho at 4pm – nine hours to travel 268km. But it was a really interesting journey 🙂
I felt the adrenaline flood my body. I’d hit the night market in search of street food:
It looked pretty good:
And then “Hello, do you have some time?” from behind me and I turned to see the smiling face of a lad, maybe 13 years old. But out of the corner of my eye, I also saw another four pairs of eyes looking at me.
“No, sorry – not now,” I said and turned my head back in my direction of travel to see another two on a scooter in front of me. Get out of this situation right now, my brain screamed. They left me alone. They may have had honest intentions, but the sweetness in the voice, the distraction from behind (when I carry my bumbag at the front for obvious reasons) and the inexplicable request for some time from the only tourist still makes me wonder… But all is well, and I ordered a rice “pancake”:
I gave her a 10,000 VND note. “One,” she said, pointing to my pancake, “10,000 Dong”. I shook my head – I’d watched three others buy one and they’d all received change from that note. “Change”, I stated gently but firmly and made it clear that I wasn’t going to budge. She repeated. I repeated my response. Then the lady with her said in Vietnamese “She’s seen the others get change.” I can’t speak Vietnamese, but this is exactly what she said. And I got change. Well actually I got short-changed – the right number of notes but the wrong value. But it was close enough. I know the money is worth more to them, but it’s the principle. Why do they have to try it on all the time – it’s just so wearing?
I also bought a wrap, attracted by the yummy-looking fillings and the clearly displayed prices.
Yes, I know I just had one in Kampot, but I’m on holiday and, I’m in charge. Just had a few things to decide and arrange. And noticed that the bananas here are different – very yellow:
Today’s bug:
I first knew I’d over-ordered when the gas stove arrived… I keep forgetting the soup here is a real event. So my “light lunch” turned into a full meal (I didn’t eat again for over 6 hours!). Here you’ll see the drill: the soup (which finishes cooking on your table), the plate of rice, the small dipping bowl (on the right) and the dish on the left into which you transfer some of the soup. I’m a pro:
I wasn’t sure what these were, though:
It was delicious. I’d previously stopped at a place recommended by some westerners, but it was expensive and I didn’t want much. The kiwi owner suggested one of their lunch options. And why, for goodness sake, I thought, do I want a cheese and onion pannini (with NZ cheese), when just beyond your shoulder I can see the fishing boats pootling to and fro?
And the view here was great:
And I managed to get some Vietnamese Dong (VND) – and they’re plasticky. Very practical. I would post a photo, but I’m not sure it’ll get it across. I’ll bring some home, instead. Maybe. If I’ve any left 🙂
Good morning, Vietnam (you see what I did there?).
A beautiful breakfast view:
And then to the pearl farm on the “South Island tour”. An Aussie explained:
only 2% of the world’s pearls are natural – they work their way inside the oyster, taking some 7 – 10 years to be made
artificial insemination uses a seed (created from the crushed shells of oysters) planted straight in the gonads – the good part
they’re put in cages and lowered 2 metres below sea level, identified by black buoys
two metres is the optimum depth as there’s most plankton there
unfortunately, barnacles start growing on the cages (weighing them down) and the oysters (so they can’t close, and that’s when a fish comes in and eats the pearl)
so they have to clean the oysters and cages every 5 – 6 weeks
even then, it takes two years to make a pearl 6mm in diameter
that pearl will then sell for $10
Round here there are two varieties of oyster that are rarely found elsewhere (due to the chemical imbalances resulting from the rice fields upstream in the Delta). These can produce big oysters: as they secrete to feed the pearl, it makes the oyster bigger; over 5 – 6 cycles (each lasting upwards of two years, remember), they can start producing 15mm oysters (which take 7 – 10 years to grow). Not a get-rich-quick scheme, you’ll see. But it must be lucrative because there are three farms along this stretch. And they’re mostly made into jewellery:
This necklace was being sold for c.£200, but as I’ve never bought a pearl necklace, I have no idea whether this is cheap or extortionate.
“Coconut tree prison” was built by the French in 1924. It was used to house POWs in the Vietnam War (which here they call the American War), where the 40,000 inmates were tortured by US troops. Four thousand died, and 10,000 were injured. The displays focused on this torture, with reconstructions of tiger cages:
And some poignant photos:
But it was all too engineered. For example, they showed the escape tunnel that took 41 prisoners to freedom in 1969:
I’m guessing that it didn’t have these inviting steps, though. Surely even Americans would have spotted what was going on here…?! I discovered afterwards that the whole place is a reconstruction, completed in 2013, although it did give a sense of the place:
Fish sauce is a major Phu Quoc export. Except it isn’t, because several airlines have banned it for fear that broken bottles will stink the place out for months, if not years. Anchovies are caught and mixed with salt on the boat (3:1 ratio) and put straight into these vats, which can hold 15 tons. They’re then covered and left for 12 months when the first batch is siphoned off from the tap at the bottom. This is 45% protein. Water is added, the mixture left for another 3 months, and batch two taken: 40% protein. The process is repeated for the third and final batch: less than 40% protein. And then the leftovers are used as fertiliser for the pepper farm. Now that’s what you call recycling. Around 4,000 litres are produced in total, and then the process starts again.
It’s powerful – such a shame photos can’t communicate smells and tastes. The smell catches your throat, but is bearable. It’s fishy, but dull and concentrated. Not pleasant, but only mildly offensive. You wouldn’t want to hang around for long, though. And it’s strong. They don’t use this stuff in cooking – it’s too good – it forms the basis of sauces and dips. The Vietnamese like dipping.
Bai Sao (“Star beach”, named due to the starfish here) is widely acknowledged as the best beach on the island (this is not actually true – apparently, the military base in the north has commandeered all the best beaches, so it’s more accurate to say it’s the best beach mere mortals can visit):
I’d brought a baguette, but the lunch looked delicious. I should have mentioned – I was the only westerner on the trip – everyone else was Vietnamese. And as the guide spoke little English (yes, I was rather annoyed, too), the majority of the tour was in Vietnamese. But my fellow tourists were wonderful, taking me under their wing, with many of them speaking very good English indeed (two pretty much fluently). They kindly invited me to join their lunch, which was so lovely – we all sat round the table, with the dishes in the middle. Each person got a bowl of rice, and a small plate. You transfer a few mouthfuls of some of the dishes to your plate, and then go back for more when you’re ready. A really social occasion, unlike our “one person to one meal” approach. It was a highlight of my trip. I’ve included this photo for the record, but the sun made everything dark and, not liking having my own photo taken, I’m very uncomfortable taking other people’s so didn’t try again.
We then had another hour or so to relax on the beach, and I went swimming with one of the older Vietnamese ladies (fluent in English – she lived in Australia for 30 years). Educated, intelligent, fascinating, she gave me the entire history of Vietnam. Too much to reproduce here, but I’ll include snippets as they’re relevant. It occurred to me that I hadn’t met her like in Cambodia. And immediately it struck me why: all the intelligencia were killed by the Khmer Rouge. And their families were also “destroyed” (which surely decreased the average IQ in the country quite significantly).
A quick stop at a market to buy fruit:
And fish, if you wanted it:
And then the pagoda. Nice, but very new, so no real character yet. But great views (note the monk in the foreground, who did add to the feel of authenticity!):
Inside:
And I took this so I can find out what on earth they are (I assume they’re here as an offering):
Big, fat columns made of beautiful wood:
Very impressive, as were the rafters:
And then I stepped outside, and was reminded that I was a European giant:
I think the tour guide was enjoying this trip. We had an unscheduled stop at a dried fish shop. Yes, it was as bad as it sounds:
Hygiene was non-existent with flies landing on everything (the incense sticks are a token gesture to keep them away). And some very dubious wares:
This “swimming bladder” was rather perturbing:
Every kind of fish, in every kind of way. And not pretty. But interesting.
I would say I liked the seahorses, but I obviously didn’t like the fact that they were dead and bottled:
Then off to the now obligatory waterfall. It had been developed and in some respects it was done sympathetically, like the path:
But in other ways, it was quite gaudy (no, I don’t know what the tiger is doing there, either):
But the main waterfall was worth the trip, despite the hordes (not pictured):
The SIM wine factory was less interesting. Mostly because it wasn’t much different from wine-making in any country. But I did try the free sample (well, about one sip’s worth), which tasted like neat Ribena, with a hint of alcohol (it was only 1 – 2%).
Other, much stronger, versions are available:
But I was more intrigured by these:
Pepper is another major export from these parts. It only grows on red soil and takes two years to start producing fruit worth using: red ones are dried to become white pepper, and the green ones become black.
Another tasting session. They eat their mango very unripe (have I mentioned this before?), so it’s very bitter. In Cambodia, it was served with chili salt or sugar, but here we tried it with pepper:
All kinds of pepper mixtures: salt and pepper, garlic and pepper, chili and pepper and, of course, fish sauce and pepper.
Back via kicking out time at a local primary school:
And a rush through Duong Dong, which confirmed that it wasn’t worth a bicycle trip here tomorrow. A packed, varied and interesting day with a lovely bunch of people, finished off with a mango smoothie:
Couldn’t change my dollars anywhere – interesting given that Vietnam is a stone’s throw away from this place. A business opportunity that a Pot-pat hasn’t caught on to yet. Then my last van ride through Cambodia:
Scott, Chantal and I burst out laughing. The driver smiled cautiously. He’d just handed us some “border control” forms. We’d all heard about this – a “medical check” that they scam you $1 for. General consensus is to go with it. But when we got the form, we just couldn’t help ourselves:
Apparently, our dollar is helping to prevent an epidemic of hypothermia. Wetting ourselves, we calmed down and tried to take it seriously. But then the guy aimed a laser at us and took our body temperature that was duly noted on our forms (which, interestingly, had no official logo) and asked us whether we’d experienced any nausea, vomiting, and the like (all key symptoms of a condition that I was quite worried about, given the climate out here). It was all I could do to keep a straight face.
He, on the other hand, was taking it seriously. But when he took my dollar and stuffed it into the side of his briefcase, I had to turn away else he’d have seen me crack. Oh my, if you’re going to scam us, do it convincingly please!
Good afternoon, Vietnam.
I was looking forward to standing on the top deck of the ferry and watching the journey. That’s why you travel by boat after all (and to cross water, obviously). But no, it was just like an aeroplane – we had allocated seats down in third class, some cheesy TV, a cold cloth and bottled water. But no safety demonstration, which was a shame.
Tagged along with Scott and Chantal, walked down to the beach from their hotel and then wandered back towards the main town on the island enquiring at places to stay.
Found a steal: a private bungalow at a family-run hotel, with this view from my patio:
… for $25 per night. Decided to stay three instead of the planned two nights. Once again, winging it has worked out (part of the art, of course, is deciding whether pre-booked is better, but I’m kinda getting the hang of it). They even had bottled tap water 😉
Off for a dip in the sea straight away (the sun sets at 5:30pm-ish and it gets very dark, very quickly here). And they’ve even foot taps outside each bungalow to prevent the mass sand invasion that blighted my Sihanoukville place. Then back to watch the sun set.
