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:
