09.06.15
Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam
Arrival: 12:15midnight
Flying into my adventure, colorful rooftops and neon streetlights reminded me of a carnival. An omen for the excitement to come? Instead of a coupon cab, I opted for a metered taxi, the guy ushering me in promised “no more than 10$”. Of course, as many had warned me before, I was taken on a bit of joyride, through quiet streets, strange letters of signs blurring, as my driver honked at ever vehicle that came within a 3m radius. At the hotel, I gave him was was on the meter,happy that it was half of the promised maximum. He was not happy. The inevitable happened – more money was demanded. Not a word of English, just a string of angry sounding Vietnamese and the waving of a little piece of paper “Ticket ticket!”. The ticket indicated no price. Next, he waved a 100.000Dong note in front of my face. Two can play at that game. Suddenly I was a dumb little tourist, not understanding a thing. I pointed at his meter and let my own string of words flow – gibberish to him, I’m sure. After a while he threw up his hands in exhasperation and left. 1:0 for the dumb tourist ;)
The rest of the early morning was spent catching up with Mo for as long as my eyes would stay open – and a while after that aparently. I am told I am quite funny when talking in my sleep.
10.06.15
The Mekong Delta
(Too) Bright and early, we got up, had breakfast on their rooftop café and took a 2h van-ride (much of which was missed due to neck-bending naptime).
We met Thanh, our tour guide, in Cai Pei. She greeted us with fresh young coconuts- tiny, golden and sweeter than any I’ve tasted before. We sipped them as our boat chugged along. We were on the Mekong River – something that seemed so far away just a few weeks ago. From our perspective, we peered through shops lining the river bank and watched the motorbikes speed past on the road just on the other side. We drifted by crooked houses threatening to tumble into the water and flood damage to the foundation of many buildings. Floating house boats (imagine a wooden boat with a hammock, not the large fancy ones in Western countries) refueled in floating gas stations, while the family on board cleaned up a chicken for dinner or took naps in the noon heat. Thanh explained that although maybe shabby and small from the outside, many floating houses have satellite TV, a karaoke machine, internet and possibly even a sofa hidden in the bowels.
Though not inviting, the murky brown waters of the Mekong exude an ancient, mystic feel, which immidiately pulled us in.
The first stop was an artisan village where we were given tasty demos of how they make rice paper, coconut candy, popped rice and rice wine by hand (and from hand into our mouths). We even tasted rice wine that had a snake swimming in it – aparently good for men. We watched rice being popped using hot blackened sand from the river and the hull later being used to fuel their fires. Over a plate of Vietnamese goodies, we sipped jasmine tea and decided on how many of the tasty delights we just had to take with us.
The next stop was a small bee farm, where we drank honey tea with propolis and tried royal jelly, while baby ducks grazed on water plants in the stream next to us.
Back in the boat, the breeze on the water made us realize how hot it really was on land. But the bliss was short-lived, as the next stop was just around the corner. Folk music and fresh fruit. A large amount of fruits and vegetables are grown in the Mekong Delta area and therefore farming is the main income source for the people living there. We passed the famous floating market, though too late for the real trading. Only wholesalers were left, the produce they sell dangling from poles atop their boat. Thanh told us about the tough life the farmers lead, living on those boats for most of the time, only returning to land to harvest and collect more goods.
She also told us many other stories about life on and along the Mekong – fish ponds and production, illegal sand harvesting on huge vessels, how tides and currents can affect it all and much much more.
Further down the river we floated… And were then transferred into flat metal boats rowed by strong women, who took us through smaller canals alongside a small road, under suspicious looking bridges, through large patches of water plants. A welcome change of perspective and wonderful break from the buzz of the motor.
For lunch we stopped in a restaurant that featured an amazing collection of bonsai trees and orchids. We were served up a feast of fried elephant-ear-fish wrapped into rice paper with greens, tiny spring rolls, river prawns dipped into a simple lemon juice with salt and pepper, a tasty veggie soup and sticky rice with pork. Topped off with a delicious iced coffee. WOW.
We left full and satisfied. And I left buzzing as well. Note: With less than 5h of sleep, the many cups of jasmine tea and the iced coffee were probably the only thing keeping me alive during this day. The post-lunch boatride was a bit longer – perfect time to try out the sun-chair (since Mo had already claimed the hammock). Going against the current, the low tide threatening to put an abrupt end to our journet, I fell into a food-coma-tiredness-caffine-fueled trance-like state and watched the banks of the river being laid bare, the water being sucked away by the pull of our engine as we passed. Mud swirled and water hyasinths were dragged along, mudskippers and baby mangroves exposed – subtle beauty right there.
We crossed the big river, passing more floating gas stations and large fish farms. Next stop: Vietartisan, an NGO nestled by the river bank. An old lady set up a handicrafts shop in which she sells beautifully handcrafted bags, notebooks, postcards etc. The designs are stunning – many of them quite modern, depicting images and symbolisms of Vietnamese culture. Thanh explained that the women working there are poor women from the village which were invited and trained by the founding old lady and the sales would go straight into their wages as well as the expansion of the NGO. I fell in love with a bag made of old rice sacks and gorgeous Vietnamese fabric lining. Every item we bought (and yes, we each walked away with something), they lovingly wrapped in a brown paper bag with a thoughtful dedication of our choice. A very lovely stop indeed.
The last stop of the day was a brick factory, whose banks were lined with broken pottery and bricks. Inside, we were shown the huge kilns in which they bake the bricks. For many days, the kilns have to be fired 24/7, women working in shifts to fuel the fire with rice hull. The amount of work, time and dedication was fascinating. The aura of the factory had something medieval. And the color of the bright red bricks against the dominating burnt black and ashen gray was captivating.
From there we crossed over to our homestay – a beautiful wooden complex in a village. Three generations living under one roof – very welcoming and friendly. After a rest, a shower and the sunset, we sat in their kitchen and were taught how to make papaya salad and roll spring solls. The floor was hard mud, the stove an open flame and the food absolutely delicious.
The evening ended with a glimpse of the fireflies by the water, sleeping crocs in a farm across a bridge from us and very insightful conversations with Thanh. The night was cool and the bed comfy.
11.06.15
After a typical Vietnamese breakfast – Baguette, eggs, jam, cheese – we walked a large loop around the village. Thanh showed us how the locals grow fruits and veggies, explained superstitions and beliefs and told us stories about growing up as a little girl in a village herself. We tasted fruit straight off the tree and marveled at the plantations and trees laden with fruit. The soil must be incredibly rich in nutrients, for I have never before seen so many fruit on one single papaya tree, let along on 300 of them.
The locals were friendly and welcoming, as Thanh stopped to say hi and have a quick chat with many of them. Children practiced their “Hello. What’s your name?” on us. We watched fishermen clean their catch (of fish and frogs). An 87 year old humpbacked lady gave us a toothless smile and asked if she could row us down the river in her boat.
Two things stuck with me. The burial of anscestors in their backyard and having to build an extravagant shrine for them, only to exhume the bones 25 years later, wash them and bury them somewhere else. And the blue signs. Thanh explained that a blue sign outside a house meant that the family was a “good behaviour family” – meaning they had only 2 or 3 children, the husband didn’t drink, gamble or mistreat his family etc. When enough families of a village follow suit, the village becomes a “good behaviour village”. It made me realize, that the government does really play a different role in this country and its influence and incentive reaches further than in places I’ve lived.
It got hotter by the minute and without our breeze from the water, we were drenched in no time. The last steps back to our homestay were dragging. We checked out, said our many heartfelt goodbies and thank-yous and hopped back on our boat. I used the ride back to the pier to take some noted for this blog – a little black book I had bought in Australia now serves as a travel journal of sorts (though I am realizing at this moment that it will not suffice). So many new impressions in such a short time – and I wouldn’t want to forget a single one.
Just as I won’t ever forget Thanh, the little village girl turned amazing tour guide, who showed us this world in such a personal manner, who called us her family and named us brother, sister and mother and made our tour through the Mekong Delta the perfect ending to Moni’s Vietnamese Adventure and a perfect start to mine. She always made sure we were not left wanting and were satisfied with everything. She even called after our 8 course lunch she had pre-booked for us, to check if it was good and wish us a pleasant ride home. Thank you, Thanh!
Back in the city, back in the hotel, my stomach rebelled against the many meals of fried food and caused a short break in the enthusiastic start of my travels. But I was back on my feet in no time and strolling around the War Remnants Museum. Though the images displayed and storied told did not help settle my stomach – quite the opposite – it was a good experience. Emotional, unsettling, enraging… and too short. Barely an hour and fire-drill like bells announced closing.
From there we walked around the architectually uh *cringe* interesting Independence Palace, where I enjoyed the sight of a squirrel amongst the tall tall trees. The Cathedral Notre Dame was closed for mass and we were hungry. We sat under the lights and lanterns of Nha Hang Ngon and enjoyed Vietnamese street food restaurant style – finally Pho and fresh spring rolls! Yummy (I was warned by Thanh not to say “Yumm”, because in Vietnamese that means I want to have sex. Thank you, Thanh.)
12.06.15
Let the backpacking begin! Our first day traveling alone began with the move from one hotel to another (cheaper). It was just as comfy, had aircon, free wifi, free breakfast and cheaper than a hostel. Located in the southern part of the city, we walked towards the touristy stuff, watching the streets around us change from small hardware shops and food stalls to fancy stores, shiny new buildings and fast food joints. After lunch we finished our tour of the War Remnants Museum. I lost myself in the section on war photography and the people behind it. Having once (and always) had the dream of being a journalist, imagining the situations these people put themselves in to capture such emotional images, gave me goosebumps. Seeing how many perished themselves was shocking. But then again, those were different times. They didn’t sit around in hotels, far from the action, waiting for a photo-op. That section was also the only one in which the perspective swayed. While the majority of the museum displayed a very one sided story (understandable!) – the strength and resilliance of the Vietnamese people facing the evil Americans – the war photographers came from may different countries and followed different stories. They somehow “humanized” a war otherwise depicted as statistics. They even had a section of photos by a photographer allowed into North Vietnam. These, however, depicted dreamy landscapes, smiling women in rice fields and happy, victorious soldiers.
Another room that will be forever seared into my memory is that showing the victims of Agent Orange. The use of dioxin to clear foliage, destroying flora, fauna and the lives of two following generations. I do not want to and cannot describe the people on these photographs.
Finally,we walked through a section on the prison on Phu Quoc Island, which made me more nauseous than many displays on the war. There were haneous deeds/crimes committed against their own people –from unacceptable living conditions, gruesome torture to murder. A gilloutine. Tiger cages – barbed wire contraptions the size of coffins left out in the sun.
I watched a father lift his young sons up to a peephole of a metal door so they could see inside – all the while laughing and grinning, awaiting their reaction. Both trotted away ashen faced. I took a look – and nearly jumped back three feet! It was a cell with a simple cot on which sat an old lady staring blankly into oblivion. She looked so real, I had to force myself to look again, to check if she hadn’t moved. The sight chilled me to my bones, like a scene from a nightmare left burned onto your retina the next day. No wonder those two little boys walked off looking so disturbed.
By the time we left the museum, shaky hands lighting a cigarette, there was no more time for the next one, so instead we walked and talked, stopped for ice cream and ended up back in the hotel. I still had to sing to myself when crossing three lane streets, but can proudly note that after only a short time, we crossed them like pros, leaving the other worried faced tourists to eat our dust ;)
After relaxing for a while, reminding our bodies that do not HAVE to sweat 24/7, we strolled around our neighborhood in search of food. The streets here truly never sleep. As soon as the stores close, the metal shutters come down and the motorcycles clear the pavement, the food stalls emerge. Tables and chairs (though miniature in size) are set up. Cardboard and mats are laid out. People slurp their noodle soup. Drink their umpteenth coffee of the day (I swear, the Vietnamese are fueled soley by coffee). Children play in the emptier streets. Men give massages and cuppings, right there on the sidewalk. It’s never dark, never truly quiet. A man on a bike drives up and down the road, his megaphone calling out whatever he is selling in an endless loop.
We found a hole in a wall in the second storey, nicely decorated and full. Some struggles with the menu, but in the end we were served a delicious bun noodle soup and crispy fried sticky rice with smoked duck. The rice was filled with blackish chopped stuff that was quite good – so we ate, deciding we would contemplate after the meal what it actually was. We agreed that it was something we would probably usually not eat. Our “rainbow desert” was neither colorful nor did it taste like much, but we had fun with the different gelatinous textures swimming in ice cubes and lychee juice.
13.06.15
No windows and airconditioning made it hard to get up in the morning. Also, I still need to get my body into travel mode – lots of walking, sweating, standing and overloading of the mind. But give me a few more days and I’ll get there.
The streets had once again changed face. Motorbikes everywhere – on and off the road. Shops open. Stalls selling meat and veggies right there on the pavement. A woman on a bike selling bread (as her megaphone anncounced) or – as I watched with interest – trading it for fruit with another vendor. The sky is white and bright, as it often is in the city. The sun isn’t beating down from clear skies, but its heat still radiates in all it's glory. It’s sunglasses or squint – your choice.
Chu Chi Tunnels
So we booked a tour – something we had told ourselves we would try to avoid as much as possible. But as research showed, trying to get to the 50km far Chu Chi district north west of Ho Chi Minh AND find the tunnel is only possible with GPS coordinates. No signage, no chance. So we booked this tour. While waiting for pick up, we enjoyed a refreshing sugarcane juice and bought Bahn Mi (baguette sandwiches with roasted pork and other tasty stuff) to go.
In the minibus, we were glad to see only a few other people…until the doors opened along the backpackers district and all of a sudden there was not a single seat left. 25 people or so. The trip there was around 1,5h, with a stop in a government set up handicrafts village employing victims of agent orange (mostly with slight disfiguring). Watching them create laquerware from eggshells was quite impressive.
Shortly before the tunnels, we drove through neatly rowed pantations of rubber trees – some of the only crops that grow in the clay-heavy soil.
Nim, our guide, gave us a Vietnam-War-For-Dummies summary – who fought who, who supported who – and explained the lay of the land. He also told us about a second section of the tunnels in the area, to which they take mainly Vietnamese tourists, therefore seperating them from the foreigners. Too bad – from what I had read – those were the ones I wanted to see.
The complex was quite big and soon we found out why. After watching a black and white documentary from 1967 that told us all about the beautiful Chu Chi district and the courageous Chu Chi fighters, we were shown a map of where the alliances lay back then – a large part of the District supporting the North. Chu Chi, being so close to the former Saigon, where the government of South Vietnam and large U.S. military bases were, was the area of which some of the most violent battles took place. Many graveyards dedicated to soldiers are scattered along the roadsides.
Then we walked into the “jungle” – mostly young skinny trees that have regrown in the last 40 years, after the vegetation was destroyed by Agent Orange. Here and there there were displays of Vietcong mastery – a secret tunnel (hole in the ground with a wooden cover), booby traps (made of metal, not bamboo, covered in artificial grass), ventilation shafts belonging to the tunnels, bomb craters and dugouts for guerilla warfare. But for some strange reason – imagine a tinge of sarcasm in my voice – they all seemed to life perfectly spaces throughout the jungle, so that walking paths could be made connecting them all. Also, there seemed to be so many of them, densely crammed into one area, so that multiple tour groups could look at the same thing without having to crowd. Hmmm… The Vietcong must have thought of the touristic value while building their 200km long tunnel system over those 20 years ;)
All jokes aside, I had heard about the Chu Chi tunnel ground being quite “fake” and constructed for tourists, but I had not imagined this Disneyland-like walkthrough.
During the many photo-ops – “Climb in the hole and take a picture” – I watched blue headed lizards chase up and down trees, giant caramal coloured centipedes crawl around the forest floor and swatted mosquitoes left and right (though they did more damage to me than I did to them).
The historical information our tour guide told us may have been accurate, but it couldn’t have been more one-sided – VC were strong, VC were brave, VC were smart, VC were invisible. Numbers only on the successes and their pride, none on how many times tunnels were bombed or breached or how many of the 18.000 people it took to build it might have suffocated of lost their lives in the course of construction and daily life.
In between the jungle and the actual tunnels was the shooting range (and souvenir store) - AK47, M16, machine guns and rifles. The sounds of gunfire were deafening and somehow, in light of the history we so vividly witnessed in the museum the day before as well as the violence the district of Chu Chi had endured, it seemed wrong for us to shoot for fun. We did anyways – if you can call an anchored gun that you can’t really aim shooting.
From there we went to the entrance of the tunnels. At first, I thought I’d be fine – with my headlamp and Mo by my side. The first set of stairs down lead into a little chamber – no problem. Around 5 steps into the tunnel, it curved and decended another meter or so – the first level being at around 3m depth. The tunnel had been widened for tourists – widened to 1,2m high and 80cm wide. The temperature rose a few degrees and the air was thick and definitely lacking oxygen. Behind me, another 20 people waiting to get in. And that was it for me - 5 steps and one look into the tunnel. Less because of the physical tightness itself – though I did notice that I am not free of claustrophobic tendancies – but more because of the difficulty of breathing, the stifling heat and the many people behind me, making me feel stuck – barricaded in from both sides. So I didn’t even make it to the first of many exits (every 10m or so). But that’s ok. The speed of my heartbeat as I came back out was enough of an experience. Hats off, VC! Ten years of life underground would not have been my cup of tea. Especially considering between 4000-5000 people lived there (aparently) and the system decended down three levels, the lowest one being up to 10m deep.
It rained all the way home. As Mo slept, I suffered through the conversation between four backpackers – two Germans, a Canadian and a Dutch guy – one greener and naiver than the next. Barely 18 and boasting about epic hangovers in forgotten cities. If I had had a sign that said “bullshit” to raise whenever nonsense was uttered, I would have been beating them up with it by the end of the seemingly endless busride. Their worldly knowledge extended from “In Germany, people ONLY drive German cars.” (proclaimed by a German, nonetheless) and “There are no poor people in Dubai, they couldn’t afford it.” The horror! The horror!
We walked home in the rain, stopping only for Bun Bo Hue (Beef noodle soup with unidentifiable sausage-like stuff) and feeling cold for the first time in Vietnam.
14.06.15
Getting-Lost-In-HCMC-Day
…though we never actually lost our way, we had no plans and just went for it.
Starting in the Binh Than Markets. Though much of the wholesale sections have been pushed aside to make way for the touristy stuff, it was still worth seeing. We ran away from the pushy and overpriced vendors, asking over 10$ for a souvenir shirt and three times the usual price for sugarcane juice. Instead, we walked amongst the colorful displays of giant fruit and baskets of dried fruit, nuts and pickled everything. Stuffed civit cats were meant to show the origin of one of the many different types of coffee. It smelled like tea, coffee, incense… and sweat and feet and plastic fabrics.
Once again, the hunt for cheap food was on. And we found it in a stall selling fried rice with beef, clear soup with fried onions and fried noodles. YummY!
Close by, our craving for something cold and caffinated pulled us into a roadside café called The Coffee Factory. There we sat for 2h, sipping an iced coffee and writing postcards. Yes, sipping ONE iced coffee in 2h! It was sooo good and sooo strong. I was buzzin’, trippin’, felt like I could have run a marathon and a half.
We dropped our postcards off in the historical post office and continued our stroll. We attempted something like shopping, only to become slightly frustrated due to the inability to actually shop. Firstly, our budget does not allow excessive spending (and anything outside accommodation, food, drink, travel and experiences is excessive) and secondly, despite really trying to keep it light, our bags are too full. On the other hand, this is probably a good thing, since we found some stores which I could have bought up in their entirety. Some stored sold such creative souvenirs and handicrafts, things produced in NGOs, things that told stories. Also, I could have used the artsy movie posters printed on handmade paper as wallpaper – so funky!
We walked along a large green boulevard with fancy hotels and consulates and ended up…at the Zoo!
It was Sunday – family day – and the crowd consisted mostly of children. The animals were well fed – thanks to the guests that enjoyed giving them everything and anything they had in their backpacks. The zoo was also a botanical garden, with large trees and well kept shrubbery, which would have been quite beautiful, if it weren’t for the complete lack of respect for the environment of the visitors.
Monkeys have always been some of the most interesting animals to watch. In this case, it was the Orang Utan that blew my mind. He was older and had many folds of fat hanging under his tired face. He stood by the fence, posing – throwing up his arms, folding his hand behind his head. Then he would stop and make a throwing gesture with his arms. We watched, as a woman threw a juice pack over the fence. The Orang Utan picked it up and, with an expertise overshadowing most young children, pulled out the straw, stuck it in and drank it dry in a few quick gulps. Then he crumpled up the box and chucked it back over the fence. He did the same with a bottle of water.
At the end of the day, I had mixed feelings about the zoo. It was nice but sad, well made but with too small enclosures.
By the time we got home, we had been out and about from morning till night again and I fell into bed and stayed down for a while, unable to move a single muscle. Evening activitied included Mo touching up my haircut (meaning, shaving the back of my head) and spending over 2h researching and getting excited for Cambodia.
PS: Please excuse the format and typos, it is the first real entry I am writing on our tablet and I haven't quite gotten the hang of it yet.
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