Vietnam - Saigon

For most of my youth, my perceptions about Vietnam came from songs like Still in Saigon by the Charlie Daniels Band, and Copperhead Road by Steve Earle.  Those songs portray veterans of the Vietnam War who deal with the return to the United States in different ways, both describing lives altered forever by their experiences in the first televised war.  My history classes touched on events leading up to the war, but the dry text about policy and administration had my eyes quickly glazed over.  Still, something about this war struck a chord with me, and my curiosity was stoked In the 1980’s by the run of popular Vietnam War movies like Platoon and Full Metal Jacket.

I wanted to know more about this war that divided the United States, and I went through a period where I read every book I could find on the subject until the events started to make sense to me.  I took a course on the war for a college history credit, and I used an excellent video series as a study guide which helped further my understanding. After a thirty-year painting career, I’ve had the privilege of working with numerous Vietnam War veterans who trusted me enough to tell me some of their stories, many of them harrowing, all of them life changing.  A common thread in the majority of all this information is the horror of war played out in a country containing rich natural beauty.

We’ve been traveling in Vietnam for three weeks now, and it’s still strange to hear the citizens refer to the events surrounding the American War and how their struggle for independence resulted in a victory that reunified the country.  I can say with certainty that the wild tropical beauty of Vietnam has far exceeded the images conjured in my imagination for so long, and I’m thankful that my family can experience living here for a while.  Just as the mountains, countryside, and coastal areas have vastly different appearances, the cities we’ve visited have been striking in their variation and feel, and we’ve enjoyed learning about the culture in each one.  

After a three-hour delay in the Da Nang airport, we finally touched down in the city formerly known as Saigon late yesterday afternoon.  While the name of the city was changed to Ho Chi Minh after the communist victory in 1975, its former name is still used commonly by locals and tourists alike, and I will henceforth refer to the city as Saigon because I like the way it sounds, and it’s easier to type.  We took a half-hour taxi ride from the airport to our apartment in the center city through some of the most intense, competitive traffic we’ve witnessed so far in southeast Asia, and that’s saying a lot.  When we arrive in a new place, I always try my best to observe everything I can and then compare my first impressions with the things I perceive during the course of our visit.  Compared to the faded French elegance of Hanoi, Saigon looks blocky, thrown together, and grimy with broken sidewalks and rusted transformer towers tilting into the streets under the weight of thick, tangled knots of thin electrical wires.  From what I’ve seen so far, the city looks like it was abandoned for ten years until someone blew a whistle prompting the sudden return of eight million people wearing masks and riding scooters at the same time.  

Our last two days in Hoi An were spent close to the homestay, and before we made one final trip into the old city on the last night, our host, Mr. Luong, invited us for a late afternoon snack.  The “snack” turned out to be a full meal featuring deep fried shrimp rolls and strips of sauteed beef wrapped up in thin rice paper with fresh greens and herbs.  Mr. Luong opened a bottle of wine and toasted our good health and good fortune and told us how much he enjoyed having us as guests for seven nights in his homestay.  He is a kind man whose large family lives on the homestay property and helps with cleaning and meal preparation.  We sat in the courtyard with Mr. Luong and enjoyed our meal while he told us about his country and the many changes that have occurred since the end of the war.  He said that the standard of living for most citizens improved greatly twenty years ago when the government lifted restrictions on industry and opened the doors to foreign investment and trade activity.  Under the communist regime, military service for eighteen-year-old men is compulsory, and it is forbidden to speak out against the government, but the majority of citizens in Vietnam are free to live where they want and work in a vocation of their choosing.  Mr. Luong was interested to learn more about life in America, and we enjoyed a long, relaxed afternoon full of lively conversation, and Deena and I were thankful that Joseph and Deveny could participate in this enlightening discussion.

It was dark when we arrived in the old city of Hoi An, and the lanterns were glowing all through the town streets.  We found a coffee shop with a second-floor terrace that looked out to the alleys below lined with vine-covered ficus trees. We talked over tall glasses of iced coconut coffee, a beverage to which we are now fully addicted.  We slowly wandered the lantern-lit streets taking a few new twists and turns eventually ending at the river where we sat barefoot dangling our legs over the concrete embankment.  Hoi An grew to prominence as early as the fourteenth century as one of the most popular trading ports in southeast Asia and held that status for over five-hundred years.  The well preserved old city still testifies to its former glory, and the weather-stained buildings along the canals are charming day and night but especially in the early evening when thousands of decorative lanterns give a glow to everything in their warm sphere of light.  Sitting in our small apartment in the heart of Saigon, we’re already missing kind-hearted Mr. Luong and the lure of ancient Hoi An, but the streets of Saigon are calling, and we must explore.

The Saigon free walking tours are extremely popular and require booking many days in advance, so I figured why not try to reserve a spot the night before?  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Much to our delight, someone from the tour company responded quickly and said they would organize another small group to accommodate our family along with two more travelers and gave us a meeting time of 1:30 the next day at a market about a mile from our apartment.  

Like every other street in Saigon, ours is constantly busy with scooter traffic and lined with small family restaurants, coffee shops, and various forms of retail establishments.  Our headquarters is on the third floor of a four-story building with a coffee shop occupying the first floor. The proprietor and his wife manage the apartments, most of which are leased by tong-term residents.  Each floor has an open kitchen built into the large landings off the stairwell, and we wave hello to residents in the process of cooking meals as we go up and down the stairs.  Our room is tight with a double bed for Deena and me and bunk beds for the kids.  There are no windows, but thankfully we have our own bathroom and a strong ceiling fan that sounds like a chopper landing in a rice paddy.  The air conditioner went on the fritz last night, which was unfortunate since the temperatures are in the nineties with matching humidity, but the owner has been diligent to get it working again, and the banana smoothies presented to us by his wife this morning helped our attitudes tremendously.  

Procuring food in the neighborhood has proved to be a bit of a challenge since most of the nearby restaurants are popular with locals but look to be rarely visited by westerners and many menu items are unfamiliar.  On our first night in Saigon, we wandered around in a travel-induced haze before settling on dinner in a small cafe with a stand out front that displayed seven pale yellow waxy chickens hung on a wire behind a pane of glass.  Some of them were roosters in their past life as evidenced by light pink combs still in place on their featherless, boiled-in-the-last-two-days-or-so heads.  We ordered noodle soup with beef but were served noodle soup with chicken, which came from the birds with the broken necks in the window after a flurry of chopping by a young man who wielded a mean meat cleaver.  The meat was a little tough but fairly tasty once we pulled off the skin and got past the bones.  Banh mi is the term the Vietnamese ascribe to French bread, and they sell it at small stands on the street and load up the fresh baguettes with all kinds of savory stuff.  We discovered a stand run by a nice lady on our block, and we’ve been buying her delicious breakfast banh mi loaded with fried eggs, cucumbers, and cilantro the last couple of mornings.

Fueled by a late morning banh mi breakfast, we walked the mile from our apartment to the market and met up with our tour guide, Vu, a twenty-two-year old with a spring in his step, a twinkle in his eye, and long hair dyed a copper color.  We were joined by two friendly ladies from Australia and struck out into the historic streets of Saigon with Vu who had the magic possessed by most Vietnamese pedestrians that allow them to part traffic with a firm hand gesture.  Vu was enthusiastic with a big smile that seemed impervious to the high heat and humidity, and he enjoyed showing all of the old hotels and government buildings around the city center most of which were built by the French a hundred years ago during their colonization of Vietnam.  We saw the opera house, Notre Dame Cathedral, post office, and the old Continental Hotel, which according to Vu, is the hotel in which Ho Chi Minh himself preferred to stay during his visits, although I can’t find any substantiation for this assertion.  

City Hall

Ho Chi Minh

Uncle Ho slept here....maybe

Ben Thanh market

Bricks at Notre Dame Cathedral

My favorite part of the tour was standing across the street from the old CIA building, weathered but still tucked in among the fancy hotels and high rises with the famous helicopter perch and ladder in the iconic evacuation photograph from 1975 still in plain view—I had chills going up and down my spine as I photographed the rooftop.  Vu had the famous picture from 1975 on his phone along with the altered photo released by the communist North, and he gladly emailed them to me so I could post them.  It’s obvious that most people see right through the propaganda, but the machine keeps rolling.  Nearby, we walked past a large middle school, and we could hear the children singing inside. Vu said that they were going through the litany of pro-government songs, which is part of the afternoon schedule every day.

The original 1975 photo

The altered photo

The CIA building today

Around the corner, we spied a Cong Caphe, and our fellow tour group members graciously allowed us time to run in and purchase two glorious take-away cups of coconut coffee which helped perk us up for the remainder of the tour.  We strolled through a beautiful park shaded by towering sycamore trees ending at the War Remnants Museum.  Vu told us to be prepared for a one-sided, graphic presentation of the American War which we had heard about from other travelers. Their information proved to be correct as we made quick work of viewing communist propaganda, the horrors of agent orange, and pictures showing the victims of American war crimes.

I enjoyed talking to Vu on the way back to the market, and he told me about life on his own in Saigon as he works two jobs to support himself.  He has six more months to go before finishing his studies at the university, and wants to continue working in the city.  He told me that the current culture in most Vietnamese families dictates the parents providing everything for their children's future, and Vu disagrees strongly with this situation.  “When parents give everything, it make lazy children in Vietnam who don’t want to work,” he said, adding that his twelve-year-old brother is a prime example of the spoiled youth in the country.  We reached the market where we gave Vu a generous tip for his services, said goodbye, and summoned an Uber driver for the trip back home to get out of the heat.

That night we watched an excellent documentary called The Last Days in Vietnam, which gives a detailed account of the weeks in Saigon leading up to the mass evacuation of April 30, 1975, which brought an end to the Vietnam War.  While most of the world refers to the events that day as the fall of Saigon, the north Vietnamese claimed the liberation of Saigon and renamed it Ho Chi Minh City in honor of their late president.  The documentary was fascinating to watch, and I would recommend it as required viewing for anyone interested in the history of the war that will continue to define this country for years to come.  The city scenes shown at the beginning of the film are eerily similar to those we’ve witnessed over the past couple of days with streets full of cars and scooters piloted by people constantly on the move in Saigon.  During our tour today, I noticed many repaired sections of sidewalk dimpled by shoe prints and furrowed by bicycle tires, marks left by citizens too busy to wait on cement to dry.  

Next day, we slept in longer, got ready for church at 11:00 and gladly left a little early to let the air-conditioner-repair guy get to his work.  The church was only a fifteen minute Uber ride away, and we got there in plenty of time to meet the pastor and his wife and hear the worship band warm up for the service.  Like the church we visited near Hoi An, this congregation met under the auspices of a Vietnamese church and had a permit issued by the government allowing worship conducted by expatriates living in Vietnam.  The music and the teaching were excellent, and we spent some time after the service talking with a fellow American living in Vietnam for six months doing contract work for his company, and he gave us some good tips for the rest of our stay in Saigon.  Before we left, I thanked the worship team for the wonderful music that morning having been most impressed by the funky groove laid down by the Asian drummer and bass player on  In The Sweet By and By that would’ve had Mother Maybelle Carter nodding in approval.

By most accounts, Saigon means “many cotton trees,” probably referring to the kapok trees planted in the region of the city by the khmer people centuries ago.  Hearing the name now, even sitting at a desk in the heart of the city itself, still evokes images of helicopters and desperate people climbing the US embassy walls in my mind. The city has a hodge podge feel with just a trace left of its colonial past and the decades following the French exit cobbled together by squat concrete structures and modern highrises with smoked glass facades all held together by millions of kilometers of electrical wire.  

My initial impressions of the city on that first night have softened a bit now that I’ve had several days to interact with many kind residents in a place where my fascination with the history finally culminated in a trip to see it with my family outside the pages of a history book.  Most travel guides describe Saigon as “high energy” and “hypnotizing,” and while I agree with those adjectives, I would add “tiring” since the frenetic pace has worn us out.  We couldn’t extend our stay in our current apartment for one more day, so tomorrow we have to move across town to a hotel for our last day and night in Saigon.  After that, we’re spending several days in the Mekong Delta in a bungalow beside the river, and I’ve already blocked out plenty of hammock time to rest and contemplate our time in Saigon.

Vietnam - Easy Rider

As loyal citizens of the Old North State and avid sports fans, we have an affinity for the Carolina Panthers, and we ride the waves of their successes and failures every year.  I’ve been a fan since their inception over twenty years ago, and I especially enjoyed listening to the games on the radio in the early days because of the passionate play by play announcer, Bill Rosinski.  According to tales told by his color announcers, Rosinski was the consummate professional and was known for opening the window of the press box on chilly days at the stadium so he could “feel the game.” We’ve been in Vietnam for fifteen days, and we’ve witnessed the crazy, infamous traffic through car, train, and bus windows and marveled at the world’s largest game of chicken and the participants whose motto is “it’s all about me.”  Easy Rider tours are popular in this area of Vietnam, and they allow novice bikers to ride on the back of a motorcycle for a day or two and see areas of the country to which travel would be difficult by car or bus.  After a lot of research, Deena booked an Easy Rider tour with Mr. Tong and his crew, and we had a unique opportunity to “feel the game.”

The last couple of days in Hoi An have been a bit of a blur as we’ve been figuring out our new home and the surrounding community.  The manager of our homestay is a kind and helpful man, and his family has gone out of their way to make us feel welcome.  Our room is small, but the high ceiling, cream-colored walls, and large balcony make it feel much bigger, and we’ve been very comfortable here.  Because the homestay is located just outside of Hoi An proper, we can reach the city center easily with a two-dollar, ten-minute taxi ride down one of the narrow main roads lined with small shops and restaurants tucked into the groves of banana trees.  The highlands of Vietnam produce some of the world’s finest coffee, and the rest of the nation proudly sells it in coffee shops placed every twenty meters or so in the cities and countryside alike.  The espresso shop next door makes coconut coffee that is worthy of heaven, and Deena and I ditch the kids every afternoon around 5:00 to enjoy it together in the shade of the palm trees while watching the teams of water buffalo work the rice fields across the road.

The city of Hoi An is situated on the coast along the banks of the Thu Bon river which splits into numerous branches before flowing into the South China Sea.  The lime-washed ocher buildings and streets strung with colorful lanterns create a rustic lively atmosphere that attracts tourists by the megabus load every night, and we’ve joined the fray on several occasions.  The last night we were there, we hired a nice lady to take us on a lazy cruise down the main canal in a wooden rowboat, and we enjoyed lighting candles and setting them adrift in paper vessels that looked like large red and gold cupcake liners.  We had another flavorful dinner and walked back out to the street where a group of giggling young girls begged Deveny to join them for a picture.  They were thankful and couldn't believe their good fortune of being photographed with a real American princess with her long hair done up in braided tresses.  Hoi An is known worldwide for its population of tailors offering custom-made clothing for low prices, and we found ourselves in the Din Din shop where my girls indulged themselves with a fitting session for new haute couture frocks to ship back home.  

On Sunday, we managed to find a worship service to attend in a nearby village where we met a lot of nice people including a family from a city in South Carolina near our hometown.  It was good to hear a familiar accent, and we spent the morning worshipping with this warm group of people who have experienced a lot of difficulty lately finding a place to meet due to the many restrictions here.  The pastor delivered a sermon from Leviticus, which I happen to be reading now, and I appreciated the extra insight.  The service concluded with communion, and we stayed to talk for a while before searching for a place to have lunch. We found an uncrowded cafe with soft couches for seating and had a long lunch in the open-air dining area shaded by thick ficus trees.  Near the end of our meal, we were treated to a free animal show as a large gray rat went skittering across the floor next to our table eliciting screams from my girls and amusement from the staff.  I looked around for a health inspector carrying a clipboard, but curiously there was not one to be found.  

We were downstairs sitting in the courtyard early the next morning in the middle of a big breakfast of eggs and French bread when four motorcycles came rumbling into the driveway, and Mr. Tong greeted us with a big smile as he swung off his bike.  We quickly finished our meal, donned helmets, climbed on the back of the bikes, and zoomed out into traffic right at 8:00.  The guys took it easy on us starting out and didn’t drive too fast as they gave us time to adjust to riding on a motorcycle.  People driving cars, or riding scooters and bikes in Vietnam rarely stop unless they’ve reached their destination.  They don’t stop at intersections or for pedestrians, and if they’re forced to stop at a traffic light, their impatience is palpable.  They enter the road from driveways and side streets without looking, and it’s up to oncoming motorists to adjust to the latest entry into the swirling symphony of Vietnamese traffic with horns constantly blaring.  I think we all closed our eyes for a bit until we felt like we weren't going to die under the wheels of a wayward scooter and eventually started enjoying the scenery as we headed north to Da Nang.  

We traveled the main northbound four-lane boulevard, which was built up with huge hotels, retreat centers, and golf courses with many other large constructions projects underway.  The city of Da Nang borders a large bay off the South China Sea, and the downtown area spreads out along the Han River.  There is a long stretch of beach along the shore of the bay with a strong surf of aquamarine water in front of the jungle-covered Annamite mountain range sweeping up behind.  It’s an impressive sight coming into the city made more intense viewed from the back of a rumbling motorcycle.  I spent the majority of the trip into Da Nang trying to catch glimpses of my family in the throes of traffic to make sure that they were managing to stay on the back of their bikes, and I was relieved when we all made it to our first stop of the morning unscathed.

We pulled into a hangar-sized area in front of a marble factory that was protected by a corrugated metal roof and chain link fence three meters high.  In a pit beside the concert floor, craftsmen noisily whittled at huge chunks of marble with dremel tools the size of machine guns. We were then escorted into the showroom past marble sculptures of lions, buddhas, and naked ladies.  The factory sat at the base of one of the five Marble Mountains, and it was a convenient spot to stow the bikes as well as a chance for the factory owners to try to sell sculpture to the tourists.  There was no pressure to buy, and after resisting the temptation to ship home a one ton happy Buddha, Mr. Tong escorted us across the road, paid our admission, and gave us one hour to tour Thuy Son, the largest of the Marble Mountains. In addition to astounding views, the Marble Mountains are home to Buddhist shrines and caves used by the Viet Cong during the war with America.  After climbing steep stairs cut into the marble substrate, we had a great time exploring the mountaintop. We felt we were on the set of an Indiana Jones movie as we followed jungle trails opening up to ancient shrines and huge caves filled with altars and sweet smoke from smoldering sticks of incense.

We rejoined our crew of bikers at the base of the mountain, saddled up, and took off toward the seashore and our second stop of the day.  During the Vietnam War, Da Nang was the home of the busiest airport in the world, and on March 8, 1965, two thousand Marines landed on the beach to protect the airport and had the distinction of being the first American combat troops deployed in Vietnam.  We hopped off the bikes briefly to visit with some fishermen who were sitting in the shade of plastic tarps while they sold their morning catch to local restaurant owners.  There were big plastic tubs spread around the beach full of crabs, shrimp, and cuttlefish all kept alive by oxygen bubbling from hoses into the tubs.   From there we headed farther north up the coast until we reached the stretch of sand where the Marines landed fifty one years ago under the shadow of the mountains in the bend of the bay.  Mr. Tong gave us time to walk around here, and I had a feeling similar to the one I felt when we visited the beaches in Normandy.  While the Marine landing at Da Nang wasn’t close to the magnitude of the D-Day landing at Omaha Beach, it was still an important moment of American and world history, and I was glad the children could learn about the event in the place it happened.

From the beach, we spent an hour ascending five-hundred meters above sea level to the Hai Van pass in the mountains, an area that physically divides Vietnam into north and south just as it did politically in years past.  Our crew stopped at several scenic locations and gave us plenty of time to take pictures of the incredible views.  We saw some of the scenery from the our train berth window a few days ago, but the elevation was lower, and the views from higher up were breathtaking.  We reached the summit of the pass around 11:00 AM, and Mr. Tong walked with us as we toured the remnants of an American bunker which was used as a command post during the war.  The area was full of tour buses, and their passengers were milling around the snack shops and making their way up the hill to the bunker where we were standing.  Mr. Tong swept his hand around and told us that several years ago, this place was mostly deserted and only a few tour buses came through.  Thanks to several documentaries produced over the years touting the beauty of Vietnam and more relaxed visa requirements, tourists are pouring into Vietnam.  Mr. Tong explained that Hoi An and Da Nang didn’t have enough hotel rooms or nice roads to accommodate all the new visitors, but the government has spent money improving the infrastructure which explains all of the new construction in booming Da Nang.

Mr. Tong is about fifty years old but doesn’t know his birthday since his mother said he was born in 1969, and his father says it was 1967.  Either way, he was a small child when the war ended, and his family from the south was placed into a concentration camp run by the communists.  Along with other boys, he had to collect scrap metal left over from the war in the form of land mines, shells, and bombs, and in some cases, the ordinance was still live and had to be emptied of gunpowder.  “Very dangerous work,” said Mr. Tong, “Many people die from explosion, but we have to eat.”  Even with that kind of memory playing in his mind, Mr. Tong is proud of his country’s beauty and history, and he’s thankful for the visitors coming to spend time here.  We boarded the bikes and took a long time descending the mountains on the way back into Da Nang for lunch.

American bunker

With Mr. Tong on top of the bunker

I couldn’t pronounce the name of the restaurant, but the reason we were there was to try a dish simply called mi bo, or noodles with beef.  My family was the only group of westerners there, and Mr. Tong explained that the restaurant was the favorite of the locals for its quality and cheap price which enables the establishment to sell over four hundred kilos of mi bo every day.  The servers brought big steaming bowls of egg noodles and beef to the table, and we added clumps of salad from platters piled with mixed greens.  Next, we mixed in crumbled pieces of flat rice crackers fresh from the oven and dotted the whole mixture with fiery chili sauce.  The resulting flavor was intense and immensely satisfying, and we understood why the restaurant was packed with locals hunched over their bowls.  We had plenty of time for lunch and for talking with our biker crew about their families. They also asked us a lot of questions about our life in America.  With full stomachs, we were off again heading west of Da Nang into the Ba Na hills anticipating the prospect of visiting several waterfalls.

The outlying streets of Da Nang were interesting to drive through, and I saw many forms of heavy industry right next door to small houses, businesses, and schools, and no matter the level of development in these areas, there were always a few cows and chickens wandering out into the road.  Outside the city, the terrain changed to rice fields bordering the rivers snaking through the countryside, and they seemed to stretch all the way to the base of the mountains far in the distance.  Tall palm trees stood like sentinels all across the plains, and there were thick groves of bamboo and banana trees along the road.  As we got deeper into the Ba Na region, the hills began sweeping upward, and we began to follow a wide, swiftly flowing river strewn with huge boulders and the banks thick with jungle growth.  We pulled off the main highway and followed a gravel road for several kilometers until we reached the visitor center within the boundaries of the national park.  

Mr. Tong and crew took a break and gave us an hour to hike along the river, and we had lot of fun trekking through the jungle and discovering intense waterfalls that over the boulders and filling large emerald green pools.  The sand at the bottom of the river reflected gold in the sunlight, and viewing it through the green leaves of the jungle beside the steep vine-covered hills made it seem like we were the last people on earth.  Joseph braved the cold water and swam around at the base of one of the falls while the rest of us stuck our feet in the water and just enjoyed looking around.  We used our entire hour and hiked back to the visitor center, where our bikers got us ready for the final leg of the journey, and we took off one more time headed back to Hoi An through the countryside.

The ride home was long, so our bikers stopped numerous times in areas where we could take pictures and they could talk to us about farming and life in the Vietnamese countryside. We traveled on narrow concrete roads through many kilometers of rice fields with water buffalo and cattle trudging alongside the canals with their handlers right behind wearing their conical hats and wielding long whips to hasten the pace of the animals.  As we got closer to Hoi An, the signs of civilization began to appear in the form of farm houses mostly hidden in banana tree groves, and villages became more prevalent with dirt roads full of chickens, cows, and small children with their parents sitting by the side of the road cooking dinner on small charcoal fires.  As we arrived in Hoi An, we joined the traffic game again, but having spent the day with our intrepid bikers, we no longer flinched as children walked into the road without looking and scooters zoomed head on with no intention of swerving aside.  The guys delivered us back to our homestay safely, and there were hugs and handshakes all around as we said farewell to four kind men who shared their country and their lives with us on a very full day in central Vietnam.

Needless to say, we slept a little later the following morning and after a breakfast of beef noodle soup and bananas and spent the early part of the day completing school assignments and catching up on computer work.  We grabbed a taxi and headed back into central Hoi An for a 2:00 cooking class at Cafe 43 where we enjoyed a fabulous dinner a few nights ago.  The cafe is a small open-air restaurant located down a busy alleyway with glass-topped tables surrounded by the ubiquitous pink plastic chairs.  The food at the cafe is famous in the area for its quality and flavor, and the cooking classes offered are inexpensive and well-reviewed all over the internet.  They also have beer made fresh daily and available for thirteen cents a glass, and at that price, one could enjoy several glasses, theoretically.  We had a private class taught by a delightful and patient young lady who enjoyed working with Joseph and Deveny as they cooked all the meals while Deena and I did the prep work and took notes on the recipes.  The meals turned out perfectly, and the fact that the kids cooked them made the food taste even better.  We have two days left in Hoi An. Our time in Vietnam is flying by much too quickly as we continue to enjoy the culture and the people in this beautiful country.

Vietnam - The Reunification Express

The distance from our current residence in Ninh Binh to our next destination in Hoi An is seven hundred kilometers, and the only options for travel between the two cities are long bus or train rides. We chose the North-South Railway since an overnight train ride seemed to be the more exotic alternative.  The North-South train line connects Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City on a single track and was first built by the French colonial government at the end of the eighteenth century.  The line was damaged by heavy bombing and sabotage during the Vietnam War but continued to run even though the resulting poor infrastructure was the cause of many accidents and derailments.  The train system has gone by the unofficial name of The Reunification Express since the end of the war in 1975, and the government has made successful efforts to improve safety and efficiency along the tracks in the last few decades.  We traveled by train several times in Italy, and we had enjoyed the experience on the smooth and speedy rails; so we looked forward to the fourteen-hour overnight journey tucked into our comfy sleeper berths on the Reunification Express.

The train station waiting area filled with passengers and cigarette smoke as we waited for the North-South train to come rolling in, and we anticipated crawling into our bunks soon after boarding at 10:30.  The crowd at the station was made up of local families and foreign travelers carrying giant backpacks. A loud horn blast from the approaching train prompted an exodus to the platform where we lined up by coach number.  After a quick and easy boarding process, we found ourselves in the first sleeping berth in coach number six, which contained an upper and lower bunk on each side and a window in the middle draped by a heavy cloth curtain.  The walls were simple plywood construction finished with light brown stain and heavy varnish, and the narrow section of wood-planked floor between the bunks was painted blue with a dingy patina from years of wear by the shoes of travelers.  We stowed our gear, and Joseph and Deveny climbed into the top bunks while Deena and I settled into the beds on the bottom—we were off into the night heading south for fourteen hours on the Reunification Express.

Once we were snug in our beds and the train had built up speed, we quickly realized that we had been spoiled by those sleek European trains, and that fourteen hours might seem more like forty.  The old cars rumbled and bounced down the rails with the wheels screeching around the curves while Deena and I shook in our bunks like a pair of dice in the hand of a furtive gambler hoping to roll a lucky seven.  Through the aid of modern pharmaceuticals, we were able to sleep intermittently between violent instances of potential derailments, but it was a long night, and we were glad to see the rays of the sun peeking through the folds of the heavy curtain in the early morning.  The kids managed to sleep through the night and most of the morning like they were swaying in hammocks by the seashore; so Deena and I left them to their slumber while we set off to explore the train in search of food.  We found the dining car all the way at the front of the train after a fifteen-minute expedition which had us bouncing off the walls and other passengers, but we were rewarded with excellent omelet sandwiches and strong black coffee.  

We spent the rest of the morning sitting in our bunks looking at the beauty of the Vietnamese countryside as we passed huge groves of banana trees, rice fields bright green with waist high growth, and thick jungle cut through with narrow streams choked with the pink blooms of water lilies.  The Reunification Express slowed down as we entered the mountain range close to Da Nang, and the back-and-forth motion of the cars eased into a soothing undulation, which helped calm our nerves as the train continued down the track on a tight passageway which skirted the sides of the mountains.  The scenery changed from the wild beauty of the jungle to sweeping views of the blue green waters of the South China Sea crashing against the brown-streaked limestone boulders at the base of the mountains.  We gathered our things as the train finally pulled into the train station at Da Nang, and we stepped off the train into the open-air station, and felt the warm humid breeze of central Vietnam. Almost immediately, we saw a “Welcome Deena” sign.  Our homestay owner had arranged for a driver to meet us at the station—a welcome gesture indeed. We stared out of the car windows during the thirty-minute drive to Hoi An taking in the sights of our new surroundings.

View from the Reunification Express window

The owner of the Thinh Vuong Homestay greeted us at the road with a big smile, showed us around his beautiful property, and gave us the choice of two big rooms.  We opted for the chamber with the dark-stained colonial French doors opening to a large balcony with a view of the red tiled roofs of the houses along the street between the swaying trunks and green fronds of palm trees.  We stowed our gear and walked down the road to a small restaurant and had a light lunch of chicken and rice with an excellent salad full of ripe tomatoes and crisp cucumber slices.  We returned to the homestay, and while the rest of my crew went back to the rom for a nap, I walked across the street to a small barbershop I had spotted earlier.  

Deena has been giving me haircuts every few weeks, but our recent tighter living quarters and lack of brooms has made my grooming ritual more difficult to perform, so I decided to splurge on a Vietnamese coiffure.  The barber was giving a customer a weird eyelid treatment, and he motioned me to a pink plastic chair with an amused smile.  When it was my turn, he showed me pictures of western haircuts on his phone, and after I selected an image portraying a tight buzz, he grabbed his clippers and went to work while I watched chickens scratch in the dirt behind his shop through the open screened door.  This guy was good, and he soon had me looking fly and indicated through hand gestures and broken English that he would throw in a shave if I was so inclined, and I nodded my head enthusiastically in the affirmative.  He prepped my two-day-old whiskers with a brush full of thin lather, and as he approached my face with a gleaming straight razor, I hoped all hard feelings about the war were a thing of the past.  The barber gave me a meticulous shave and massaged my face with a spiced rum-scented astringent leaving my travel-worn face feeling clean and tight.  I paid him and left the small shop already planning a visit for one more shave before we leave Hoi An.

After long naps, we got ourselves together and boarded a taxi for downtown Hoi An in to get our bearings for the week and to find something to eat for dinner.  The historic district of Hoi An is popular with travelers for its unique blend of Vietnamese, Chinese, and French architecture, world class cuisine, and inexpensive, custom tailored clothing.  By the time we got there, the streets were full of vendors and tourists, and we quickly found an inexpensive restaurant that served us an an amazing dinner of cau lau, which is a local favorite dish that consists of sliced pork and egg noodles in a thick broth with fresh herbs.  We had sides of shrimp dumplings, crispy fritters with hot chili sauce, and deep-fried chicken and cabbage-filled spring rolls. After dinner we all agreed that the decision to spend seven days in this town was a good one.  The weather-stained ocher walls of the village buildings were dimly lit by colorful lanterns strung up all along the streets, and we finished our day strolling slowly along with the crowds thankful for our ride south on the Reunification Express.

Hoi An

Vietnam - Ninh Binh

The signage on the three-meter square plate glass window at the front of our new residence reads:  Hoa Bien Hotel Backpacker + Restaurant - Foods - Cold Drinks - Double & Single Rooms - Clean - Good Quality - Friendly.  We have certainly experienced all these attributes over the last couple of days, and even though we’re quasi-backpacking through Vietnam, The Hoa Bien Hotel has been a nice refuge.  The tourist transit network that exists in Vietnam is part networking between tour companies, part public transportation, and part magic—we’ve always arrived at our desired destinations, but we’re not really sure how.  

The trip to Ninh Binh from Cat Ba involved a short bus ride to the harbor at the southern tip of the island where we boarded a public ferry for an hour long journey into the bay before turning east and heading inland to the town of Hai Phong by way of the wide and muddy Song Cam River.  Upon disembarking from the ferry, a young lady from a local tour company walked our group of twenty-five a few blocks away to a small bus with a driver waiting to stow our luggage.  On each bus and boat we’ve taken so far in Vietnam, every seat is taken with no one left standing, and there has been just enough room for all the passengers’ luggage even though just about everyone on the given mode of transportation has booked passage through a different agency in different parts of the country—magic.  

Once we found seats at the back of the bus, I popped on Google Maps out of curiousity to see how much farther we had to travel that day and was relieved to see that the town of Ninh Binh was only sixty miles away.  Three hours and twenty minutes later, we still had ten miles to go, and I wanted to throttle everyone on the bus with the exception of my little family, of course.  The majority of the roads on which we traveled that day were in bad condition allowing a maximum speed of thirty kilometers an hour for small stretches, and the driver slowed to almost a complete stop to traverse huge potholes and road height variances that sent us flying straight up from our seats at the back of the bus.  Adding to the tension was the German family sitting in front of us with three small children that would melt down into ear-piercing, screeching fights over possession of the electronic devices—the father ignored and the mother tried kind words but to no avail.  At one point, our kids were leaning over to us and whispering, “Do Europeans discipline their children at all?” Our reply: “Not these.” Thankfully, the bus had excellent air conditioning, and watching the many kilometers of vast, green rice fields roll by helped us relax a bit.  We slowed down numerous times to pass through small villages that reminded us of the ones we saw driving through the countryside of Jordan with old block buildings, dusty streets, and small shops, but there were no piles of rubbish ever-present in the town roads of the Middle East.

We finally rolled into the town of Tam Coc knowing that we would have to secure a taxi to reach our hotel in Ninh Binh but didn’t realize that we were still about fifteen kilometers away.  We had already taken our luggage off the bus when the young lady at the transit office told us that we still had a bit of a journey and that the bus driver had agreed to take us near the city center where we could find a taxi.  We hauled our gear back on the bus, and after a twenty-minute ride, the driver pulled over to the side of the road on the center of a large bridge and said, “I take you no more.  Enjoy Ninh Binh, good luck.”  We dutifully hauled our bags back off the bus, and the driver pulled off in a cloud of magic Vietnamese transportation dust, which cleared to reveal a taxi idling about forty feet away.  Fifteen minutes later we walked into the lobby of the Hoa Bien Hotel with black and white floor tiles set on a classic diagonal, and the smiling staff welcomed us like I was Ho Chi Minh arriving with the presidential family.  We were ushered into large, bamboo chairs while the check-in process took place and then escorted to our second floor room where we collapsed on the beds to recover from our day.

Our room has two double beds, a small table with two chairs, and a small bathroom—indicative of the type of lodging we’ll be using during the rest of our time in Vietnam.  We’ve been used to staying in larger apartments with kitchens and extra space to spread out, so there will be a period of adjustment to living in smaller quarters, but the twelve-dollar-per-night price will hopefully ease the transition.  The showers in Vietnam hotel rooms consist of a handheld shower tool attached to the faucet on the sink and activated by pushing a diverter button.  The shower tool is hung on the wall in the center of the bathroom turning the entire space into a shower with the water flowing down the gently sloped tile to a corner drain behind the toilet.  Toilet paper, extra towels, toilet kits, and any other items which are better enjoyed when in a dry state must be evacuated to the main room before a shower commences.  Deveny considers this arrangement a particularly primitive form of savagery, and she’s working on stretching the borders of her comfort zone in Vietnam.  

The tiny window in the bathroom is open to the small concrete house below, and by open, I mean that there is a square opening in the wall with nothing to fill the void.  This type of window allows us to hear the chickens and roosters become active in the rear of the concrete house at 6:00 AM, especially the venerable, old rooster whose coarse cry dissolves into a fit of coughing, which has to be a source of chicken embarrassment.  I wrote before and lamented that I would miss the roosters crowing back and forth in the Thai villages, and that there would surely be roosters in Vietnam—there are—lots.

The walls and ceiling of our room are made of plaster with a thick crown molding set against a twelve-inch pink painted border on the ceiling.  The walls are painted a light sea foam green, and the trim and doors are stained a dark brown with barely any wood grain visible beneath the heavy coats of varnish.  The hotel common areas sport a similar motif, and the main lobby also serves as the restaurant with green faux marble formica tables surrounded by blue plastic chairs, and the huge glass entry doors are always propped open to the busy four lane boulevard out front, constantly full of vehicles with horns blaring.  

The hotel is run by a family of four brothers and their wives who could serve as a worldwide model for the epitome of warm and sincere customer service.  The men work the front desk and the restaurant floor while the women and small children stay in the back preparing fresh, flavorful meals for about a dollar each.  On occasion, one of the brothers will sit outside at a small table for a cup of tea and a cigarette until duty calls, and he’ll run inside to work while another brother walks outside to finish the tea and cigarette in a very efficient arrangement.  While not quite as popular a pastime as it is in Europe and the Middle East, smoking is enjoyed by many southeast Asians despite cigarette boxes that display graphic pictures of lungs and faces horrifically ravaged by diseases commonly attributed to inhaling tobacco smoke.  The brothers enjoy interacting with the guests and speak passable English, French, and several other European languages.  There are two nearby natural wonders that we were interested in visiting, and ended up choosing the one which one of the brothers described as being “close to my heart”—good enough for us.

On our first full day in Ninh Binh based on the brother’s recommendation, we took a twenty minute taxi ride to the Trang An area, which is a World Heritage site containing huge limestone karsts, a network of grottos, and thick jungle all bordering a wide, peacefully flowing river.  We bought tickets for a three-hour ride in a row boat piloted by a sturdy native, and we were instantly immersed in a world of fantasy where bends in the river revealed pockets of pink water lilies floating in front of giant banana trees on the bank with limestone cliffs covered with thick, leafy vines towering behind.  We passed hundreds of meters through dimly lit grottos underneath the karsts and emerged to see centuries old Buddhist temples which we stopped to visit.  

A gentle rain started to fall halfway through our journey which dimpled the calm water of the river and made the colors of the jungle seem more intense as the misty drizzle passed through.  Fortunately, we remembered to pack rain gear, which we quickly donned and assisted our oarsman with his task by employing the extra oars stored on the floor of the boat.  It turns out that the Trang An area is more popular with the locals than the nearby and similar Tam Coc area, which is more commonly frequented by tourists.  Many Ninh Binh natives venture out to Trang An to have their wedding photos taken much like Americans who like to be photographed in overgrown fields next to weathered fences.  We were the only westerners on the river that day, and we found ourselves the subjects of many photographs and videos, so we played the part, smiling and waving all the while.

We paddled against the current for most of the trip, and even though it wasn’t swift, I still marveled at the strength and skill of our oarsman who steered the small craft around the many bends of the river and through the low and narrow passages through the grottos.  We finished our tour a little soggy but exhilarated by spending an afternoon touring another astounding example of the beauty of Vietnam. We thanked our host for his referral upon our return to the Hoa Bien, where we settled in for long naps.  Dinner was sauteed rice noodles with beef and morning glories followed by an evening of school work culminated by the completion of our basic economics book that we began in Bangkok.  Today was Valentine’s Day, but with no chocolate and clever cards available, we just proclaimed our love for one another—just as satisfying with no calories.

We deemed the next day a day of rest so we could catch up on school and save a little money.  I spent several hours sitting in the hotel lobby writing and looking out to the busy street while I continued to cultivate my relationship with Vietnamese drip coffee.  I enjoy observing the ingenuity people use when faced with obstacles that are a bit above everyday challenges. Today I saw a guy pedaling down the street on a bicycle that he had rigged to carry three full sheets of drywall and two three-meter sections of aluminum gutter.  Sometimes I worry about how in the world I’m going to transport a sixteen-foot trim board in my van for crying out loud.  

My family joined me in the lobby for lunch, and we had the good fortune to meet a friend of the hotel owners who spoke English very well and was a real character.  We told him we were just hanging out for the day, and he invited us to his nearby house for tea later that afternoon.  We took a late afternoon walk down the quiet residential street behind the hotel and found his house where we were expected, and Anh drew us in with laughter and sweeping hand gestures.  Anh’s house was larger and nicer than most of the other houses on the street and had a lush courtyard contained by a vine-covered concrete wall and filled with many varieties of tropical plants and fruit trees.  We were seated on comfy chairs around a low table and served steaming cups of green tea and met Anh’s family one at a time as they passed through the room while performing their chores.  

Anh met his wife while working at a homestay down in the Mekong Delta for a couple of years, and he was delighted to learn that we’re planning on staying at this same place for several days later in the month.  His wife joined us for tea, and they shared funny stories about their life and gave us a lot of travel tips to use as we continue our journey.  Anh and his wife share their house with her parents, her sister and her husband, and their children, and they told us that most Vietnamese outside the big cities still live together in large families in order to support each other and have a better quality of life.  Anh remarked that in the west, “People reach eighteen, tell parents have a nice life, bye bye!”  He advised Joseph and Deveny to stay with their parents for as long as possible while showing astonishment at their great height at such young ages.  He told us, “In Vietnam we only see western people on TV, we see in real life they giants!”  When it came time to leave, Anh’s entire family came out to shake our hands and bid us farewell, and as we walked back to the Hoa Bien Hotel, we felt like we had been a part of something truly special.

Anh's neighborhood

I had an epiphany as I sat in the hotel lobby yesterday and watched many backpackers check in and out of the Hoa Bien carrying backpacks emblazoned with familiar names like Osprey and Deuter all stuffed to capacity.  Backpacking is a major hobby of mine, and I’ve had the pleasure to go on many excursions to some beautiful places over the years for weekend trips and longer, extended mileage journeys carrying everything I needed to survive for days in the wild on my back.  For years, I’ve heard phrases like, “backpacking across Europe” and “backpacking across southeast Asia” and thought it would be exciting and fun to do something like that but figured I had missed my opportunity since my teens and twenties are a distant memory.  

It dawned on me yesterday that all of the backpackers I’ve seen so far on this trip have been on the same flights, the same buses, the same ferries, and have been staying in many of the same places that we have.  I’ve looked out of may bus and train windows for hundreds of kilometers for many months and have seen nary a backpacker trudging down the road logging major miles for the day.  We have backpacks too, but ours are half the size of the ones we’ve seen on this trip and actually fit into the overhead compartments correctly.  With the exception of my daughter, our hair is shorter than most of the backpackers we’ve encountered, and we have fewer tattoos, but Deena and I are having the same amount of fun as our kids and the other youngsters half our age who are carrying these immense, ninety-liter backpacks filled mostly with stuff they’ll never use on the trail, or road, or bus, or whatever.  So, sitting in the Hoa Bien Hotel lobby surrounded by giant backpacks propped up along the walls, I realized that I hadn’t missed my opportunity at all, and at fifty years old, I’m traveling with my beloved wife and children, and when people back home ask if we backpacked around the world, my reply will surely be, “dang skippy.”  

It’s a new day, and I’m once again seated in my favorite corner of the lobby drinking strong coffee and contemplating our last day in Ninh Binh.  Checkout is 12:00, and our backpacks will join the others lining the Hoa Bien first floor walls, but before we leave Ninh Binh we’re planning on taking a day trip to Tam Coc for another boat ride through the mountains. The accommodating staff have agreed to stow our gear until we return.  We have booked passage on the midnight train to Da Nang which leaves late this evening and pulls into the station fourteen hours later. 

On this last day in Ninh Binh, we took a short taxi ride to Tam Coc, which is small picturesque town located on the river among lush farmlands and huge limestone karsts making it popular with foreign visitors.  Like the river region of Trang An to which we traveled a couple of days ago, local companies offer lengthy boat rides to tourists, but we decided that our previous boat trip was sufficient and chose to spend the afternoon exploring the town and walking along the banks of the river.  The conditions in Vietnam had been cloudy since we arrived in Hanoi two weeks ago, but the sun finally came out in glorious fashion accompanied by deep blue skies and a warm breeze—a refreshing change after so many cool and damp days.  

We spent an hour walking slowly next to the bank of the river along the paved path which meandered through the neighborhoods packed tightly with small houses and gardens among clusters of banana trees and coconut palms.  Chickens, pigs, and water buffalo shared back yards with swing sets and outdoor dining areas. Small docks sunk low in the water with age and strung with frayed ropes securing dented metal rowboats lined narrow canals branching from the river.  In many areas along the bank, the air was thick with the smell of fish spawning, and men from the village walked through patches of water lilies in the waist-deep river pulling drag nets in hopes of catching dinner or enough fish to sell in the town market.  The paved walkway ended at the Tam Coc Bungalows which occupied a large bend in the river and offered bamboo chairs in the shade of huge ficus trees and views of boaters gliding in front of giant jungle-covered karsts surrounded by blue sky and fluffy clouds.  We secured a spot in the shade and stayed there the rest of the afternoon and talked and laughed together for hours almost forgetting about the long journey ahead of us that evening.

Deena working hard at not working

We got lost trying to get back to the center of town and ended up making a complete circle of the village where we found ourselves in the middle of an elementary school dismissal much to the local kids’ delight.  We smiled and waved at all the friendly families and then stopped at a couple of markets for supplies and fresh pineapple sliced in spirals and served with the stems cut for a handgrip.  We made it back to the town center and quickly found a taxi for one last trip back to the Hoa Bien Hotel, and even though we had checked out at noon and stored our luggage in the back area, the owners insisted that we return to our room for a nap before dinner, and we were happy to oblige.  After a good rest, we went downstairs and enjoyed an excellent meal of fried rice and sauteed noodles with beef. When we had collected our bags, the brothers summoned a taxi for our trip to the train station and swarmed around giving us hugs and handshakes. We said goodbye to this wonderful family whose hospitality and warmth made our stay in Ninh Binh memorable and restorative.