Bitten by that persistent, perennial, and perpetual travel bug we’re drawn like bees to blossoms, back to the alluring cultures and maniacal energy of Vietnam.
In this country we are always appalled at the rules of the road, or rather the lack there of. Drive on the right side of the road means ‘eventually’, and one-way streets only ‘suggest’ that ‘most’ vehicles ‘should’ go in the same direction. Even walking across the street one feels about as safe as a goldfish in a piranha tank!
Christine and I are somewhat familiar with the drill but friends accompanying us are first timers and have been converted into skittish squirrels, leaving me wondering if I’ll need to locate a defibrillator!
Balancing the typical pole and baskets, a young girl shuffling towards us notices me glance at her load of pineapples, and immediately sensing an opportunity, unburdens her shoulder and hoists her hefty load up onto mine and stuffs her conical hat down over my ears. I’ve been played like a damn fiddle and end up paying far above market price thanks to her outstanding sales acumen. Well done young lady, well done!
Forewarned about the fearful fuss over the country’s frightening foreign flu fiasco we figure to avoid fretting about foul fowl we’ll be forced to be finicky and forego our favorite fricasseed feathered friends and forage for foods with four feet, fur, or fins. Seeing a diabolical-looking featherless red-skinned cock-a-doodle-eww strutting down the street certainly seems to give credence to our theory!
Sitting outside the hotel with the night in retreat while awaiting transport north to Ninh Binh, it’s too early to get breakfast so I leave the others to wait for our driver and wander off to explore the sleepy streets in search of a French baguette seller. Empty handed, I rejoin the group just as an elderly lady fortuitously shuffles past with a large wicker basket of the crusty rolls balanced atop her head.
With neither of us speaking the other’s language I try to charade my way to establish payment. Of course she tells me an absurdly exorbitant price, but having recently learned the Vietnamese phrase ‘Troi Oi, dac qua’, supposedly translating to ‘Oh my God so expensive’, I eagerly try out my new line.
This sparks an uproarious convulsion of laughter from ‘Ms. Baguette’ that she simply cannot suppress. Howling with laughter and spanking her thighs, her raucous outburst swallows the street. Meanwhile, our driver named ‘Smiley’ shows up and introduces himself. His name is totally apropos, with an infectious look-ma-no-cavities grin flaunting a set of perfectly polished ivories shinning white against his tawny skin.
The dentally-challenged old woman eagerly prattles off to him in auctioneer speed Vietnamese what I said, or at least my mangled attempt. Again, she begins guffawing so hard she nearly falls over. The commotion of her unbridled merriment draws a small crowd of curious hotel staff outside, along with other locals walking the street. Smiley casually informs us that I have done well, and instead of paying ten times more than normal, my shrewd haggling has negotiated down to paying only 5 times more than the going rate!
Apparently I’ve just made the old dear’s day. This is terrific, as with her having such menial work it’s a pleasure to bring a smidge of laughter into her life. One thing we have learned over the years is to never underestimate the worth of mirth while roaming the earth. A splendid start to our upcoming day!
We’re soon ooing and aahing over the alluring countryside during the drive to Ninh Binh. At a stop along the way we are transported to the small village of Kenh Ga in shallow boats by villagers, who for the sake of their back health, uniquely row their boats using only their feet. The area’s geological gorgeousness flaunts exquisite limestone outcrops stretching up out of the fertile emerald green rice paddies.
‘Now here’, in the middle of ‘nowhere’, we are immediately greeted by water buffalo and a gargantuan gaggle of geese. Strolling past hunched over locals hard at work harvesting a living from the country’s vital rice paddies we stop to hand out some lollypops to a grateful crowd of bedraggled kids. The cave we’ve come to see leaves our expectations unmet, but the views along the way and reactions of the kids seeing their images on the digital camera more than make up for it.
After spending a night in Ninh Binh we head to the dramatic landscape of Tam Coc. Rowing along the meandering Ngo Dong River and through its three low-lying caves we’re enraptured by the solitude and nourished by a soul-soothing tranquility that only Mother Nature can induce.
We speak only in whispers as undefiled nature does its best to take our breath away, and the majestic calm is broken only by the dipping of oars and piercing cackle of brilliant blue and orange kingfisher assassins hunting the river. With the spectacular river and surrounding rice paddies harmoniously blending into one the word stunning is pleading for an exclamation point!
Up in the trees we spot a handsome red and black bird called a Bimbip that Vietnamese love to stuff, feathers and all, into a bottle of rice wine to supposedly fix an aching back. We wonder about the dipshittery of not only this, but also of the snakes, geckos, scorpions, and other oddities stuffed inside bottles of local plonk posing as ‘medicine’. Excuse us, but might we have a word with the sommelier?
Smiley is a great well of knowledge and a delight to be around. He recounts his early life in the country as a ‘buffalo boy’ and the time he stuck his hand into a hole while hunting rats along the river and nearly perished from the strike of a cobra. The young man has come a long way from his life toiling in the fields and we couldn’t be happier he has done so well for himself.
Next on our agenda is to try and sleuth out a place not shown in any guide books and even foreign to Smiley. I give him the one and only obscure reference gleaned from the internet and he begins asking the localfarmers.Afternumerousasksandas manynegativeheadshakes,weeventuallyunearththelocationof aspecial placecalledHang Mua.
Amid a stifling humidity we trudge up the 560 colorfully flagged stone steps to the summit where our legs are finally granted clemency, and soundlessly greeting us as we catch our breath is a stone statue of the Goddess of Mercy majestically surveilling the gorgeous valley below.
Nearby, a stone dragon about the size of a Winnebago clings to scalpel-sharp rocks, and trying to brush aside the dizzying vertical drop, we scramble over the rocks for a photo. Tam Coc’s swoon-worthy topography looks like it has sprung from the pages of a fairy-tale and is an awesome highlight to one of our most brilliant travel days ever. Oops, did I just say brilliant; because what I really meant was BRILLIANT!
Back in Hanoi’s stew of streets we quickly encounter an abundance of very compact folks with very shaky English offering ‘velly good’ prices. However, determining the actual price of an item is like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree; they ask ‘How much you pay?’, and no matter what the answer their reply always seems to be ‘Oh no, I be broke’! Tonight in a surprising role reversal, it’s me that’s on the shop for clothes. Seeking a couple of tailor-made suits that suit I find the tailors to be tenacious negotiators, but after much hilarity we see-saw our way to an agreeable sum and I leave them in stitches, or sew it seams!
Christine and I connect with Hanoi Hash Harriers at the Spotted Cow Café, and hop on a rented bus heading upcountry to the village of Yen Binh. However, before even getting out of the madness of Hanoi we’re involved in an accident with another bus. A frightening screech occurs as the two metal monsters sideswipe each other, smashing off a mirror and leaving a trail of busted glass on the road. A lengthy delay ensues while the two distraught drivers, who appear to have the combined IQ of a turnip, attempt to outshout one another while squabbling over blame and payment.
About an hour later the bus exits the ever-perilous highway onto a wet and muddy side road and fishtails down a hill, narrowly missing two water buffalo reluctant to share the road and a pedestrian forced to dive into a ditch. Loud applause erupts as the hissing brakes of the bus eventually skid it to a stop.
Outshining all competition with his weird wardrobe, the run leader is obviously crazier than an outhouse mouse. Absurdly carrying a bugle and wearing a toilet seat strapped to his back, the clown completes the spectacular dress code violation by wearing a woman’s bra, and has a naked rubber chicken wrapped around his neck as an eccentric garland. Hey, if you’re going to be ‘Sofa King’ stupid there’s no point in going half way, right?
With no ‘appropriate police’ to deal with the vulgarity, runners charge off into the realm of rice paddies looking as conspicuous as raisins in rice! The group’s pace is piteous, with most no longer running like the wind, but more like the wind-ed, and mouth-agape farmers bathed in bafflement by the burgeoning buffoonery collectively stand transfixed as we pass them by.
I stop for a photo as runners cross a rickety bridge of woven bamboo, but when it’s my turn to cross I am suddenly blocked by a Vietnamese woman shrieking out some gobbledygook in a nasal twang sounding much like a rabid badger bonking a broken banjo! Worryingly, she’s also brandishing a machete while ferociously flapping her arms like a wounded goose trying to achieve liftoff!
After some deliberation I step past her with extra vigilance, hoping like hell she doesn’t go all Lizzie Borden on me! One of the expats informs me she’s concerned her bridge is going to collapse, but will allow us to cross one by one. With everyone safely across we’re soon loping along through fertile fields of rice on the far side of the river headed towards some well-deserved wobbly-pops at the finish.
Back in town, a culinary pilgrimage for dinner leads us to Hanoi’s historic 135 year old Cha Ca La Vong Restaurant. The tiny eatery serves only one dish called ‘Cha Ca’; a succulent fried fish masterpiece that became so famous the French renamed the street in its honor. A rickety flight of wooden stairs leads to a humble second-floor dining room stuffed with equally rickety chairs.
The swell smell titillates our snouts as chunks of seasoned grouper fish arrive at the table on a bed of red hot coals. A rich oily stew is spooned onto bowls of rice noodles enlivened with the addition of shrimp sauce, fried peanuts, chives, and veggies. According to scuttlebutt, the secret ingredient in this delish fish dish is two drops of an essence extracted from the perfume gland of the ‘Ca Cuong Beetle’! After just one bite we wholeheartedly agree that better beetle perfume glands have never tickled our taste buds!
Bussing 180 km east of Hanoi to Halong City we transfer onto the ‘Dragon’s Pearl’; a boat designed after the traditional Chinese junks of old. It matters not that our infinitesimal room is sized for a lawn gnome as we plan on spending most of our time topside, drinking in the breath-halting scenery of iconic Halong Bay.
In the Gulf of Tonkin’s scattering of 775 limestone islands a small launch transports us ashore to Bo Hont, and hiking through its grand Sung Sot cave system we marvel at what can happen when you leave the water running for a few hundred years!
The launch then steers us though a rock opening into the clear blue waters of a hidden lagoon. The timing is imperative as this maneuver is only possible at low tide, and we must vacate before the tide turns and seals the opening with us trapped inside.
On the way back to the junk our boat is rammed by some inattentive doofus on another boat with his throttle wide open. As the two boats collide, ours slides up on top of the other almost sinking it, but fortunately there are no injuries. Being involved in two transportation accidents during the last couple of days, first with a bus and now a boat, we are delighted that flying is not on tomorrow’s agenda!
With Dragon’s Pearl moored in a quiet bay for the night we swap travel escapades at dinner with table- mates from a variety of countries. In the morning, breakfast is served on the boat’s upper deck, allowing our eyes to devour the quintessential Vietnamese picturesqueness in every direction. Thousand year old limestone formations knife out of the water, and eagles circle overhead like feathered kites before swooping down to imbed their landing gear into a finny breakfast of their own.
Finally abandoning what has been called the most beautiful bay on earth, the massive golden sails of Dragon’s Pearl puff in wind as we sail away through the breathtaking seascape. Vietnam is rarely anything but exhilarating, and though it’s time for us to leave this intriguing country, we know full well it is a country that will never truly leave us.
Mark Colegrave 2005