Bitten by that persistent, perennial, and perpetual travel bug we’re drawn like a bee to a flower; back to the culture, landscapes, and maniacal energy of Vietnam.
In this country we’re 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 first timer friends with us have been converted into skittish squirrels, leaving me to wonder if I’ll need to locate a defibrillator!
Hauling the typical bamboo pole and baskets, a young girl shuffling towards us notices me glance at her load of pineapples. Immediately sensing an opportunity, she unburdens her shoulder and hoists her hefty load up onto mine and stuffs her conical hat down over my ears. I’m done like dinner, and end up paying far above market price thanks to her outstanding sales acumen. Well done young lady!
Forewarned about the fearful fuss over the country’s freakin’ 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 people walking the street. Smiley casually informs us that I have done well, and instead of paying ten times the price, the old haggle-master has negotiated down to paying only 5 times the going rate!
Apparently I’ve just made the old dear’s day, which 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 this earth. What a splendid start to our upcoming day!
On the road we’re quickly ooing and aahing at the alluring countryside during our drive to Ninh Binh. Stopping along the way we are transported to the small village of Kenh Ga in shallow boats by villagers who uniquely row using only their feet. The area’s geological gorgeousness flaunts exquisite limestone peaks stretching up out of emerald green rice paddies.
‘Now here’, in the middle of ‘nowhere’, we are immediately greeted by water buffalo and a gaggle of geese. Hunched over locals are hard at work harvesting a living from the country’s important rice paddies, and we stop to hand out lollypops to a grateful crowd of bedraggled children. 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 a night in Ninh Binh we head to the dramatic landscape of Tam Coc (three caves). In the morning mist we row along the meandering Ngo Dong River and through the low-lying caves; enraptured by the solitude and nourished by a soul-soothing tranquility that only Mother Nature can induce.
The majestic calm is only broken by the dipping of oars and the piercing cackle of brilliant blue and orange kingfisher assassins hunting the river. We speak only in whispers as undefiled nature does its best to take our breath away with the spectacular river and surrounding rice paddies harmoniously blending into one. The the word stunning is pleading for an exclamation point!
In the trees we spot a handsome red and black bird called a Bimbip, which Vietnamese love to stuff into a bottle of wine, feathers and all, supposedly to fix an aching back. We wonder about the dipshittery of not only this, but also of all the snakes, geckos, and scorpions and other oddities stuffed inside local bottles of plonk posing as ‘medicine’. Excuse us, but might we please 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 local farmers. After numerous asks and as many negative headshakes, we eventually unearth the location of a special place called Hang Mua. Amid stifling humidity we trudge up the 560 colorfully flagged stone steps to the summit, and our legs are granted clemency as we are soundlessly greeted by a stone statue of the Goddess of Mercy, majestically surveilling the gorgeous valley below.
Nearby a stone dragon the size of a Winnebago clings to scalpel-sharp rocks, and trying to ignore 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 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 not my honey-bunny on the shop for clothes, but me. 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 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 screeching 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.
An hour or so later the bus exits the ever-perilous highway onto a wet and muddy side road. Fishtailing down a hill we narrowly miss 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 crazier than an outhouse mouse. Absurdly carrying a bugle and wearing a toilet seat strapped to his back, he completes the spectacular dress code violation by wearing a woman’s bra and and 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. 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 woman screeching like a cat with a stepped-on tail! Worryingly, she is brandishing about a machete and furiously 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 are soon loping along through fertile fields of rice on the far side of the river, headed towards some well-deserved wobbly-pops waiting 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 then spooned onto bowls of rice noodles enlivened with the addition of shrimp sauce, fried peanuts, chives, and veggies. According to the 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 a boat called ‘Dragon’s Pearl’, designed after the traditional Chinese junks of old. Our infinitesimal room seems sized for a lawn gnome, but we will cope with the spatial scarcity because we plan on spending all the time we can outside, drinking in the breath-halting scenery of iconic Halong Bay.
In the Gulf of Tonkin a small launch transports us ashore at Bo Hont; one of 775 limestone islands in the area. During a hike to 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 completely hidden and sealed lagoon. Timing is critical here, as maneuvering into the lagoon is only possible at low tide, and it’s imperative to vacate before the tide turns or risk being 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. Having been involved during the last few days in two transportation accidents, first with a bus and now a boat, we are quite tickled that flying is not on tomorrow’s agenda!
With Dragon’s Pearl moored in a quiet bay for the night we enjoy swapping travel escapades at dinner with table-mates from many different countries. In the morning we blissfully take pleasure in breakfast on the boat’s deck while taking in the quintessential Vietnamese scene of thousand year old limestone formations knifing out of the water. Overhead, eagles float like feathered kites before swooping down to imbed their landing gear into a finny breakfast of their own.
Abandoning what is 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 to leave this spectacular country, we know full well this is a country that will never truly leave us!
Mark Colegrave 2005