Good morning, Vietnam

Towards the end of March as my time in Cambodia was coming to a close I began to think about the next chapter: Vietnam. I heard it wasn’t uncommon for backpackers to buy a motorbike in Vietnam, travel from one end of the country to the other (either Saigon/Ho Chi Minh City to Hanoi or Hanoi to Saigon) then sell their bike. Sounded cool but felt overwhelming to me, someone with no experience on a bike – too much risk across so much distance. All it would take is one moment of carelessness, one hidden pot hole, one reckless truck driver to incite a potentially trip ending nightmare. I hadn’t ruled it out yet, but during my last week in Cambodia it appeared I would be traveling alone in Vietnam, at least at the start, and I couldn’t envision such an undertaking left to my own devices.

Then everything changed. While staying on Otres Beach I left for the night to attend a big fiesta on the isle of Koh Ta Kiev, about an hour’s sail from shore. Though I didn’t speak with her for longer than maybe 15 minutes my conversation with a Scottish girl that night left its mark. She told me (via shrewd Scottish mannerisms that I am sadly unable to recall) that traveling by motorbike was the ONLY way to truly see Vietnam. Taking busses meant seeing a few towns and cities that would ultimately fail to distinguish themselves from each other or any other Southeast Asian destination. Missing the terrain in between cities meant missing the country I’d come to see. She told me of the coast and countryside, of the central highlands, jungles, rice paddies, vistas and rural villages.

And I then I thought to myself, yes. I have to do this. Perhaps I’m a sucker for the Scottish accent, or maybe I’m a sucker for gorgeous women who speak to me with authority in their voice, but her words resonated. It would be easier and less risky to take busses, no doubt, but what about challenging myself, seeing a country in a unique way, not as a tourist but as a traveller, distinguishing Vietnam from every other place on earth I’ve visited, creating a lifelong memory. By the next morning my mind was made up.

As I’ve mentioned I met Evan briefly one night at an island full moon party, then we linked up in Phnom Penh a week later, bonded, and decided to plunge into Vietnam together. I suggested buying bikes to Evan while boating down the Mekong to Chau Doc, a town just over the Vietnam border. Though he wasn’t totally opposed to the idea he was by no means enthusiastic, maybe because he was under the weather or maybe (probably) because he hadn’t met the Scottish girl.

It was a powerful feeling arriving in Vietnam – a place I’d known about since early childhood through classes in school, war movies, and the annual Veteran’s Day dinner held at our home with a vet and close family friend. Without question, the Vietnam War (or the American War as it’s called here) remains a pervasive part the American conciousness. And here I was. Amazing. Just over the border the scenery was already noticeably different from the rest of the Indochina peninsula. How strange that such a beautiful place was not so long ago bloody and war torn.

We spent only a night in Chau Doc since it was a black dot. In the Lonely Planet travel guide maps cities are marked with either a blue or black dot. A blue dot means Lonely Planet has something to say about it, tips for restaurants, accommodation, sights to see, etc. Black dots have no such recommendations, meaning there are no tourists, few to no english speakers, no hostels, no expat bar, nothing for westerners at all. It’s nice to experience a city like that but when you don’t know the language it’s quite a challenge.

The following day we took a crowded van to Can Tho (a blue dot), and en route identified ourselves as Canadians, playing it safe. Four uncomfortable hours later we arrived and checked into a nice hotel with a piano in the lobby, a glass elevator, air conditioning in the rooms as well as a computer loaded with movies. Sweet! After strolling for a time we stopped by the fanciest restaurant in town to sip gin fizzes on the rooftop, schmoozing all the while of how we might one day disperse our lofty riches which would undoubtedly materialize in due time. Of course we would be leaders, philanthropists, artists, admired by many. This is what happens to ambitious gents after a few cocktails atop a fancy rooftop lounge. Alas, we were doomed to descend to the streets eventually, join the commoners, resume our lives as filthy backpackers.

The next day we hired a private boat for a 7 hour tour of the Delta and floating markets. We left at sunrise. The Delta banks are muddy and the water murky, yet the setting is beautiful nonetheless. The markets were nothing to write home about – a chaotic jumble of merchants selling fruit and veg from their boats. The canals just off the main circuit were cool. We navigated through them slowly, relieved as lush and verdant vegetation created a canopy sheltering us at least partially from the sun. We stopped to check out a noodle factory and a couple of gardens and villages along the Delta. Then we arrived at the designated tour lunch spot. The waitress asked us in front of our boat driver if we would like to buy a meal for him and he put on the most pathetic puppy dog eyes ever. Ridiculous. I said yes because I couldn’t stand how uncomfortable it was but I didn’t like it one bit. This tour was not cheap either. He ordered himself a meal and drink even though neither Evan nor I ordered drinks. He did not thanks us for the meal afterward and at the end of the day asked for a tip. Ha!

We traveled to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) the following day, more populated than New York City, very modern, heavily influenced by French colonial rule. Then I fell sick for a week which sucked. My stomach was fine and I didn’t have a fever which I suppose rules out bad food or water or bug bites, but still, I had a splitting headache and was bedridden. No fun. I spent the week napping and watching movies on my laptop in bed all day, getting up only in the evenings to dine out at guidebook-recommended restaurants. As the days rolled by the prospect of biking across the country seemed to dwindle. We were simply running out of days. But I got healthy in the nick of time and we decided to pull the trigger while out at a sushi restaurant, sealed by a loud echoing high five that sent more than one angry look our way.

The next morning I learned about fighting tactics during the war when I visited the Cu Chi tunnels and saw all of the different types of hideouts and booby traps. Afterward I checked out the National Reunification Palace, the site of the fall of Saigon. When I returned Evan and I walked just a few blocks from our hostel and bought bikes for $400 apiece. That night we went out for drinks and met Emil (from Norway) who was going to the same place as us the next day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The following morning at breakfast I had serious butterflies in my stomach. It was starting to sink in what I had signed myself up for. I was about to strap all of my belongings to a motorbike and drive across thousands of kilometers of unknown terrain. Was I crazy? Was I biting off more than I could chew? Others at the table offered words of encouragement but they helped me little. After breakfast as I packed up I thought about how this had evolved from idea to reality. It had seemed very exciting in the idea phase, but now it was happening. Mui Ne awaited us 280 km away. Now it was time to man up and hit the road.