Travel Diaries: Vietnam pt.3
One thing this trip has taught me, is that you’ll never find what you’re looking for if you’re consciously searching for it. Annoyingly, your desire will only present itself to you at the most unexpected, and arguably inconvenient times. One can bat away fifteen sunglasses salesmen on a rainy day in Vietnam, but as soon as the sun comes out, they’re nowhere to be found. If you’re in the mood for Asian food, you’ll unwittingly find yourself in the Burger District of Bangkok, or on Pizza Boulevard in Luang Prabang. On the contrary, if you’re craving a Western meal, more often than not you’ll find yourself up Noodle Creek without a paddle (or chopstick).
For example, I spent the best part of six years trying to work out the meaning behind Arctic Monkeys’ seminal Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino album, always knowing there was more to it than what was at surface level. I never thought I’d be able to put my finger on it, but I had an epiphany on a sleeper bus the other day and it all just suddenly clicked. I might do a separate post on my analysis of the album, because I genuinely think I’ve cracked it.
Slightly off topic, but I’ll never forget the day it was released. It was midweek, and fresh-faced, seventeen-year-old me woke up extra early for sixth form that day, to listen to as much as I could before I had to leave. Best bud Sam Rodgers (AKA Sammy Dodger, AKA the Artful Rodger), would knock every morning like clockwork to walk to school. I opened the door to him on that October day, he simply said “sounds like Bowie, doesn’t it?” I didn’t really know Bowie then, but not wanting to lose any face, I agreed. If I’d admitted my inferior music knowledge, I’d have been met with the infuriating “What?!! You don’t know Bowie?!!” He used to do that all the time. So much so that I even made up a word for it - “brewsting”. In typical Sam style, he’d ask me if I’d ever listened to some obscure, underground, German reggae punk outfit named “Beziehungsweise”, and when I’d reply “no”, he’d say:
“What?!! How have you never heard of them?!! Paul O’Grady’s brother in law was the drummer!!!”
“Stop brewsting,” I’d reply, or “don’t be a brewst.”
His obsessive music disorder has put him in good stead, though, because now he gets paid to watch gigs and write about them.
The point is, you’ll never find what you’re looking for if you’re looking for it. Perhaps I’m just a pessimist, but most of the experiences I’ve enjoyed the most, I’d had low expectations for prior. I think what I’m trying to say is that I’ve started going into every situation with an ambivalent mindset, I’m taking each day as it comes, and trying not to be anxious about the future, or get my hopes up too much. I’m trying to make the best of bad situations, be more easy-going, and just try and enjoy each day.
But anyway, if you’ve managed to get through those nonsensical opening paragraphs, I salute you, and will now resume service as usual…
The girls and I decided to rent bicycles for the day, determined to overcome any issues myself and Mia experienced in Vang Vieng. Unlike the last couple of places, there was quite a lot to see in Hue, particularly on the outskirts, and the best way to navigate your way around is definitely not on foot.
Tanya mapped out a route with four attractions on it; a tomb, an abandoned water park, another tomb, and the old city walls. I’m not going to bullshit you, I don’t have any context to these places. If I had any WiFi or mobile data, I’d Google them and give some substance and a bit of background to the places we were seeing. But I don’t, and to be honest, the attractions weren’t all that enthralling - it was the actual activity of cycling that made the day so enjoyable. In single file, we set off through Hue with Tanya as the pacesetter and navigator, Helena followed, with Eden and Mia behind, and I was the tactical back marker.
The abandoned water park is probably worth mentioning, to be fair. A huge stone dragon bridge stood over a lake on the outskirts of Hue, with a viewpoint roughly fifty feet above the water, in the dragon’s mouth. We did leave prematurely though, as I encountered a lime green bastard of a snake halfway around the lake. My phobia of snakes is no secret, and is tied to a traumatic experience as a child.
I was around six years old, living in Spain, and was marching through our garden with a plastic bucket on my head as a pretend-helmet, and a spade in my hand as a pretend-sword. I needed a pretend-shield to complete the armour before I ventured bravely into battle with my imaginary enemies, but encountered a snake on the way to my toy box. Silver in colour and evil in nature, it laid on the steps with a menacing look in it’s eye, refusing to let me pass. I stopped in my tracks and feared for my life. Even at six years old, I knew that snake venom can paralyse a person, and that they have a tendency to wrap around the neck as a form of attack (notice I use the term “attack” and not “self-defence”, as snakes are inherently evil). My short life flashed before my eyes, and I screamed and ran round the other side of the house to Mummy.
(It’s worth mentioning that I had a stutter at the time.)
“What is it?!!” Mummy asked, frantically.
“A s- s- s- s- s- s-“ I stammered, in between breaths.
“A spider?!” asked Mummy.
“No! It’s a s- s- s- s- s-“
“A snake?!”
“Yes!” I cried.
My late grandfather came to the rescue from down the street, and hit the beast with a rake. It slithered off into Clive and Anne’s garden next door, and we never saw it again. In a tragedy that may or may not have been related, their pet hamster, Brett, went missing later that week.
Just the thought of one of those slimy little shithouses being anywhere near me is enough to make me feel uncomfortable, so you can imagine the fear in my voice when I screamed in front of the girls and did a U-turn on the bicycle.
We got back to the hostel for sunset after we’d visited the anti-climactic Old City, and risked our lives following Tanya around a roundabout - she deserves Australia’s equivalent of the Victoria Cross bravery medal for the way she led the team around it, by the way. That evening, we’d considered returning to the pool bar, but the cycling had taken it out of us, and we had an early start for the Hung Tom motorbike tour.
* * *
I don’t know anything about motorbikes, and I’ve never really been interested in them. Even as a sport, I’ve never been bothered, and couldn’t tell you anything about the Isle of Man TT. My father used to have a magnet of Dani Pedrosa’s bike on his fridge in Moraira, Spain, and Mia’s mum and stepdad, Sam and Gaz, love the superbikes. It’s always on their telly, and I therefore know the top names; Toprak, Bautista, Rea. I don’t even really know anything about cars either, and people who love cars do my head in. I don’t like Formula One or rally cars. I can drive, just about, but I don’t know what horsepower means, how to change a tyre, or how to turn on the full beam in Mia’s Seat Ibiza. A couple of months ago, I was driving past a gentleman whose car wouldn’t start, and he waved me down and asked to use my battery to jump start his car.
“Sorry mate,” I replied. “But it’s my girlfriend’s car, and she needs the battery.”
He explained what using my battery meant, and then used my battery.
Just like the Ha Giang Loop, my expectations weren’t all that high for the motorbike tour with Hung Tom. But, just like the Ha Giang Loop, it was an amazing experience, and I’m so glad we did it. It was a thrilling to be on the back of a proper bike - I’d never done it before, and it was a huge step up from Binh’h’s moped a couple of weeks ago. Perhaps in the future, I’ll show a bit more enthusiasm when Sam and Gaz are planning a camping weekend away at Cadwell.
The biker gang, led by Tom, and affectionately nicknamed “Hung’s Angels”, arrived at our hostel at nine o’clock that morning. We chatted over a cigarette and he introduced us to the rest of the drivers. They all laughed at my tale of the snake from the day before, and assured me it was unlikely we’d see any more. After strapping up our bags and helmets, we set off in unison towards the first of five or six stops. The first was a market village with a really old bridge that Tom kindly told us all about - information which I have since forgotten. We then stopped off at a fishing village, passing seemingly endless rice fields on the way, before making the journey to a waterfall.
I was on the back of Tom’s bike, and on the dirt track leading up to the waterfall, Tom almost came to complete stop to allow a fucking big brown snake to cross the road. I bellowed, of course, and he accelerated, laughing his head off. A few minutes later, I released his waist from my grip, which I must’ve grabbed hold of during the encounter with that horrid reptile. This event then naturally gave Tom and the rest of the Angels ample opportunities to exclaim “Look! A snake!” and then start laughing at my expense.
We had a lovely, refreshing swim in the waterfall, which was a surprisingly nice temperature. The next stop was a seafront restaurant, with outdoor seating on wooden stilted platforms over the water. The food was average, but the view was immaculate, and the eatery was home to numerous dogs, all of which bore a strong resemblance to our baby Lyra back in Leeds.
Next was the uphill journey onto the Hai Van pass, which, I’m told, has featured on Top Gear. A programme which I don’t watch, because I don’t like cars or people who like cars. It was beautiful, and we admired the stunning coastal views as the sun tried it’s best to sporadically peek through the clouds. At the highest point of the pass sits an old US war bunker, now a tourist attraction, and prompted me to ask Tom if his family had any involvement in the war.
“Yes, my father, uncle, and grandfather were part of the Viet Cong,” he said. “My grandfather was shot and killed by the Americans.”
The next stop was the coastal city of Da Nang. It was quite built up, modern, and Tom told us it was popular with Chinese tourists. We stopped for a coffee, where a few men, including the Angels, were shouting “drum drum” at me. Every time I asked them what it meant, they just giggled and made something up. I learned later that they were taking the piss out of my ginger goatee beard.
The next and final stop was the small town of Hoi An, where we would spend the next couple of nights. We said goodbye to the Angels and checked into the Melody Boutique Villa, where our host, who would later be referred to as “Mum” (not to her face), sat us down and talked us through what activities we could get up to. She lived at the accommodation with her two children and what I assumed was her mother. We were knackered from the bikes, and really didn’t want to converse, but she obviously didn’t take the hint and spoke at us for about half an hour before letting us go to the room and shower.
We had a relatively quiet evening, having just a couple of beers by the river, where colourful lanterns light up the water every night. It was a beautiful little town with a really lively strip, and an abundance of tailors. We had time to explore the town a little more the next day, and myself, Mia and Tanya found ourselves on bicycles once again. In the afternoon, we attended a cooking class where I was taught how to flambé (I’d actually done it before when I worked in the kitchen, but not on purpose). The food we made wasn’t a patch on what we cooked at the class in Chiang Mai, but was still edible. The cooking school then took us to the famous coconut boats, whereby a Vietnamese man gets you in his little wooden dinghy and spins you around erratically with his oar to the sound of O-Zone’s 2003 hit “Dragostea Din Tei”. It was like being on the waltzers at the Leeds Valentine’s Fair, made even more familiar by the fact the bloke was wearing a flat cap, like most waltzer operators in the UK.
That evening we met back up with Josh, who had just finished the Loop, and enjoyed it just as much as we did. He introduced us to Selina, a lady from Leicester who he’d met whilst in Ha Giang. We were without Eden who was nursing a migraine with help from Mum back at the villa, and Josh was without Dylan who was suffering from food poisoning back at their hotel. Nevertheless, we got smashed, as is ritual, and I woke up the next day with the most intense hangover I’d had since we started travelling.
We’d booked a sleeper bus to the Nha Trang Bay the following day, which was due to depart at eight o’clock in the evening. Therefore, I had plenty of time through the day to try and make myself feel normal again. The rain didn’t stop me from having a dip in the pool, which was an instant refreshing remedy for the hangover. We were all looking forward to laying down on the sleeper bus, and I was absolutely buzzing to watch the football all night. With us being seven hours in front of GMT here, it meant I could catch the majority of Everton v Man Utd, all of the three o’clock games, followed by my beloved Aston Villa who were hosting Chelsea in the evening kick off.
I’d bought a SIM card in Ninh Binh a few days before and couldn’t for the life of me get it working, so I was reliant on WiFi at our accommodation and at restaurants and bars. Tanya had kindly offered me to use her hotspot though (Nanna, that basically means WiFi) so I could watch the footy. I set out my stall on my sleeper bed, Mia’s iPad on my lap, glasses on, Tanya’s hotspot connected, VPN turned on so that Sky thinks I’m in England - ohhh yes!
“Kaaaiii,” whined Tanya. “I’ve just had a text from the SIM provider - I’ve run out of data.”
(Nanna, that basically means no WiFi).
No worries. I’ll just shut my eyes and imagine the scores instead.