Vietnam. Cambodia and Thailand - February 2016
Vietnam was a country that has been on my radar for many years and I wanted to visit before it became too commercialised. Similarly Cambodia seemed to be an intriguing choice for a visit, so it was good to be able to combine the two on a holiday organised through Trailfinders of Norwich and G Adventure Holidays. We also tacked on a couple of days in Bangkok, Thailand.
So this is a travelogue that I hope will introduce the countries and provide not only a record of 20 hugely interesting days but also some food for thought as I also ask the question are we as tourists exploiting these societies or are the societies exploiting is?
Hopefully it will also bring out a lighter side to the trip.
Vietnam was a country that has been on my radar for many years and I wanted to visit before it became too commercialised. Similarly Cambodia seemed to be an intriguing choice for a visit, so it was good to be able to combine the two on a holiday organised through Trailfinders of Norwich and G Adventure Holidays. We also tacked on a couple of days in Bangkok, Thailand.
So this is a travelogue that I hope will introduce the countries and provide not only a record of 20 hugely interesting days but also some food for thought as I also ask the question are we as tourists exploiting these societies or are the societies exploiting is?
Hopefully it will also bring out a lighter side to the trip.
Day One - Sunday 7th February
Oh the wonders of air travel. I don't know whether it's me but long haul travel in Cattle Class seems to be more uncomfortable than it was a few years ago. There seems to be less leg room, more people packed in and the size of bags being brought into the overhead lockers seems to have ballooned to a ridiculous degree. Carry on luggage now means carry on fully laden suitcases. There seems to be little or no restrictions. The food seems to have deteriorated. But of course perhaps I'm just becoming old and crotchety!
At least we were travelling from Heathrow Terminal Four - anywhere other than Stansted which has to be my least favourite airport in the entire world. The best way to survive a long flight is to alternate three things - sleeping, eating and watching films. So on the way to Doha I ate, slept and watched the films "Steve Jobs" and "A Walk in the Woods." Each was instantly forgettable in its own way, although there was slightly more weight to the first than the nonsensical quasi comedy based on the book by Bill Bryson - a man that lives about three miles from me but whom I've never met. Robert Redford just didn't feel right in the role of Bryson. It all smacked of
"Who would you like to represent you in a Movie Bill?"
"How about Robert Redford or Paul Newman?"
"Sadly Paul Newman is no longer with us."
"Oh well it will have to be Redford then.
Problem is Redford is now 79 and beginning to look the worse for wear. Bryson, who looks nothing like Redford, is a mere stripling of 64 making him 15 years Redford's junior. But I digress as this is a travelogue and I feel myself going off at something of a tangent.
I was very aware as we flew out that we were taking a step into the unknown. All I really know about Vietnam comes from a quick study of the war and by watching the ridiculous but funny Top Gear programme about the country. Cambodia is something of a mystery, however, and very intriguing for all that.
Despite it being a day flight, the cabin lights were dimmed and the window shutters put down shortly after takeoff. We had a seven hour lay over in Doha. Allowing time for the shops, coffee, the shops, a sandwich, the shops, a read, the shops and the shops, we still had hours to waste and time dragged. Our watches had already gone forward three hours and would go forward another four before we arrived in Hanoi.
Oh the wonders of air travel. I don't know whether it's me but long haul travel in Cattle Class seems to be more uncomfortable than it was a few years ago. There seems to be less leg room, more people packed in and the size of bags being brought into the overhead lockers seems to have ballooned to a ridiculous degree. Carry on luggage now means carry on fully laden suitcases. There seems to be little or no restrictions. The food seems to have deteriorated. But of course perhaps I'm just becoming old and crotchety!
At least we were travelling from Heathrow Terminal Four - anywhere other than Stansted which has to be my least favourite airport in the entire world. The best way to survive a long flight is to alternate three things - sleeping, eating and watching films. So on the way to Doha I ate, slept and watched the films "Steve Jobs" and "A Walk in the Woods." Each was instantly forgettable in its own way, although there was slightly more weight to the first than the nonsensical quasi comedy based on the book by Bill Bryson - a man that lives about three miles from me but whom I've never met. Robert Redford just didn't feel right in the role of Bryson. It all smacked of
"Who would you like to represent you in a Movie Bill?"
"How about Robert Redford or Paul Newman?"
"Sadly Paul Newman is no longer with us."
"Oh well it will have to be Redford then.
Problem is Redford is now 79 and beginning to look the worse for wear. Bryson, who looks nothing like Redford, is a mere stripling of 64 making him 15 years Redford's junior. But I digress as this is a travelogue and I feel myself going off at something of a tangent.
I was very aware as we flew out that we were taking a step into the unknown. All I really know about Vietnam comes from a quick study of the war and by watching the ridiculous but funny Top Gear programme about the country. Cambodia is something of a mystery, however, and very intriguing for all that.
Despite it being a day flight, the cabin lights were dimmed and the window shutters put down shortly after takeoff. We had a seven hour lay over in Doha. Allowing time for the shops, coffee, the shops, a sandwich, the shops, a read, the shops and the shops, we still had hours to waste and time dragged. Our watches had already gone forward three hours and would go forward another four before we arrived in Hanoi.
Day Two - Monday 8th February
The aircraft to Hanoi was bigger, more modern and more comfortable. It touched down in Bangkok where most of the passengers got off. We were there for about an hour whilst they cleaned up around us. It did mean that on the final leg to Hanoi we had approximately three seats each. Just time for a quick read and snack.
"So what are you reading at the moment" I hear you ask? Actually you probably aren't asking that but humour me.
"I'm reading I Know This Much is True by Wally Lamb."
"Never heard of it" I hear you say
"Well neither had I until I came across it in a charity shop."
"So what attracted you to it?" - I'm now having a conversation with myself.
"Well it was bloody big."
In fact the book runs to over 900 pages and broke a promise I made to myself not to lug huge tomes along on holidays but to stick with Kindles and other electronic devises. But I wrecked that promise.
"So is it any good," I hear you ask?
"Well yes actually it is. It's about twins, one of whom is a paranoid schizophrenic, and their demons"
"So not a light read then?"
That's enough of talking to myself, back to the travelogue. Please stop me if my mind wanders again, although I'm sure it will.
We eventually did get to Hanoi and through all the formalities and were picked up in a van for the drive to the old town. At first everything seemed normal with decent roads and not too much traffic. Then as we approached the old town they appeared. They were hundreds and hundreds of motorised scooters. They seemed to be everywhere, weaving in and out of our van. There seemed to be no road system and no rules apart from the theory of chaos.
Our hotel had the dreaded word Boutique in its title. That just means small. They try to wrap it up with a fancy word but it means small reception and small rooms. And so it turned out. It was a change from our original hotel which was disappointing as this one was just sub standard. We had no towels, so had to return to reception to order some and then they brought us one. I've heard of two for the price of one but never one for the price of two! Also the shower bracket was broken and there was scarcely room to swing the proverbial cat (mind you where would we find a cat and why would we want to swing it anyway)? Did manage to have a cup of coffee before going out on a quick exploration of the streets.
Being westerners we waited for a break in the traffic before crossing the road - there was none! So we took our lives into our hands (just how many cliches can I weave into one travelogue?) and ran for it. Soon learned that running is not a good idea. We realised the way to go is just to step into the road and let the traffic weave around you. This is exactly what they do, but you have to be bold and brash. It's no good trying to walk on paths as this is where they dump their cars and scooters. There are pedestrian crossing areas, but nobody takes any notice of them. You are better just winging it.
We arrived back at the hotel just in time to meet with other members of the group - people likely to become our friends through shared experiences over the next couple of weeks. We met around a table and were welcomed by our guide/manager Matthieu. Now the problem with writing a travelogue is it's all being put together some three weeks later. So, whilst we didn't know any of the people at the time, I can say we soon gelled. Strangers became firm friends. But for the moment I will pretend none of that has happened. So here we are - the group. People of all ages which was a nice surprise. Too often nowadays we find ourselves amongst exclusively elderly groups. I like to think that we still have a "young outlook" on life. So despite being at the older end of the spectrum it was good to find people in their twenties and thirties. They probably looked at us and thought "what a couple of crusty old buggers." and maybe they would be right. I will introduce you to members of the group as we go along.
But a word about our leader without the benefit of hindsight. My first impression was that Matthieu was Spanish. He spoke English with a marked continental accent. Turned out that he was French Canadian - a colonial! I was intrigued by the fact that he spoke English with a French accent, expecting him still to have a Canadian twang. What we didn't know at the time was that this guy would become a firm friend to all of us during the trip and an inspiration in his sunny outlook to life and his incredible ability to make everything work.
The party was a real mix - Brits, Canadians, Germans, Aussies and one Belgian - and all the better for it. One of the things we weren't really looking forward to was trying to find somewhere to eat. Up stepped Matthieu in what was soon to become his inimitable way to take the whole party to a local restaurant.
Now a word about Dong. Not as in Ding Dong but as in the currency of Vietnam. We are dealing in thousands here. Picture our meal - a nice plate of sweet and sour meat with rice topped off with three bottles of beer between the two of us - and a bill that seemed frightening, somewhere in the region of over 240,000 Dong. We reeled off the bills, horrified by the amount and then realised it was about £8 for the lot. We later found that Vietnam is a dual currency country with American dollars usable virtually everywhere. We had a decent supply of both. Thankfully jet lag hasn't to date been a problem. It always seems worse when you get home. Just for the record Vietnam is seven hours ahead of British time.
First description about fellow travellers. We got chatting to Jill and Andrew (pictured below) from Leek in Staffordshire. Andrew is a confirmed Derby County fan. We are confirmed Norwich City fans. But despite that we still got on well, particularly in the light of the fact that half of the Derby team is made up of former Norwich players. Promise I won't prattle on about football too much as many of our fellow travellers won't have a clue what we are on about.
Day Three - Tuesday 9th February
A dicky stomach during the night - one of those better out than in things. Not even sure dicky is a word but what the hell! I had one. But this turned out to be a thoroughly agreeable day thanks to the hugely picturesque place that is Halong Bay. We went on an overnight cruise and it was a great way to get to know our fellow travellers thanks to relaxation and fun.
Our breakfast was basic. We left our cases at the hotel and just packed an overnight bag. The bus journey to the Bay took over three hours with just the one stop at one of those dreadful tourist trap places where everything was twice the price. If there's one thing I hate it's being followed around by shop assistants. They are doing it either to try and force you into buying things or they think you are going to nick something. We did buy some postcards and got some water, but was glad to be on our way.
At Halong Bay we picked up a local guide by the name of Kenny. Now I may be wrong but I reckon that's not his real name (just a suspicion on that one as I have no proof). Kenny was delightful but unfortunately his command of the English language was pretty dreadful. He seemed to repeat himself a lot but really apart from an occasional sentence, all we could really understand were the words Halong Bay which seemed to be repeated many many times. Apparently our German friends Mary Anne, Toby and Sebastian understood more than us as they have to really concentrate to understand English which is a foreign tongue for them. All three speak it remarkably well, however, although Mary Anne feels the need to improve and was at times overly modest about her abilities.
I loved it on the boat. Our cabin was comfortable and there was plenty of seafood for lunch and evening meal - the food just seemed to keep on coming although I felt the cabbage was one step too far. We visited quite a spectacular cave, took lots of photos of just a few of the thousands of little islands that poked out of the water. We had a relaxing time on board getting to know people like Simon. Simon comes from London and is writing a blog about his travels. He is currently on "gardening leave" between jobs and I found we shared a love of literature, writing and music (more of which later). On returning home I read Simon's blog where he referred to us as "eccentric and hilarious." Now over the past few years I have been trying to pass myself off as "eccentric" as that allows you to get away with lots of things as in "Oh just ignore him he's eccentric." So it looks as if I may have achieved my ambition!
So why did Simon refer to me as eccentric? Well it's all a matter of numbers. I expounded my theory of counting everything - steps, the number of railings, the number of pavement slabs etc etc. I outlined my love of guessing how many steps between two points when out walking. If my guess is within 10% I award myself a point. Well it helps to pass the time. Apparently classical composer Anton Bruckner did a similar thing and hs is construed in some circles as a genius. So I rest my case. I was listening to Radio Two a few years ago, probably the Jeremy Vine show, when they were discussing obsessions and they had a guy on the telephone who said he counted paces and tried to guess how many it would take to get from A to B. I think Mr Vine called him seriously weird in a nice kind of way. So my game is just a simple extension of that. Does that make me eccentric? Probably.
After the evening meal I did something I vowed I would never ever do. No not buy a round of drinks or murder the wife. I took part in Karaoke! Ok I accept I am slightly weird. Just last week when I went to a meeting where the speaker failed to turn up I offered to speak to about 50 people off the cuff. I'm happy standing in front of people and talking about a myriad of things. I love quizzes and especially setting and delivering them, but Karaoke has always been a NO NO. But there seemed no way out, particularly as Matthieu gave us a decent version of My Way. I guess the alcohol took over (one can of beer and I'll do anything and tonight I had a can of beer and a gin and tonic) and I got up not once but twice. I have always held up Bob Dylan and Tom Waits as two people who spend their time singing but can't sing. Somehow I love both of them but quite honestly they are tuneful in comparison to me. And if you have ever heard Waites you will know that makes me really really bad.
I wish I could sing. I wish I could appear to reluctantly get up at karaoke and then produce a stonking version of some classic or other. Sadly it will never ever happen. I am what I am - a tone deaf eccentric. Myself and Andrew did the first number and I can't even remember what it was. It might have been "I will Survive" but then again it might not. I do remember the second. I semi-dragged Aussie Sam up and we shouted our way through "Black Magic Woman." It was neither the Fleetwood Mac nor the Santana version and it would have had Peter Green turning in his grave if it wasn't for the fact that he's still alive. Thankfully we had to stop at around 10 p.m as the crew needed the lounge area to sleep in. Here's a promise: I will never again do karaoke. This was a one off thrust on me by the situation. Still it was a fun evening.
Sam and India come from Australia. They don't conform to the usual make up of Aussies. For a start I don't think either of them surf and they come from Tasmania, which is I guess a world apart from mainland Oz. Anyway back to the counting thing. I have written a daily diary for the past 43 years. Every day is given a mark out of 10 and each month is averaged out and given a ranking - how sad is that? Basically an average day is a six and a half, a slightly poor day a six, a bad day a five and a half. Similarly a good day is a seven and a very good day a seven and a half. I don't usually go outside those parameters unless it's a totally crap or totally bodacious day (apparently that's a very 80s word but it seemed appropriate here). Anyway today was a seven and a half.
A dicky stomach during the night - one of those better out than in things. Not even sure dicky is a word but what the hell! I had one. But this turned out to be a thoroughly agreeable day thanks to the hugely picturesque place that is Halong Bay. We went on an overnight cruise and it was a great way to get to know our fellow travellers thanks to relaxation and fun.
Our breakfast was basic. We left our cases at the hotel and just packed an overnight bag. The bus journey to the Bay took over three hours with just the one stop at one of those dreadful tourist trap places where everything was twice the price. If there's one thing I hate it's being followed around by shop assistants. They are doing it either to try and force you into buying things or they think you are going to nick something. We did buy some postcards and got some water, but was glad to be on our way.
At Halong Bay we picked up a local guide by the name of Kenny. Now I may be wrong but I reckon that's not his real name (just a suspicion on that one as I have no proof). Kenny was delightful but unfortunately his command of the English language was pretty dreadful. He seemed to repeat himself a lot but really apart from an occasional sentence, all we could really understand were the words Halong Bay which seemed to be repeated many many times. Apparently our German friends Mary Anne, Toby and Sebastian understood more than us as they have to really concentrate to understand English which is a foreign tongue for them. All three speak it remarkably well, however, although Mary Anne feels the need to improve and was at times overly modest about her abilities.
I loved it on the boat. Our cabin was comfortable and there was plenty of seafood for lunch and evening meal - the food just seemed to keep on coming although I felt the cabbage was one step too far. We visited quite a spectacular cave, took lots of photos of just a few of the thousands of little islands that poked out of the water. We had a relaxing time on board getting to know people like Simon. Simon comes from London and is writing a blog about his travels. He is currently on "gardening leave" between jobs and I found we shared a love of literature, writing and music (more of which later). On returning home I read Simon's blog where he referred to us as "eccentric and hilarious." Now over the past few years I have been trying to pass myself off as "eccentric" as that allows you to get away with lots of things as in "Oh just ignore him he's eccentric." So it looks as if I may have achieved my ambition!
So why did Simon refer to me as eccentric? Well it's all a matter of numbers. I expounded my theory of counting everything - steps, the number of railings, the number of pavement slabs etc etc. I outlined my love of guessing how many steps between two points when out walking. If my guess is within 10% I award myself a point. Well it helps to pass the time. Apparently classical composer Anton Bruckner did a similar thing and hs is construed in some circles as a genius. So I rest my case. I was listening to Radio Two a few years ago, probably the Jeremy Vine show, when they were discussing obsessions and they had a guy on the telephone who said he counted paces and tried to guess how many it would take to get from A to B. I think Mr Vine called him seriously weird in a nice kind of way. So my game is just a simple extension of that. Does that make me eccentric? Probably.
After the evening meal I did something I vowed I would never ever do. No not buy a round of drinks or murder the wife. I took part in Karaoke! Ok I accept I am slightly weird. Just last week when I went to a meeting where the speaker failed to turn up I offered to speak to about 50 people off the cuff. I'm happy standing in front of people and talking about a myriad of things. I love quizzes and especially setting and delivering them, but Karaoke has always been a NO NO. But there seemed no way out, particularly as Matthieu gave us a decent version of My Way. I guess the alcohol took over (one can of beer and I'll do anything and tonight I had a can of beer and a gin and tonic) and I got up not once but twice. I have always held up Bob Dylan and Tom Waits as two people who spend their time singing but can't sing. Somehow I love both of them but quite honestly they are tuneful in comparison to me. And if you have ever heard Waites you will know that makes me really really bad.
I wish I could sing. I wish I could appear to reluctantly get up at karaoke and then produce a stonking version of some classic or other. Sadly it will never ever happen. I am what I am - a tone deaf eccentric. Myself and Andrew did the first number and I can't even remember what it was. It might have been "I will Survive" but then again it might not. I do remember the second. I semi-dragged Aussie Sam up and we shouted our way through "Black Magic Woman." It was neither the Fleetwood Mac nor the Santana version and it would have had Peter Green turning in his grave if it wasn't for the fact that he's still alive. Thankfully we had to stop at around 10 p.m as the crew needed the lounge area to sleep in. Here's a promise: I will never again do karaoke. This was a one off thrust on me by the situation. Still it was a fun evening.
Sam and India come from Australia. They don't conform to the usual make up of Aussies. For a start I don't think either of them surf and they come from Tasmania, which is I guess a world apart from mainland Oz. Anyway back to the counting thing. I have written a daily diary for the past 43 years. Every day is given a mark out of 10 and each month is averaged out and given a ranking - how sad is that? Basically an average day is a six and a half, a slightly poor day a six, a bad day a five and a half. Similarly a good day is a seven and a very good day a seven and a half. I don't usually go outside those parameters unless it's a totally crap or totally bodacious day (apparently that's a very 80s word but it seemed appropriate here). Anyway today was a seven and a half.
Day Four - Wednesday 10th February
Day two on Halong Bay. We stopped at a private beach. Matthieu told us it was about 400 steps to the top of the cliffs. I wasn't happy with an estimate, so I counted as I climbed and came to a definitive answer that there are 426 steps to the top. Thought that might help Matthieu's credibility with other tours. It was worth the climb for the view. Had an interesting chat with our leader who often carries a metal detector with him to find rings etc lost in the sea. If he finds any he makes them into a necklace. He also told me about Whale vomit.
Now I know that's not really a topic for general conversation or for dinner parties, but apparently there's money to be made from whale vomit. A decent piece can be worth thousands of pound or millions of dong. So I looked it up on the internet and sure enough there's a very big market for the stuff. I Googled it and top of the list was the following:
"A lump of whale vomit on a Welsh beach could earn the man who found it as much as £7,000 when it goes up for auction." Stay with me here because it gets worse as the story continues.
"The waxy lump in question is about eight inches long and weighs just over a kilogram, and while ambergris - formed in the stomachs of sperm whales – is a foul-smelling substance, it is highly sought-after by perfume manufacturers who use it to enhance the scent or prolong the duration a fragrance lasts."
I had heard of ambergris but never dreamed what it was. So the next time the wife puts on some Chanel or Charlie or whatever it is that she wears I might just tell her that she is spreading Whale vomit over her body.
"Hello madam what can we do for you today. We have a nice new perfume made from the latest Whale vomit found on a Welsh beach."
It's rather ironic that something that is noted for its distasteful smell can be used to make one smell nice and become instantly attractive to the opposite sex (or the same sex if you're gay of course). I have to say that's never worked for me but perhaps I've been wearing shark rather than Whale vomit.
It got even better when I read the following story: "Dog walker in line for £100,000 payout after finding smelly yellow rock on Morecambe beach." And it's not even April Fools' day. It gets better or worse according to how you look at it. The stuff is more likely to have been pooped rather than sicked up. The bottom line is, however, that it is extremely valuable and sought after. So keep your eyes peeled next time you are at the seaside. I'm not quite sure who you would take it to though, although there's probably an internet site entitled "What to do with Whale poo." Perhaps the best thing to do would be to invite a number of Sperm Whales to a party, get them drunk on Tiger Beer and just wait for the results. So Mathieu is always on the look out for Whale vomit although he admits that to date he hasn't found any!
We had breakfast and then Brunch on the boat before cruising back to port and the long drive back to the hustle and bustle of Hanoi. Stopped at the same tourist place on the way back and did think about buying a huge ceramic eight foot smiling Buddha but thought it might take our suitcases over the weight limit!
We are right in the middle of Vietnam new year at the moment - one of the reasons we had to change hotels and the reason that our airflight has been put back. That means virtually everyone is out on the streets enjoying themselves. Workwise the country has almost shut down for the holdiays. So we joined the hoards around the lake area and had a long walk punctuated by a smoothie drink at a cafe. Then it was back to the hotel to load the cases onto a bus and drive to the railway station to catch the overnight train to Hue. If last night's bed on the boat was comfortable, tonight's berth on the train wasn't. The night was one I certainly wouldn't want to repeat too often. It reminded me of my one and only other experience on a sleeper train between Moscow and what was then Leningrad and which is now St Petersburg.
I guess you could put it down to experience. Each small carriage took four people - two on the top bunks and two on the bottom. So we shared with Jill and Andrew and I guess it's a good way of getting to know people. We did have half a bottle of whisky but no glasses and a pack of cards to play cribbage and somewhere around 11 p.m we decided to get some sleep.
Day two on Halong Bay. We stopped at a private beach. Matthieu told us it was about 400 steps to the top of the cliffs. I wasn't happy with an estimate, so I counted as I climbed and came to a definitive answer that there are 426 steps to the top. Thought that might help Matthieu's credibility with other tours. It was worth the climb for the view. Had an interesting chat with our leader who often carries a metal detector with him to find rings etc lost in the sea. If he finds any he makes them into a necklace. He also told me about Whale vomit.
Now I know that's not really a topic for general conversation or for dinner parties, but apparently there's money to be made from whale vomit. A decent piece can be worth thousands of pound or millions of dong. So I looked it up on the internet and sure enough there's a very big market for the stuff. I Googled it and top of the list was the following:
"A lump of whale vomit on a Welsh beach could earn the man who found it as much as £7,000 when it goes up for auction." Stay with me here because it gets worse as the story continues.
"The waxy lump in question is about eight inches long and weighs just over a kilogram, and while ambergris - formed in the stomachs of sperm whales – is a foul-smelling substance, it is highly sought-after by perfume manufacturers who use it to enhance the scent or prolong the duration a fragrance lasts."
I had heard of ambergris but never dreamed what it was. So the next time the wife puts on some Chanel or Charlie or whatever it is that she wears I might just tell her that she is spreading Whale vomit over her body.
"Hello madam what can we do for you today. We have a nice new perfume made from the latest Whale vomit found on a Welsh beach."
It's rather ironic that something that is noted for its distasteful smell can be used to make one smell nice and become instantly attractive to the opposite sex (or the same sex if you're gay of course). I have to say that's never worked for me but perhaps I've been wearing shark rather than Whale vomit.
It got even better when I read the following story: "Dog walker in line for £100,000 payout after finding smelly yellow rock on Morecambe beach." And it's not even April Fools' day. It gets better or worse according to how you look at it. The stuff is more likely to have been pooped rather than sicked up. The bottom line is, however, that it is extremely valuable and sought after. So keep your eyes peeled next time you are at the seaside. I'm not quite sure who you would take it to though, although there's probably an internet site entitled "What to do with Whale poo." Perhaps the best thing to do would be to invite a number of Sperm Whales to a party, get them drunk on Tiger Beer and just wait for the results. So Mathieu is always on the look out for Whale vomit although he admits that to date he hasn't found any!
We had breakfast and then Brunch on the boat before cruising back to port and the long drive back to the hustle and bustle of Hanoi. Stopped at the same tourist place on the way back and did think about buying a huge ceramic eight foot smiling Buddha but thought it might take our suitcases over the weight limit!
We are right in the middle of Vietnam new year at the moment - one of the reasons we had to change hotels and the reason that our airflight has been put back. That means virtually everyone is out on the streets enjoying themselves. Workwise the country has almost shut down for the holdiays. So we joined the hoards around the lake area and had a long walk punctuated by a smoothie drink at a cafe. Then it was back to the hotel to load the cases onto a bus and drive to the railway station to catch the overnight train to Hue. If last night's bed on the boat was comfortable, tonight's berth on the train wasn't. The night was one I certainly wouldn't want to repeat too often. It reminded me of my one and only other experience on a sleeper train between Moscow and what was then Leningrad and which is now St Petersburg.
I guess you could put it down to experience. Each small carriage took four people - two on the top bunks and two on the bottom. So we shared with Jill and Andrew and I guess it's a good way of getting to know people. We did have half a bottle of whisky but no glasses and a pack of cards to play cribbage and somewhere around 11 p.m we decided to get some sleep.
Day Five - Thursday 11th February
Picture this: It's 1.30 a.m and I have had absolutely no sleep. Not sure about the others in the carriage and I'm too embarrassed to ask on the grounds that some of them may be asleep. Now I'm busting to go to the loo. I'm sure its psychological as it's the only day on the entire holiday that I have needed to get up in the middle of the night. I weigh up the options - stay in bed on this extremely hard mattress and extremely hard pillow and suffer and try to tough it out or try to work out a way of getting down from the top bunk without disturbing everyone. Later in the trip I asked a few people what their funniest moment of the holiday was. Jill said it was the sight of me trying to get into the top bunk last night. I have my own favourite funny moment which involves Toby and which I will explain when I get to it. But back to the present. Here I am busting to pee and realising there's still a good five hours before I can get up and get dressed. So no option really. I have to get up.
Maybe, I think, if I get up and then back to bed I will get some sleep but the train is noisy, uncomfortable and keeps lurching from side to side. I did think that during the night we would cut speed and get a smoother ride, but I was wrong. Last night two carriages down they were singing and playing music but that was completely drowned out by the noise of the train - just showing how loud it is.
I guess this comfort thing is a matter of age. I'm sure that 40 years ago we would have taken all this in our stride but now we crave a bit of luxury on our travels.
I gingerly threw back the thin blanket and as quietly as possible descended down feet first by clinging onto my bunk and, at the same time, swinging my legs onto the bottom bunk opposite, trying not to kick Jill in the process. Suddenly there I am standing on the floor and wishing that there had been a ladder to make getting in an out of bed simpler. I edged forward in the darkness and opened the door and was suddenly aware of somebody following me.
"I'm so glad you got up. I have been wanting to go to the loo for ages but didn't want to disturb everyone. But when you got up I knew it was ok," said Jill.
Now I had a problem with the loo - it was filthy but I wrongly assumed that people had been peeing over the seat because it was very wet. As the train lurched I found myself peeing over the seat and understanding just where these former pee-ers were coming from. I really must adopt a sitting position on transport toilets. It was a few days later that I realised the wetness on the seat was caused by passengers hosing the toilet down with a small machine at the side of the loo!
Early morning brought sounds of people throwing up and boy were we glad to get off that train at Hue. The Aussies were immediately at home because they found out that the name of the town rhymed with G'Day. So they were able to say G'Day Hue.
What we needed was a good hotel with a swimming pool, a decent breakfast and a nice room and thankfully that's exactly what we got. This hotel was the best one of our trip. Rooms were spacious with good air con, the breakfast, which we went straight to, was impressive and there was a swimming pool on the roof overlooking the town. I could have relaxed by that pool all afternoon, but that wasn't the plan.
We had a walk to the river, over a bridge and back to the hotel. It was the beginning of the hot weather. In Hanoi the temperatures had been reasonable but at Hue they began to soar (more of this later). The afternoon was spent touring a number of sites and our guide (whose name escapes me) was a party animal. He told us of days of family celebration over the New Year Period when it was party, party, party. He had refrained from "getting pissed" the previous evening as he knew he had a tour to guide the next day. He had quite a sense of humour as well telling is of the secret plan to stop Vietnam, which is a very narrow country, from losing more and more land to the encroaching sea. The plan was a simple one "we will invade China."
We went to a Buddhist temple. I will discuss my views of Buddhism later on. Then on to a memorial to one of the Vietnamese kings - I believe it was number three. We also stopped in a field of lemon grass, the reason for which eluded me. Returned to the hotel for a much needed shower and then drinks at a bar next door, before being driven in individual cycles across the bridge to a local restaurant owned by a deaf and dumb mute who was a delight - continually waving and smiling. I volunteered for the strange task of opening four bottles of beer simultaneously using pieces of wood with screws in them and a well aimed karate chop. Many in the party doubted my ability, but it worked!
Late evening in the town was very lively with numerous restaurants and bars and we stopped at one for an iced coffee before returning to our room.
Hue was the capital of Vietnam from 1802 to 1944. Geographically it was in the wrong place during the Vietnam War. It is situated close to the border of what was North and South Vietnam and in 1968 Hue suffered considerable damage due to a combination of American bombing and a massacre committed by the communist forces. Our guide had lost relatives in the war (one of whom I believe was a brother). There is a deep sadness in this country.
Picture this: It's 1.30 a.m and I have had absolutely no sleep. Not sure about the others in the carriage and I'm too embarrassed to ask on the grounds that some of them may be asleep. Now I'm busting to go to the loo. I'm sure its psychological as it's the only day on the entire holiday that I have needed to get up in the middle of the night. I weigh up the options - stay in bed on this extremely hard mattress and extremely hard pillow and suffer and try to tough it out or try to work out a way of getting down from the top bunk without disturbing everyone. Later in the trip I asked a few people what their funniest moment of the holiday was. Jill said it was the sight of me trying to get into the top bunk last night. I have my own favourite funny moment which involves Toby and which I will explain when I get to it. But back to the present. Here I am busting to pee and realising there's still a good five hours before I can get up and get dressed. So no option really. I have to get up.
Maybe, I think, if I get up and then back to bed I will get some sleep but the train is noisy, uncomfortable and keeps lurching from side to side. I did think that during the night we would cut speed and get a smoother ride, but I was wrong. Last night two carriages down they were singing and playing music but that was completely drowned out by the noise of the train - just showing how loud it is.
I guess this comfort thing is a matter of age. I'm sure that 40 years ago we would have taken all this in our stride but now we crave a bit of luxury on our travels.
I gingerly threw back the thin blanket and as quietly as possible descended down feet first by clinging onto my bunk and, at the same time, swinging my legs onto the bottom bunk opposite, trying not to kick Jill in the process. Suddenly there I am standing on the floor and wishing that there had been a ladder to make getting in an out of bed simpler. I edged forward in the darkness and opened the door and was suddenly aware of somebody following me.
"I'm so glad you got up. I have been wanting to go to the loo for ages but didn't want to disturb everyone. But when you got up I knew it was ok," said Jill.
Now I had a problem with the loo - it was filthy but I wrongly assumed that people had been peeing over the seat because it was very wet. As the train lurched I found myself peeing over the seat and understanding just where these former pee-ers were coming from. I really must adopt a sitting position on transport toilets. It was a few days later that I realised the wetness on the seat was caused by passengers hosing the toilet down with a small machine at the side of the loo!
Early morning brought sounds of people throwing up and boy were we glad to get off that train at Hue. The Aussies were immediately at home because they found out that the name of the town rhymed with G'Day. So they were able to say G'Day Hue.
What we needed was a good hotel with a swimming pool, a decent breakfast and a nice room and thankfully that's exactly what we got. This hotel was the best one of our trip. Rooms were spacious with good air con, the breakfast, which we went straight to, was impressive and there was a swimming pool on the roof overlooking the town. I could have relaxed by that pool all afternoon, but that wasn't the plan.
We had a walk to the river, over a bridge and back to the hotel. It was the beginning of the hot weather. In Hanoi the temperatures had been reasonable but at Hue they began to soar (more of this later). The afternoon was spent touring a number of sites and our guide (whose name escapes me) was a party animal. He told us of days of family celebration over the New Year Period when it was party, party, party. He had refrained from "getting pissed" the previous evening as he knew he had a tour to guide the next day. He had quite a sense of humour as well telling is of the secret plan to stop Vietnam, which is a very narrow country, from losing more and more land to the encroaching sea. The plan was a simple one "we will invade China."
We went to a Buddhist temple. I will discuss my views of Buddhism later on. Then on to a memorial to one of the Vietnamese kings - I believe it was number three. We also stopped in a field of lemon grass, the reason for which eluded me. Returned to the hotel for a much needed shower and then drinks at a bar next door, before being driven in individual cycles across the bridge to a local restaurant owned by a deaf and dumb mute who was a delight - continually waving and smiling. I volunteered for the strange task of opening four bottles of beer simultaneously using pieces of wood with screws in them and a well aimed karate chop. Many in the party doubted my ability, but it worked!
Late evening in the town was very lively with numerous restaurants and bars and we stopped at one for an iced coffee before returning to our room.
Hue was the capital of Vietnam from 1802 to 1944. Geographically it was in the wrong place during the Vietnam War. It is situated close to the border of what was North and South Vietnam and in 1968 Hue suffered considerable damage due to a combination of American bombing and a massacre committed by the communist forces. Our guide had lost relatives in the war (one of whom I believe was a brother). There is a deep sadness in this country.
Day Six - Friday 12th February
One of those incidents today that you can look back and laugh at but which didn't seem very funny at the time. Let's just say that when we reached the Citadel with our abstemious guide ("I would have liked to have partied last night but I knew I had a tour today. Tours mean no party") I felt the desperate need for a call of nature. So I rushed to the loo, did the business and found no toilet paper! Thankfully Andrew had suffered a similar feeling and was able to pass some tissues under the door. What a relief. Apparently outside the loo when we entered was an attendant selling toilet paper. I just didn't have time to stop!
The Citadel or Imperial City reminded me of The Forbidden City in Beijing, China. Buildings in the city were severely damaged during the war but much restoration has and is taking place.
All too soon we were on the road again for the four hour drive to Hoi An. I would have liked another day in Hue. It seemed like a very interesting and historic place and it would have been nice to have had another day at the super hotel. It wasn't a great distance but the road was twisty and turny and it went up into the mountains. We stopped at a site with particular importance and relevance to the Vietnam war. Climbed up to a prominent point. We were told that bullets from the war were still turning up which just shows how many were fired considering the bus loads of tourists spewed out of coaches every day of the year. True to form Matthieu found a couple of bullets.
Reached our latest hotel which seems quite comfortable and which has an outside swimming pool. It was a lengthy walk into the old town. Had a cup of tea and then returned to the hotel and then walked back into town - felt rather like a yo-yo or boomerang. After an evening meal it was back to the hotel again and spent some time doing the set-up work on a Facebook page for the group.
One of those incidents today that you can look back and laugh at but which didn't seem very funny at the time. Let's just say that when we reached the Citadel with our abstemious guide ("I would have liked to have partied last night but I knew I had a tour today. Tours mean no party") I felt the desperate need for a call of nature. So I rushed to the loo, did the business and found no toilet paper! Thankfully Andrew had suffered a similar feeling and was able to pass some tissues under the door. What a relief. Apparently outside the loo when we entered was an attendant selling toilet paper. I just didn't have time to stop!
The Citadel or Imperial City reminded me of The Forbidden City in Beijing, China. Buildings in the city were severely damaged during the war but much restoration has and is taking place.
All too soon we were on the road again for the four hour drive to Hoi An. I would have liked another day in Hue. It seemed like a very interesting and historic place and it would have been nice to have had another day at the super hotel. It wasn't a great distance but the road was twisty and turny and it went up into the mountains. We stopped at a site with particular importance and relevance to the Vietnam war. Climbed up to a prominent point. We were told that bullets from the war were still turning up which just shows how many were fired considering the bus loads of tourists spewed out of coaches every day of the year. True to form Matthieu found a couple of bullets.
Reached our latest hotel which seems quite comfortable and which has an outside swimming pool. It was a lengthy walk into the old town. Had a cup of tea and then returned to the hotel and then walked back into town - felt rather like a yo-yo or boomerang. After an evening meal it was back to the hotel again and spent some time doing the set-up work on a Facebook page for the group.
Day Seven - Saturday 13th February
There was a limited choice for breakfast but the setting on a rooftop restaurant was quite enjoyable. Now I have to talk about the eggman and I'm not talking about the lyric from the Beatles' song "I Am The Walrus." No we are talking about Mr Pig. There he sat, enormous bulbous belly, over the top moustache and bags of attitude and rudeness. The young Vietnamese guy cooking the eggs and omelettes was nervous enough as it was without the intervention of Monsieur Pig. MP, and I have no idea what nationality he was, kept issuing instructions on the cooking of his egg and then told the cook to throw it away and do another one. This made the cook even more nervous. Personally I wanted to take the original egg, which was perfectly acceptable, out of the waste bin and force the pig to eat it. I would happily have rammed it down his throat.
I overdosed on pancakes - a particular favourite of mine. Now I need to get serious about the morning's entertainment and return to that question posed at the start of this travelogue. We all set off on bicycles to fight our way through the Hoi An traffic and out into the rice fields. All of us that is apart from Anne who opted for the easy option - a ride on the back of a motorbike. She isn't confident on a bike and her deafness makes her extra nervous.
During the morning's ride we came across a delightful old couple, both in their nineties, who have worked decades in the rice fields. I assume they still do, although today they have become something of a tourist attraction. As has the Buffalo man who is conveniently situated close to a small pond/lake to give western tourists rides on what seems to be a rather downtrodden and unhappy beast. In 2016 there is nothing really spontaneous about tourism - it's all carefully sorted out and planned. Take the old couple (a 96 year old man and his 93 year old toy girl). We all had the opportunity to gather water in a contraption that consisted of a piece of wood that goes across the shoulders and from which a watering can is suspended. Quite a few of us watered a short stretch. Then we all have photos taken with the couple and team shots etc. Then, as we leave, our leader gives the couple some money. Presumably this same ritual goes on for virtually every touring party day in, day out. So are we exploiting them or are they exploiting us? Is it a good or bad thing that we are pushing our western ways on the people of Vietnam and do they welcome the intrusion of western cultures. Hoi An is a particular example of this. The place is absolutely awash with tourists. Yet the market and other areas of the town have the feeling of being unchanged for decades. Somehow the two cultures seem to exist in an uneasy alliance. We give our money, they take our money and hopefully their lives are made better. In this way we shouldn't begrudge them the American Dollar, but I can't say I am totally at ease with the situation. The buffalo man also got his payment. There is no spontaneity in all of this. We are just one party amongst hundreds that spookily come across the people. We are nothing special and I find that sad.
Vietnam is very quickly opening up to mass tourism. The country will never be the same again, but perhaps that isn't a bad thing - better to be a tourist trap than a war zone.
Our return to the hotel was rather fraught. I never felt in command of my cycle! All the above comments could also be attributed to the lunchtime noodle demonstration at a restaurant/training school supported by G Adventures. We all had a go at making noodles and then quite an extensive lunch. I truly hope that as visitors and tourists we are doing some good.
Walked back to the hotel to change and then an evening at another restaurant across the water from the main part of Hoi An. I have decidedly mixed views on this place. I feel four days here is too much and there are just too many visitors, which gives it an uncomfortable feel. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Centre and definitely a tourist trap.
"Madame you look. you buy some things."
There was a limited choice for breakfast but the setting on a rooftop restaurant was quite enjoyable. Now I have to talk about the eggman and I'm not talking about the lyric from the Beatles' song "I Am The Walrus." No we are talking about Mr Pig. There he sat, enormous bulbous belly, over the top moustache and bags of attitude and rudeness. The young Vietnamese guy cooking the eggs and omelettes was nervous enough as it was without the intervention of Monsieur Pig. MP, and I have no idea what nationality he was, kept issuing instructions on the cooking of his egg and then told the cook to throw it away and do another one. This made the cook even more nervous. Personally I wanted to take the original egg, which was perfectly acceptable, out of the waste bin and force the pig to eat it. I would happily have rammed it down his throat.
I overdosed on pancakes - a particular favourite of mine. Now I need to get serious about the morning's entertainment and return to that question posed at the start of this travelogue. We all set off on bicycles to fight our way through the Hoi An traffic and out into the rice fields. All of us that is apart from Anne who opted for the easy option - a ride on the back of a motorbike. She isn't confident on a bike and her deafness makes her extra nervous.
During the morning's ride we came across a delightful old couple, both in their nineties, who have worked decades in the rice fields. I assume they still do, although today they have become something of a tourist attraction. As has the Buffalo man who is conveniently situated close to a small pond/lake to give western tourists rides on what seems to be a rather downtrodden and unhappy beast. In 2016 there is nothing really spontaneous about tourism - it's all carefully sorted out and planned. Take the old couple (a 96 year old man and his 93 year old toy girl). We all had the opportunity to gather water in a contraption that consisted of a piece of wood that goes across the shoulders and from which a watering can is suspended. Quite a few of us watered a short stretch. Then we all have photos taken with the couple and team shots etc. Then, as we leave, our leader gives the couple some money. Presumably this same ritual goes on for virtually every touring party day in, day out. So are we exploiting them or are they exploiting us? Is it a good or bad thing that we are pushing our western ways on the people of Vietnam and do they welcome the intrusion of western cultures. Hoi An is a particular example of this. The place is absolutely awash with tourists. Yet the market and other areas of the town have the feeling of being unchanged for decades. Somehow the two cultures seem to exist in an uneasy alliance. We give our money, they take our money and hopefully their lives are made better. In this way we shouldn't begrudge them the American Dollar, but I can't say I am totally at ease with the situation. The buffalo man also got his payment. There is no spontaneity in all of this. We are just one party amongst hundreds that spookily come across the people. We are nothing special and I find that sad.
Vietnam is very quickly opening up to mass tourism. The country will never be the same again, but perhaps that isn't a bad thing - better to be a tourist trap than a war zone.
Our return to the hotel was rather fraught. I never felt in command of my cycle! All the above comments could also be attributed to the lunchtime noodle demonstration at a restaurant/training school supported by G Adventures. We all had a go at making noodles and then quite an extensive lunch. I truly hope that as visitors and tourists we are doing some good.
Walked back to the hotel to change and then an evening at another restaurant across the water from the main part of Hoi An. I have decidedly mixed views on this place. I feel four days here is too much and there are just too many visitors, which gives it an uncomfortable feel. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Centre and definitely a tourist trap.
"Madame you look. you buy some things."
Day Eight - Sunday 14th February
Valentine's Day and to me Hoi An isn't a greatly romantic place, although I know many would disagree. We had another big example today of consumerism and exploitation of the tourist. After breakfast we walked to the old town and decided to go for a boat ride both from an interest point of view and from the fact that things on the water were likely to be cooler as temperatures were beginning to soar.
Firstly a word about sweating - a subject dear to my heart. I suffer from a condition called hyperhidrosis or excessive sweating. It's very embarrassing to be turned into a sweaty mess every time the sun comes out. Whenever the temperature rises above about 20 degrees I begin to suffer. In Vietnam it's well into the 30s virtually every day and that poses a big problem for me. Basically I drip and it means that some days I have to take four or five showers just to keep cool. Apparently I'm not alone. My eldest son has the same problem and according to the internet there are 220 million people world-wide who suffer from excessive, uncontrollable sweating. That's more than 3% of the global population. There is even an International Hyperhidrosis Society which I must get round to joining. Anyway enough of that. Let's just say it was cool on the boat.
The boat trip was inexpensive and we had a boat all to ourselves for the one hour tour along the waterfront, past the market area and out into the main stretch of water. Then as if by magic we came across a lone fisherman casting his net. He did this three or four times as our boat got closer. Just when I was questioning how he was going to land any fish with such short term casts, he was on our boat and offering me the net for a "photo". So I cast a few times and then came the crunch - "Five dollars," he said holding his hand out. I paid up. Five dollars probably meant more to him than it did me and I did have pictures to show on our return home in another totally staged and unspontaneous act. I should imagine this man makes many times more from tourism than he does from fishing. The problem I have is that all these things are carefully choreographed to take money from tourists, but perhaps I'm just being too cynical!
An afternoon in the hotel and by the pool, a drink at the upstairs bar (beer about 70p) and then into town again for an evening meal. Tonight the food was more expensive and not as good, but the group are delightful company.
Valentine's Day and to me Hoi An isn't a greatly romantic place, although I know many would disagree. We had another big example today of consumerism and exploitation of the tourist. After breakfast we walked to the old town and decided to go for a boat ride both from an interest point of view and from the fact that things on the water were likely to be cooler as temperatures were beginning to soar.
Firstly a word about sweating - a subject dear to my heart. I suffer from a condition called hyperhidrosis or excessive sweating. It's very embarrassing to be turned into a sweaty mess every time the sun comes out. Whenever the temperature rises above about 20 degrees I begin to suffer. In Vietnam it's well into the 30s virtually every day and that poses a big problem for me. Basically I drip and it means that some days I have to take four or five showers just to keep cool. Apparently I'm not alone. My eldest son has the same problem and according to the internet there are 220 million people world-wide who suffer from excessive, uncontrollable sweating. That's more than 3% of the global population. There is even an International Hyperhidrosis Society which I must get round to joining. Anyway enough of that. Let's just say it was cool on the boat.
The boat trip was inexpensive and we had a boat all to ourselves for the one hour tour along the waterfront, past the market area and out into the main stretch of water. Then as if by magic we came across a lone fisherman casting his net. He did this three or four times as our boat got closer. Just when I was questioning how he was going to land any fish with such short term casts, he was on our boat and offering me the net for a "photo". So I cast a few times and then came the crunch - "Five dollars," he said holding his hand out. I paid up. Five dollars probably meant more to him than it did me and I did have pictures to show on our return home in another totally staged and unspontaneous act. I should imagine this man makes many times more from tourism than he does from fishing. The problem I have is that all these things are carefully choreographed to take money from tourists, but perhaps I'm just being too cynical!
An afternoon in the hotel and by the pool, a drink at the upstairs bar (beer about 70p) and then into town again for an evening meal. Tonight the food was more expensive and not as good, but the group are delightful company.
Day Nine - Monday 15th February
To be honest Hoi An is not the kind of place I would chose to spend four days in - a slight case of overkill taking into account we had just one day in Hue - nowhere near enough time to really study the cataclysmic bombing of the city by the Americans during the Vietnam War.
It was all hustle and bustle again today, although the number of visitors has now dropped significantly with the New Year holidays all but over. We even managed top find a Zen type coffee bar which was in the back of an art gallery and had a very calming influence. Had a good look round before going back to the hotel. Late afternoon saw Matthieu host a fruit party on the top floor. Originally it was scheduled for the swimming pool but moved due to sudden appearance of cloud and a few drops of rain! So what does a fruit party consist of? Actually it's fruit. All kinds of fruit. Strangely shaped fruit, oddly named fruit, horrible tasting fruit. First course fruit, second course fruit, third course fruit.
A different restaurant tonight. Despite the impending early start tomorrow morning for the flight to Ho Chi Minh City, I still managed a bucket of gin and tonic, although Sebastian the party boy did share it. The set meal was good. Originally we should have flown to Ho Chi Minh today but that was put back due to aircraft being fully booked.
To be honest Hoi An is not the kind of place I would chose to spend four days in - a slight case of overkill taking into account we had just one day in Hue - nowhere near enough time to really study the cataclysmic bombing of the city by the Americans during the Vietnam War.
It was all hustle and bustle again today, although the number of visitors has now dropped significantly with the New Year holidays all but over. We even managed top find a Zen type coffee bar which was in the back of an art gallery and had a very calming influence. Had a good look round before going back to the hotel. Late afternoon saw Matthieu host a fruit party on the top floor. Originally it was scheduled for the swimming pool but moved due to sudden appearance of cloud and a few drops of rain! So what does a fruit party consist of? Actually it's fruit. All kinds of fruit. Strangely shaped fruit, oddly named fruit, horrible tasting fruit. First course fruit, second course fruit, third course fruit.
A different restaurant tonight. Despite the impending early start tomorrow morning for the flight to Ho Chi Minh City, I still managed a bucket of gin and tonic, although Sebastian the party boy did share it. The set meal was good. Originally we should have flown to Ho Chi Minh today but that was put back due to aircraft being fully booked.
Day Ten - Tuesday 16th February
Throughout today's entry I would like to quote the lyrics of a Joan Baez song. Actually it's not so much a song as a 20-minute plus epic. The song originally took up the whole of one side of an LP. For the youngsters in the group, that's a Long Player in the days of vinyl that now seem to be returning. The piece is entitled "Where Are You Now My Son?" and the album has the same name. It was released in 1973. It is hard to describe the track. It was recorded during a United States bombing raid on Hanoi over Christmas 1972. We have long left Hanoi and I did think about including the song in the entry for our time in Hanoi or even Hue, but it seemed more relevant on the day that we visited the jungle and the Cu Chi Tunnels.
The piece of music is part song, part talking, but in the background are the genuine sounds of the air raids. This is contemporaneous reportage within the parameters of music!
It's walking to the battleground that always makes me cry
I've met so few folks in my time who weren't afraid to die
But dawn bleeds with the people here and morning skies are red
As young girls load up bicycles with flowers for the dead
An aging woman picks along the craters and the rubble
A piece of cloth, a bit of shoe, a whole lifetime of trouble
A sobbing chant comes from her throat and splits the morning air
The single son she had last night is buried under her
They say that the war is done
Where are you now, my son?
An old man with unsteady gait and beard of ancient white
Bent to the ground with arms outstretched faltering in his plight
I took his hand to steady him, he stood and did not turn
But smiled and wept and bowed and mumbled softly, "Danke shoen"
The children on the roadsides of the villages and towns
Would stand around us laughing as we stood like giant clowns
The mourning bands told whom they'd lost by last night's phantom messenger
And they spoke their only words in English, "Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger"
Now that the war's being won
Where are you now, my son?
The siren gives a running break to those who live in town
Take the children and the blankets to the concrete underground
Sometimes we'd sing and joke and paint bright pictures on the wall
And wonder if we would die well and if we'd loved at all
The helmetless defiant ones sit on the curb and stare
At tracers flashing through the sky and planes bursting in air
But way out in the villages no warning comes before a blast
That means a sleeping child will never make it to the door
The days of our youth were fun
Where are you now, my son?
From the distant cabins in the sky where no man hears the sound
Of death on earth from his own bombs, six pilots were shot down
Next day six hulking bandaged men were dazzled by a room
Of newsmen. Sally keep the faith, let's hope this war ends soon
In a damaged prison camp where they no longer had command
They shook their heads, what irony, we thought peace was at hand
The preacher read a Christmas prayer and the men kneeled on the ground
Then sheepishly asked me to sing "They Drove Old Dixie Down"
Yours was the righteous gun
Where are you now, my son?
We gathered in the lobby celebrating Chrismas Eve
The French, the Poles, the Indians, Cubans and Vietnamese
The tiny tree our host had fixed sweetened familiar psalms
But the most sacred of Christmas prayers was shattered by the bombs
So back into the shelter where two lovely women rose
And with a brilliance and a fierceness and a gentleness which froze
The rest of us to silence as their voices soared with joy
Outshining every bomb that fell that night upon Hanoi
With bravery we have sun
But where are you now, my son?
Oh people of the shelters what a gift you've given me
To smile at me and quietly let me share your agony
And I can only bow in utter humbleness and ask
Forgiveness and forgiveness for the things we've brought to pass
The black pyjama'd culture that we tried to kill with pellet holes
And rows of tiny coffins we've paid for with our souls
Have built a spirit seldom seen in women and in men
And the white flower of Bac Mai will surely blossom once again
I've heard that the war is done
Then where are you now, my son?
There are probably many songs written about the Vietnam war but that's the one that stands out for me, along with the number one song 19 by Paul Hardcastle:
In 1965, Vietnam seemed like just another foreign war
But it wasn't, it was different in many ways
As so were those who did the fighting
In World War II
The average age of the combat soldier was twenty-six
In Vietnam, he was nineteen
In Vietnam, he was nineteen
In Vietnam, he was nineteen
In Vietnam, he was nineteen
N-n-n-n-nineteen
The heaviest fighting of the past two weeks
Continued today twenty-five miles northwest of Saigon
I really wasn't sure what was going on
N-n-n-n-nineteen, nineteen
N-nineteen, nineteen
In Vietnam
The combat soldier typically served a twelve-month tour of duty
But was exposed to hostile fire almost every day
N-n-n-n-nineteen
N-n-n-n-nineteen
In Saigon
A US military spokesman said today
More than 700 enemy troops were killed last week
In that sensitive border area
In all of South Vietnam
The enemy lost a total of 2,689 soldiers
All those who remember the war
They won't forget what they've seen
Destruction of men in their prime
Whose average was nineteen
D-d-d-d-d-destruction
D-d-d-d-d-destruction
According to a Veteran's Administration study
Half of the Vietnam combat veterans suffered
From what psychiatrists call
Post-traumatic stress disorder
Many vets complain of alienation, rage, or guilt
Some succumb to suicidal thoughts
Eight to ten years after coming home
Almost eight-hundred-thousand men
Are still fighting the Vietnam War
None of them received
A hero's welcome
S-S-S-S-S-Saigon
Nineteen, S-S-S-S-Saigon
N-n-n-n-n-nineteen
* * *
Today started at 3 a.m. with a quick pack and then bus trip to Danang Airport for the flight to Ho Chi Minh. I still prefer to call it Saigon as apparently many of the locals do. It was only just over an hour's flight from Hoi An to Saigon. We had another boutique (i.e small) hotel with boutique (i.e small) bedrooms.
Matthieu led a walking tour of the centre of the city. It was very hot and we had just an hour at the Vietnam War Museum. In desperate need of coffee, we spent too long drinking, not realising that the museum was spread over three floors. So we had too little time. What we did see was harrowing enough - the results of the war, which has to be one of the most futile in the history of the human race. To have done the museum justice would have taken a good three hours. On the way out I bought a book on the war from a gentleman with only stumps for arms - a result probably of Agent Orange. Oh what we do to our fellow man.
It was a swift tour of the cathedral and post office (interesting architecture). I was already impressed by what I had seen of the city. On the way back to the hotel we had some food at a noodle bar. Simon from our party sat in the seat occupied by President Bill Clinton, who dined there many years ago. It must be strange to be famous and have virtually everywhere you have eaten in the world immortalised with plaques and photographs. No big deal for you, but a big deal and selling point for the various eating places.
At 1 p.m we set off for the Cu Chi Tunnels - one of the highlights of the trip - although highlights is probably not the right word to use but I'm sure you know what I mean.
Our guide Mr Hi was a war veteran who fought alongside the Americans against the Vietcong. He gave an interesting slant on the war from an American/South Vietnamese perspective:
"How could the Americans fight a war when they could never be sure who they were fighting? I am Vietnamese, the enemy were Vietnamese. We all look the same," he said on a number of occasions pointing to his face and breaking into a rather scary smile.
I and many others were suffering in the heat, which was an important factor in visualising what was in front of us. What was in front of us was a wilderness of jungle. It was easy to see in your mind the shadows of the soldiers, the traps awaiting. This was quintessential Vietnam jungle - frightening even now in peacetime. The noise of gunfire in the distance made it even more eerie. The gunfire came from a firing range where weapons from the war could be discharged (at a price of course). One of the tunnels is open to the public. It's about 100 yards long but there are exits every 25 yards.
I had intended going the whole 100 yards but changed my mind after the first 25. How would I describe the tunnels. They were hot, they were claustrophobic, hugely uncomfortable. Even at 5ft 6in I couldn't stand up in them. Apparently they are wider than the original tunnels - extended slightly to take account of western size.
A little research into the tunnels and matters get even more frightening. The Cu Chi were used by Viet Cong soldiers to hide during combat, as well as serving as communication and supply routes, hospitals, food and weapon caches and living quarters for numerous North Vietnamese fighters. The tunnel systems were of great importance to the Viet Cong in their resistance to American forces, and helped to counter the growing American military effort. And all that in tunnels just a few feet wide. The tunnels stretched 75 miles and according to Wikipedia:
"Air, food and water were scarce and the tunnels were infested with ants, poisonous centipedes, scorpions, spiders and vermin. Most of the time, soldiers would spend the day in the tunnels working or resting and come out only at night to scavenge for supplies, tend their crops, or engage the enemy in battle. Sometimes, during periods of heavy bombing or American troop movement, they would be forced to remain underground for many days at a time. Sickness was rampant among the people living in the tunnels, especially malaria, which was the second largest cause of death next to battle wounds."
I spent approximately two minutes in the tunnel and that certainly was enough! Now back to the heat. In February temperatures are in the 30s. Later in the year the heat builds up. Imagine American troops operating in full combat gear and carrying weapons in temperatures over 40 degrees. It is all beyond the imagination. It must have been a living hell.
The whole experience made me want to learn more about the conflict.
Returned to the hotel and after a shower had a long walk to a restaurant where the food was average. At the end four of us caught a taxi back to the hotel. The driver got lost and seemed to have no idea where he was going. We eventually got there by showing him how to use his sat nav!!! Even taking into account the addiitional distance the trip was ridiculously cheap - about £1.50 for all four of us. We didn't give him a tip.
Throughout today's entry I would like to quote the lyrics of a Joan Baez song. Actually it's not so much a song as a 20-minute plus epic. The song originally took up the whole of one side of an LP. For the youngsters in the group, that's a Long Player in the days of vinyl that now seem to be returning. The piece is entitled "Where Are You Now My Son?" and the album has the same name. It was released in 1973. It is hard to describe the track. It was recorded during a United States bombing raid on Hanoi over Christmas 1972. We have long left Hanoi and I did think about including the song in the entry for our time in Hanoi or even Hue, but it seemed more relevant on the day that we visited the jungle and the Cu Chi Tunnels.
The piece of music is part song, part talking, but in the background are the genuine sounds of the air raids. This is contemporaneous reportage within the parameters of music!
It's walking to the battleground that always makes me cry
I've met so few folks in my time who weren't afraid to die
But dawn bleeds with the people here and morning skies are red
As young girls load up bicycles with flowers for the dead
An aging woman picks along the craters and the rubble
A piece of cloth, a bit of shoe, a whole lifetime of trouble
A sobbing chant comes from her throat and splits the morning air
The single son she had last night is buried under her
They say that the war is done
Where are you now, my son?
An old man with unsteady gait and beard of ancient white
Bent to the ground with arms outstretched faltering in his plight
I took his hand to steady him, he stood and did not turn
But smiled and wept and bowed and mumbled softly, "Danke shoen"
The children on the roadsides of the villages and towns
Would stand around us laughing as we stood like giant clowns
The mourning bands told whom they'd lost by last night's phantom messenger
And they spoke their only words in English, "Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger"
Now that the war's being won
Where are you now, my son?
The siren gives a running break to those who live in town
Take the children and the blankets to the concrete underground
Sometimes we'd sing and joke and paint bright pictures on the wall
And wonder if we would die well and if we'd loved at all
The helmetless defiant ones sit on the curb and stare
At tracers flashing through the sky and planes bursting in air
But way out in the villages no warning comes before a blast
That means a sleeping child will never make it to the door
The days of our youth were fun
Where are you now, my son?
From the distant cabins in the sky where no man hears the sound
Of death on earth from his own bombs, six pilots were shot down
Next day six hulking bandaged men were dazzled by a room
Of newsmen. Sally keep the faith, let's hope this war ends soon
In a damaged prison camp where they no longer had command
They shook their heads, what irony, we thought peace was at hand
The preacher read a Christmas prayer and the men kneeled on the ground
Then sheepishly asked me to sing "They Drove Old Dixie Down"
Yours was the righteous gun
Where are you now, my son?
We gathered in the lobby celebrating Chrismas Eve
The French, the Poles, the Indians, Cubans and Vietnamese
The tiny tree our host had fixed sweetened familiar psalms
But the most sacred of Christmas prayers was shattered by the bombs
So back into the shelter where two lovely women rose
And with a brilliance and a fierceness and a gentleness which froze
The rest of us to silence as their voices soared with joy
Outshining every bomb that fell that night upon Hanoi
With bravery we have sun
But where are you now, my son?
Oh people of the shelters what a gift you've given me
To smile at me and quietly let me share your agony
And I can only bow in utter humbleness and ask
Forgiveness and forgiveness for the things we've brought to pass
The black pyjama'd culture that we tried to kill with pellet holes
And rows of tiny coffins we've paid for with our souls
Have built a spirit seldom seen in women and in men
And the white flower of Bac Mai will surely blossom once again
I've heard that the war is done
Then where are you now, my son?
There are probably many songs written about the Vietnam war but that's the one that stands out for me, along with the number one song 19 by Paul Hardcastle:
In 1965, Vietnam seemed like just another foreign war
But it wasn't, it was different in many ways
As so were those who did the fighting
In World War II
The average age of the combat soldier was twenty-six
In Vietnam, he was nineteen
In Vietnam, he was nineteen
In Vietnam, he was nineteen
In Vietnam, he was nineteen
N-n-n-n-nineteen
The heaviest fighting of the past two weeks
Continued today twenty-five miles northwest of Saigon
I really wasn't sure what was going on
N-n-n-n-nineteen, nineteen
N-nineteen, nineteen
In Vietnam
The combat soldier typically served a twelve-month tour of duty
But was exposed to hostile fire almost every day
N-n-n-n-nineteen
N-n-n-n-nineteen
In Saigon
A US military spokesman said today
More than 700 enemy troops were killed last week
In that sensitive border area
In all of South Vietnam
The enemy lost a total of 2,689 soldiers
All those who remember the war
They won't forget what they've seen
Destruction of men in their prime
Whose average was nineteen
D-d-d-d-d-destruction
D-d-d-d-d-destruction
According to a Veteran's Administration study
Half of the Vietnam combat veterans suffered
From what psychiatrists call
Post-traumatic stress disorder
Many vets complain of alienation, rage, or guilt
Some succumb to suicidal thoughts
Eight to ten years after coming home
Almost eight-hundred-thousand men
Are still fighting the Vietnam War
None of them received
A hero's welcome
S-S-S-S-S-Saigon
Nineteen, S-S-S-S-Saigon
N-n-n-n-n-nineteen
* * *
Today started at 3 a.m. with a quick pack and then bus trip to Danang Airport for the flight to Ho Chi Minh. I still prefer to call it Saigon as apparently many of the locals do. It was only just over an hour's flight from Hoi An to Saigon. We had another boutique (i.e small) hotel with boutique (i.e small) bedrooms.
Matthieu led a walking tour of the centre of the city. It was very hot and we had just an hour at the Vietnam War Museum. In desperate need of coffee, we spent too long drinking, not realising that the museum was spread over three floors. So we had too little time. What we did see was harrowing enough - the results of the war, which has to be one of the most futile in the history of the human race. To have done the museum justice would have taken a good three hours. On the way out I bought a book on the war from a gentleman with only stumps for arms - a result probably of Agent Orange. Oh what we do to our fellow man.
It was a swift tour of the cathedral and post office (interesting architecture). I was already impressed by what I had seen of the city. On the way back to the hotel we had some food at a noodle bar. Simon from our party sat in the seat occupied by President Bill Clinton, who dined there many years ago. It must be strange to be famous and have virtually everywhere you have eaten in the world immortalised with plaques and photographs. No big deal for you, but a big deal and selling point for the various eating places.
At 1 p.m we set off for the Cu Chi Tunnels - one of the highlights of the trip - although highlights is probably not the right word to use but I'm sure you know what I mean.
Our guide Mr Hi was a war veteran who fought alongside the Americans against the Vietcong. He gave an interesting slant on the war from an American/South Vietnamese perspective:
"How could the Americans fight a war when they could never be sure who they were fighting? I am Vietnamese, the enemy were Vietnamese. We all look the same," he said on a number of occasions pointing to his face and breaking into a rather scary smile.
I and many others were suffering in the heat, which was an important factor in visualising what was in front of us. What was in front of us was a wilderness of jungle. It was easy to see in your mind the shadows of the soldiers, the traps awaiting. This was quintessential Vietnam jungle - frightening even now in peacetime. The noise of gunfire in the distance made it even more eerie. The gunfire came from a firing range where weapons from the war could be discharged (at a price of course). One of the tunnels is open to the public. It's about 100 yards long but there are exits every 25 yards.
I had intended going the whole 100 yards but changed my mind after the first 25. How would I describe the tunnels. They were hot, they were claustrophobic, hugely uncomfortable. Even at 5ft 6in I couldn't stand up in them. Apparently they are wider than the original tunnels - extended slightly to take account of western size.
A little research into the tunnels and matters get even more frightening. The Cu Chi were used by Viet Cong soldiers to hide during combat, as well as serving as communication and supply routes, hospitals, food and weapon caches and living quarters for numerous North Vietnamese fighters. The tunnel systems were of great importance to the Viet Cong in their resistance to American forces, and helped to counter the growing American military effort. And all that in tunnels just a few feet wide. The tunnels stretched 75 miles and according to Wikipedia:
"Air, food and water were scarce and the tunnels were infested with ants, poisonous centipedes, scorpions, spiders and vermin. Most of the time, soldiers would spend the day in the tunnels working or resting and come out only at night to scavenge for supplies, tend their crops, or engage the enemy in battle. Sometimes, during periods of heavy bombing or American troop movement, they would be forced to remain underground for many days at a time. Sickness was rampant among the people living in the tunnels, especially malaria, which was the second largest cause of death next to battle wounds."
I spent approximately two minutes in the tunnel and that certainly was enough! Now back to the heat. In February temperatures are in the 30s. Later in the year the heat builds up. Imagine American troops operating in full combat gear and carrying weapons in temperatures over 40 degrees. It is all beyond the imagination. It must have been a living hell.
The whole experience made me want to learn more about the conflict.
Returned to the hotel and after a shower had a long walk to a restaurant where the food was average. At the end four of us caught a taxi back to the hotel. The driver got lost and seemed to have no idea where he was going. We eventually got there by showing him how to use his sat nav!!! Even taking into account the addiitional distance the trip was ridiculously cheap - about £1.50 for all four of us. We didn't give him a tip.
Day Eleven - Wednesday 17th February
Much of today was spent on the Mekon Delta - probably needed the relaxation of being on the water after the heavy historical aspect of yesterday. We piled onto a small and rather rickety boat and called at a number of islands - all beautifully geared up for the tourist.
So in no particular order we watched the making of coconut candies, held a honeycomb full of bees (who we were told wouldn't sting - and they didn't), held a python, viewed a typical house, listened to some typical Vietnamese folk songs (all sounding like somebody screetching), held a python, had some rice wine and a few other things that seem to have been lost in the mists of time.
On our final stop we had a horse and cart ride and then a small four person boat down to a restaurant where the set menu turned out to be good and excellent value, although I didn't go a great deal on the fish whose meat was stripped off in front of us.
Matthieu was leading another group meal in the evening but this time we decided to duck out as we had seen very little of Saigon. So we went on a very long walk to have a look at the city. Firstly we found a pizza restaurant where the staff were very attentive/ Then it was evening markets and the same old same old. One of the main problems came in the fact that the roads weren't cordoned off and there were scooters everywhere, making any attempt to cross the road or look at the merchandise difficult.
We wound our way round to the massively long pedestrianised drag with the statue of Ho Chi Minh at one end and goodness knows who at the other as it was just too long to walk all the way. So instead we got rid of all our remaining Dong by having a smoothie at a cafe. By the time we had done that we were pretty much wiped out of Vietnamese cash, so it was a case of walking back to the hotel. It was a long walk but at least we didn't get lost.
Much of today was spent on the Mekon Delta - probably needed the relaxation of being on the water after the heavy historical aspect of yesterday. We piled onto a small and rather rickety boat and called at a number of islands - all beautifully geared up for the tourist.
So in no particular order we watched the making of coconut candies, held a honeycomb full of bees (who we were told wouldn't sting - and they didn't), held a python, viewed a typical house, listened to some typical Vietnamese folk songs (all sounding like somebody screetching), held a python, had some rice wine and a few other things that seem to have been lost in the mists of time.
On our final stop we had a horse and cart ride and then a small four person boat down to a restaurant where the set menu turned out to be good and excellent value, although I didn't go a great deal on the fish whose meat was stripped off in front of us.
Matthieu was leading another group meal in the evening but this time we decided to duck out as we had seen very little of Saigon. So we went on a very long walk to have a look at the city. Firstly we found a pizza restaurant where the staff were very attentive/ Then it was evening markets and the same old same old. One of the main problems came in the fact that the roads weren't cordoned off and there were scooters everywhere, making any attempt to cross the road or look at the merchandise difficult.
We wound our way round to the massively long pedestrianised drag with the statue of Ho Chi Minh at one end and goodness knows who at the other as it was just too long to walk all the way. So instead we got rid of all our remaining Dong by having a smoothie at a cafe. By the time we had done that we were pretty much wiped out of Vietnamese cash, so it was a case of walking back to the hotel. It was a long walk but at least we didn't get lost.
Day Twelve - Thursday 18th February
Today we said goodbye to Vietnam and travelled to Cambodia. It meant another early start and this time we were on a local bus, although our party had seats booked in the front section. It took two hours to get to the border. Vietnam has been an interesting and intriguing country but one where tourism is threatening to swamp. I doubt whether we will return, having seen most of the things we set out to see.
The border formalities were slightly annoying. A lot of standing around, a lot of giving our passports up, getting our passports again, giving them up again. The result was a Cambodian Visa at a cost of $35 each - in other words a good money making exercise for the Cambodian Government. We had to fill a form out to get out of Vietnam and another to get into Cambodia.
Just over the border we made a pit stop where the food was pretty grotty. First views of Cambodia were rather strange. There was an area of nomansland which was dominated by large buildings and casinos. It was an interesting journey to the capital of Cambodi - Pnom Penh. Apparently they have been working on the approcah road for sometime but it still seems to be a mess of dust and nose to nose traffic. At least this time our hotel room was spacious.
We only had a 45 minute break before going out again. This time it was a cyclo ride through the city. It would have been pleasant apart from two things - the heat and the smog from rush hour traffic. At least somebody was pedalling for us, but my guy seemed to have a nasty cough, which wasn't really surprising. We were taken to most of the relevant sites as we weaved in and out of an insane amount of traffic. Was quite glad to get to our final destination - the waterfront area where we found a rooftop bar to watch the sunset. But this wasn't any old bar as Matthieu was quick to point out to me.
(to be continued)
Today we said goodbye to Vietnam and travelled to Cambodia. It meant another early start and this time we were on a local bus, although our party had seats booked in the front section. It took two hours to get to the border. Vietnam has been an interesting and intriguing country but one where tourism is threatening to swamp. I doubt whether we will return, having seen most of the things we set out to see.
The border formalities were slightly annoying. A lot of standing around, a lot of giving our passports up, getting our passports again, giving them up again. The result was a Cambodian Visa at a cost of $35 each - in other words a good money making exercise for the Cambodian Government. We had to fill a form out to get out of Vietnam and another to get into Cambodia.
Just over the border we made a pit stop where the food was pretty grotty. First views of Cambodia were rather strange. There was an area of nomansland which was dominated by large buildings and casinos. It was an interesting journey to the capital of Cambodi - Pnom Penh. Apparently they have been working on the approcah road for sometime but it still seems to be a mess of dust and nose to nose traffic. At least this time our hotel room was spacious.
We only had a 45 minute break before going out again. This time it was a cyclo ride through the city. It would have been pleasant apart from two things - the heat and the smog from rush hour traffic. At least somebody was pedalling for us, but my guy seemed to have a nasty cough, which wasn't really surprising. We were taken to most of the relevant sites as we weaved in and out of an insane amount of traffic. Was quite glad to get to our final destination - the waterfront area where we found a rooftop bar to watch the sunset. But this wasn't any old bar as Matthieu was quick to point out to me.
(to be continued)