Seasons on the Move

Hanoi – September 25

We got off the bus reeking like the B.O. blankets and our bodies full of cramps from the night’s sleep. Despite being uncomfortable and a smelly, the fare for the bus was worth more than what we would have paid had we traveled by train.

After finding a hotel, we went to the Indian embassy to try and obtain our visas. In a week, we were due to arrive in Mumbai. The application was a painless process. The man who processed our visas inquired with Fabiola about immigrating to Canada. He also seemed entralled that Fab was from Mexico. Throughout our trip, Fab has been somewhat of a novelty. Apparently, not many Mexicans travel the way we have been traveling. Her passport is always a source of fascination for people.

We tried to walk back to our hotel, but got lost. The map we the hotel gave us added to our confusion. However, we did pass by the Hanoi Hilton, an actual Hilton hotel, not the infamous prison for American POWs. After a lot of backtracking and squabbling, we found the hotel. I made some comment about men having a better sense of direction than women. Fab did not take kindly to this comment.

Hue to Hanoi – September 24

We went to the Citadel mid-morning, another one of Vietnam’s UNESCO World Heritage sites. Hue was the capital of Vietnam, at least in name, until 1945 and the Citadel was the center of the government. The city was also the main battleground for the Tet Offensive (other fighting occured in Saigon and in other major South Vietnam cities) in 1968. After the Tet Offensive, Hue was held by the communists for a few days, the only South Vietnam city during the war that they controlled. Something I didn’t know: the Vietnam portion of Stanley Kubrick’s “Full Metal Jacket” takes place in Hue and the Citadel.

Fab and I walked around the Citadel grounds for a couple of hours, taking our time and enjoying the peace it provided from the noise of the city. The site was basically destroyed during the Tet Offensive. There were pock marks from bullets on most of the walls within the compound while other portions of the site were completely levelled by mortars.

After bidding farewell to Lan, we boarded the sleeper bus to Hanoi. The bus consisted of 3/4 reclined bunk beds and televisions projecting Vietnamese music videos. The beds were cramped, but much more comfortable than I had expected. The bed sheets were a different story. It took me a moment to realize where the smell was coming from, but after snuggling up, I found that the odour was not from my armpits or feet, but rather from the blanket. I tried my best to take shallow breaths for the rest of the evening.

The DMZ - September 23

During the ride out to Dong Ha, where we were scheduled to pick up our tour guide, the driver, Quang, blasted synthesized instrumental versions of 1960’s pop music over the van’s distorted speakers. The songs were strung together like some bizarro karaoke medley. Quang eyed us in the rear view mirror as he smoked cigarettes and sucked coffee out of a small plastic bag with a straw. Lan rode shotgun and did his best to communicate to our non-English speaker driver through hand signals.

Our guide, Yien, a middle aged man with long salt and pepper hair and a toothless grin, grew up near the DMZ. He was seventeen when the war ended which meant that he narrowly avoided being drafted by the South Vietnamese Army. His brother was a lieutenant who fought for the south and, after the war ended, was sent for re-education. I asked Yien if he knew of any VC in his village during the war. His response: “Of course, everyone did, but we never said anything because if we did we would have been killed.” On a side note, the term “VC” or ”Viet Cong” is actually a derogatory term for a communist similar to the English language usage of “pinko” or “commie”.

After we left Dong Ha, we headed east on Highway 9 toward the Laotian border. Our first stop was at The Rockpile, a Marine Corps lookout that Yien said constantly shelled the area throughout the war. Nothing remained at the sight except for, well, a pile of rocks. Then we headed to Dakrong Bridge, significant because on the other side of the bridge was part of the Ho Chi Minh trail, now a paved highway leading to the border.

Next up was the Khe Sahn Combat Base. On January 21, 1968 there was a 75 day siege on the base that laid waste to 500 US soldiers, 10,000 North Vietnamese troops and god knows how many civilians. The soil around the area is, to this day, still unusuable due to the napalm, white-phosphorus shells and mortars that were used during the fight. The interesting part of the bloody battle was that it was a decoy by the NVA to draw attention away from the forthcoming Tet Offensive. At Khe Sahn, the American military was prepared for the fight. The Tet Offensive, however, caught them off guard.

Around the compound there were downed American helicopters and re-created sand bag bunkers. A quaint musuem displayed communist propaganda and various small arms used by the NVA in defeating the “American Imperialists”. Outside the musuem, a young Vietnamese man tried to sell me American dog-tags and North Vietnamese combat medals, all of which Yien maintained were real. I had my doubts.

When we completed the sights along Highway 9, we turned around and retreated back to Highway 1 which lead north to the DMZ. On the way, Lan asked Yien, “So, when the Chinese invaded after the war, you guys kicked their fucking ass, right?” Yien replied and nodded with a toothless smirk, “Of course.” Lan followed up by asked Yien if the Vietnamese people felt abandoned after the US pulled out. “No,” Yien said confidently, “we felt liberated.” He went on, “Only the people in the cities, mostly Saigon, felt abandoned and that was because they made money off of the Americans. To us, living out in the country, we had nothing. You have to understand, Vietnam belongs to the Vietnamese. All through our history we have had many foreign countries interfere. We have defeated them all.”  

Yien also told us that Vietnam had been at war for over forty years, starting with the Japanese invasion during World War II, continuing with the French shortly thereafter, then the Americans, Cambodians and Chinese. It was not until 1986 that Vietnam had some sembelence of peace.

The DMZ itself was not much to look at, just a large swath of green land dividing what used to be North and South Vietnam. Yien informed me that before the war with the Americans had started, Canada had peace keeping troops patrolling the area. Once the Americans arrived, he said, Canada left.   

As we continued on to the Vinh Moc tunnels, Lan began to run off his mouth. The man was a walking contridiction. He would say things like:

(To Fabiola) – So would you be considered a spic?

Fabiola: That’s a derogatory term.

Lan: I know, but who would you consider a spic? I mean, you don’t look like a spic. I mean, I would never have guessed that you were from Mexico.

Fabiola: You’d better ask someone who uses words like that, not me.

OR

(To both Fab and I)

My friend has this Filipino girlfriend and she told me before I came that I should watch out for the Vietnamese because they were no better than niggers. Personally, I don’t see it. I think the Vietnamese are basically nice people.

OR 

Abu Ghraib? Big deal. That type of shit happens during fraternity hazings all the time back in the US.

Then he would say stuff like:

Our country is completely unable to learn from its mistakes. I mean, look at our history. We haven’t learned shit.

OR

I wish more Americans would travel outside our country, that way we could get some perspective on why the world views us the way they do. It’s just that our government makes us fear other people.

The Vinh Moc tunnels were frightening. Not because the tunnels were dark and claustrophobic, but because people actually lived in them for years. There are 2.8km of tunnels at Vinh Moc, some more than 50m underground. Inside the tunnels there were living quarters, a meeting room, a kitchen, a medic room and even a room for watching films about the war’s progress.

We spent close to a half hour underground and that was more than enough for me. Ten years? I tell you, after spending a couple weeks in Vietnam, these people are tough motherfuckers.  

Hoi An to Hue – September 22

Our clothing was delivered to the hotel just after 7am. We had a quick breakfast and then got on the bus bound for Hue, an approximately four hour trip. Not surprisingly, the bus stopped after an hour of travel time so we could patronize a cafe. Forced pit stops at restaurants are a staple of South East Asian travel.

We arrived in Hue and were met with a torrential downpour. The rain we had been lucky enough to avoid so far on our trip had caught up with us over the past week. While Fab went to rest in the hotel room, I braved the storm and headed out to try and book a tour to the DMZ the following day. Accompanying me was Lan, an good ole boy from Pensacola, Florida. We had met in the hotel reception and found that we both wanted to go on a tour with small group of people rather than a large package tour. Lan, whose full name is Lancaster, had come to Vietnam with the sole purpose of visiting the DMZ. He was the type of guy who worships guns, loves his country but hates his government, and thinks killing stuff is awesome. He had even went as far as to get a VC uniform tailor made in Hoi An. Despite his brash exterior, he was a nice guy who, like a lot of Americans, simply doesn’t edit what comes out of his mouth.

Lan initially wanted to book a tour with an ex-VC soldier, but this proved to be too difficult. Instead, we settled on a experienced tour guide who lived through the war in the DMZ area. However, we did manage to get a personal mini-bus for the day for just the three of us.  

Hoi An – September 21

Fab and I took the bus out to My Son in the morning, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. My Son was the religious and intellectual centre of the Kingdom of Champa, lasting from about the 4th to the 13th Century. The Chams, like the inhabitants Angkor, absorbed  Indian influences through trade, something that can be seen in their art, architecture and use of Sanskrit.

The site is divided up into different groups, most of which were leveled during the war. I wasn’t all that impressed by My Son mostly because I had only recently been to Angkor. It was also much smaller than I had imagined. The one thing My Son has over Angkor is its setting. The temples are set near the base of Cat’s Tooth Mountain and the surrounding area is flush with rolling hills and cascading streams.    

Upon returning to Hoi An, we went directly to the tailor. Luckily, Long Silk had made all the changes I requested. Both jackets were saved. Actually, the revival of one of the jackets was nothing short of a fucking miracle. Over at Impressions, Fab’s stuff had been honed to perfection. While she was trying on the clothes for final approval, I had a lapse of better judgement and asked to get another suit made. I am not sure why I did this, I have worn a suit exactly four times over the past four years. I think I may have a sickness. I used to get sick like this often, usually inside of a record shop. There is something about all the shiny vinyl and colourful album art that makes me lose my mind. In my defense, the owner of Impressions said she would give me three tailored shirts, one suit along and a silk tie for $100. I thought it was a good deal. Apparently, so did she and told me she would deliver it to my hotel at 7am the next morning.

Hoi An – September 20

In the morning, we went to Long Silk for the final fittings for my jackets. Total disaster. One of the jackets was cut like a suit jacket, complete with shoulder pads. Where I wanted it to be loose and casual, the jacket was stiff and formal. The other jacket was not nearly as bad. The interior lining was a work of art, but the collar was grotesque. When turned upwards, the corners barely reached the back of my ears. I asked for a number of changes to be made. When I walked out of the store I was covered with sweat, partly from trying on heavy jackets in tropical weather and partly out of panic for the money I had spent the day before.

To make the day worse, the wedding bands we bought turned our fingers red overnight. The jeweller was perplexed as to why this had happened. She figured that it was residue from the polish they had used so she asked one of her employees to buff the rings again. We left with the gleaming rings back on our fingers and the promise that if the same thing happened again, the owner of the shop would refund our money.

Our return trip to Impressions redeemed our spirits. My suit was cut perfectly and I looked perfect in it. Fab’s clothes needed some minor adjustments, but were otherwise great. The tailor took some additional measurements and then sent us off, asking us to return the next morning.

To finish off the night, we dined on a rooftop patio overlooking the river. The restaurant was a popular little bistro specializing in French cuisine. I bitched and complained about my jackets while Fab nodded and tried her best to sympathize.

Danang to Hoi An – September 19

When we arrived in Danang in the morning, we grabbed a cab to Hoi An (the train does not stop in Hoi An). We shared the taxi with a group of people. Fab spent the ride gabbing with a woman from Spain, whose name we never got, and her husband from England. They were like a European version of ourselves.

After settling into our hotel, a gorgeous little place with laquered wood panneling and a pool in the center courtyard, we walked into town to check out the shops. Hoi An is renowned for its tailors. Indeed, the town is crammed full of them. In fact, I would venture to say that tailoring is the number one source of income in Hoi An. You literally cannot find a block in the Old Quarter that does not have at least one tailoring shop.

We were recommended one place, Long Silk, by the lady at the hotel reception. She told us that we should go there if we wanted good value for our money. She also told us to stay away from Impressions Boutique because, she said, people were always complaining about the clothes they had gotten made there. So, on the advice of the receptionist, we went to Long Silk to get the biggest bang out of our buck, or in this case, the biggest ding for our dong.

After some consideration, I decided to get two jackets made at Long Silk, one for the spring and one for the fall. In hindsight, I should have only had one jacket made, but the prospect of choosing the colour and style of my own jackets, not to mention having the jackets tailor made, was far too enticing. Fab, on the other hand, wasn’t all that impressed with the variety of textiles available at Long Silk. She decided to wait and mull over her options.

Later on, we ran into a group of Irish girls that we had met on a train in China. They told us that they had a few items made at Impressions Boutique and that the clothes were amazing. They highly recommended the place to Fabiola if she wanted to get a dress made. We had a brief lunch along the riverfront and then went to Impressions.

Compared to Long Silk, the employees at Impressions were seasoned pros. The woman who ran the shop sat us both down (she saw us coming from a mile away) and asked us what we were thinking about getting made. Following our admissions, she made some recommendations based on our body types, all the while charming us with her compliments. We felt pampered and being pampered felt good. I could feel my wallet trembling in my rear pocket.

I got on famously with the shop owner. We traded jibes and joked about her salesmanship. The one thing that I appreciated was her honesty about different fabrics. “Will not look good on you”, “Too expensive for you”, “Does not feel nice on the skin”, “Does not go with your complexion” etc. In the end, I decided to have a cashmere suit made. Fab had a couple of shirts, a pair of pants and a jacket made. Indulgent? You bet. I think we simply got caught up in joy of designing our own wardrobe. Like Hong Kong before, we were afflicted with a case of shopping fever.

At night, we walked through the Old Quarter, all powdered purples and pastel yellows, colours of past glory now worn away to a more refined grandeur. The area was lit up with lamps that cast a soft yellow glow over the cobbled stone streets, cafes and patisseries. Earlier in the day, we bought new silver wedding bands (I lost my original ring) so we had dinner by candle light alongside the river to celebrate. Very romantic.

Nha Trang to Danang – September 18

Fab and I spent the day bumming around town. The train tickets we had secured the night before were booked incorrectly so we got our money back and decided to do it ourselves. I hopped on the back of a motorcycle and paid a visit to the train station in person to straighten out the mess.

The train ended up leaving a half-hour late. When we boarded the train, we found a family of seven crammed into our cabin even though it contained only four berths. After some confusion, the family moved having obviously assumed that our beds were vacant. When we climbed onto our top bunks, we found the sheets twisted and wet with sweat. Truth be told, we felt a little uneasy asking the family to move. Its more difficult than you would think kicking a grandmother off of your bed. It felt as though we were border guards apprehending a group of stowaways.

The remained of the night was spent bouncing from side to side on the bed as the train bucked and churned its way up the coast. Surprisingly, both Fab and I had a wonderful night’s sleep.

Nha Trang – September 17

I awoke with a mild hangover, a terrible sinus infection and a severe sore throat. The night before, I had walked around in the rain in my flip flops. When I got back to the hotel my hair was wet and the AC was cranked. I’m sure the half dozen beer didn’t help either. I spent the day feeling sorry for myself and drifting in and out of sleep.

At night, I felt a little better so I dragged my ass to a travel agency to try and arrange for our departure north to Hoi An, an old colonial trading port, the next day. After securing a couple berths on the night train, we returned to the hotel and watched “Mercury Rising” on HBO. Seriously, has there been another actor in the history of Hollywood that has played a law enforcement agent more frequently than Bruce Willis? 

Nha Trang – September 16

The train rolled to a stop in Nha Trang, the beach capital of Vietnam, a little after six in the morning. As per usual in Vietnam, the city was already up and at it. We hired a cab, actually a train conductor and his jeep, to take us to find a hotel. We looked at a couple and ended up choosing the more expensive of the two because it offered free breakfast in bed.

After a quick nap to shake the night on the train, we headed down to the beach. Compared with Malaysia and Thailand, the beach was sub-par. The sand itself was okay and the thatched beach huts were a nice addition, but the water was filthy. Among the things I saw churning in the surf: styrofoam cups, banana peels, plastic bottles and rubber gloves.

We opted to stay out of the water and soak in some sun. We rented a couple of reclining beach chair, a hut and kicked back. Luckily, the hut belonged to a micro-brewery that served up unique beer. I had a pilsner that tasted of lemongrass and ginger while Fab had an ale that was flavored with coriander and lime. To top off the afternoon, we bought a five pound lobster from a female vendor on the beach. The woman cooked it for us on a make shift grill and provided us with a metal tray and dipping sauce. Total cost: $6.

At night Fab and I bought some beer to celebrate Mexican Indepence Day. We hung out in our hotel room and amused ourselves with our wittiness. We got more witty as the night progressed.