The Mekong Delta (incl Saigon and Phu Quoc Island) Dec 3-12, 2009
We land in Saigon having been pre-warned it’s chaotic in a way that makes Hanoi look like a German nunnery. Fortunately with expectations as low as they were, we rather liked it. Yes the streets are especially thick with traffic, but they are emblematic of Vietnam—chaotic, anachronistic, a free for all, intense, spontaneous, intimidating, make shift, dangerous but somehow workable (we never saw an accident though people drive within inches of one another). But there are sidewalks, and by now navigating the projectiles of motorbikes is less of a culture shock. A sunset swim in an outdoor olympic size pool didn’t hurt either. Stayed at Tai Han Long Hotel, great locale and room, indifferent and unhelpfful staff ($40 deluxe room after discount). Also in Saigon we have a final meal with Hilco and Jessica, two Dutch travellers who’ve occasionally shadowed us (or was it us them?) since Hanoi. Two more good mates we hope to see again.
Hilco and Jessica:
At the War Remnants Museum, we met an American vet Stu, who’d piloted an H1 chopper for 22months during the war. Before he dies, he wanted to return to Vinh Long where he’d been based 40years ago. Full of bittersweet memories and nostalgia, he gave an informed tour of the $5billion worth of equipment left behind by the Americans, life in the trenches, or in his case in the air, and the insanity of the times. He added further contex to the Museum which was clearly slanted (eg use of words ‘patriot’, revolutionary’, ”massacre’, etc..). A more poignant museum guide could not have been found. Thanks Stu.
Also among this busiest of all Museums, are striking photos of victims of masacres, and chemical warfare. Apparently up to 2mill locals were affected ny napalm, Agent Orange, etc. Shocking and appalling visible evidence is everywhere on the streets and in the country as severe burns, and deformed and mishaped limbs just don’t heal.
War Remnants Museum:
We also took in the 1960ish Presidential Palace, since renamed Reunification or Independence Palace. You may recall in April 30, 1975 the Viet Cong tanks crashing through the wrought iron gates and officially ending the war. The Palace is like touring the Diefenbunker with mah jong tables as it was the headquarters for the dying South Vietnam government and it’s last President. Nowadays a tour will show war memorabilia, the war rooms, eerily empty 1960’s architecture with Asian touches and a framed shot of the Mrs, not Miss Universe Pageant posing within the Palace grounds. Can you imagine if the South had won?
Reunification/Presidential Palace:
Fed by one of the finest travel books we’d ever read (The River’s Tale, by Edward Gargan –a thank you to Dave Hansen for it) and some great cookbooks, the Mekong River has a special allure for us. One of the world’s great and longest river’s, like the Nile and the Yangtze, it has nourished and sustained civilizatons. While we weren’t far from its source in China more than 4000kms ago, from here we begin to trace it in reverse, from Southern Vietnam, up into Cambodia, into Lao, then Thailand.
In Vietnam you are never far from the water, but here in the south, the Mekong fans out into thousands of crisscrossing tributaries, canals and life giving arteries. Our 3 day trip involved way too much time travelling on the bus, and dull sidetrips but it is a waterworld, where whole communities live, eat, sleep and make their life on the water-literally. Floating markets, thatch roof or tin homes perched on precarious looking stilts, children climbing water buffaloes, laundry hanging off bobbing boats, fish farms everywhere, all interspaced with lush green rice paddies, tropical jungles and lively towns—it’s an unbelievably fantastical sight and sense of community.
The floating markets alone are the big draw for tourists. Three types of boats exist. The larger ones are the sellers who place atop a bamboo pole or their mast, their produce. They will stay until they sell out. The smaller boats are buyers. Even smaller boats are what we call the Quickies—purveyors of porridge, fast food rice noodles, fresh fruit, drinks. Herein lies Asian’s rice bowl and the world’s second most productive rice crops after Thailand.
This isn’t to romanticize poverty and peasantry. People don’t dance in the street or water singing the joys of their daily struggle. But from our virgin eyes, its an unpasteurized, unfiltered look at a remote way of life to us. We revel in the opportunity to slip out of our bubble and witness how most of the world lives. Most people work everyday. In the hospitality industry they work grinding, marathon hours, usually 26-28 days a month, and I don’t doubt many would trade up for what we have materially. We wouldn’t last long if the roles were reversed. Some travelers do ‘homestays’. But they appear false to me. They stay in simple but separate settings gussied up and, eat with the hosts, tour the countryside, feed the chickens, cut the mushrooms kind of thing. Then the voyeurs return whence they came. Not only are we reared on our flush toilets and consumer society, our sense of autonomy is at odds with the pronounced bonds of their family and community. Casual observers such as us might wonder how long this will go on as they race to hyper-capitalism, for in China we saw many young single people living away from parents, even in the same city.
Our tour throws in peeks at a noodle making and rice grinding factories. The locals see brown rice as undesirable, though they understand the health advantages. Why? Because it is darker. In a country where women cover up not to avoid the dust and sun, but to chase the beauty of pale skin. Dark skin is associated with menial and peasant labour, so there is a distinct colour bias.
Rice noodle making (rice paste is steamed, then dried in sun, then cut and bagged…$0.50 for 5kg):
It’s not all been passion fruits and cream. This is hard work and a long way from the lazy resorts of Cuba. By 7:30a:m the full sun begins it’s slow drain of your energy. We’ve tried to adjust our days to begin earlier, and siesta as soon as possible. But truth is, Trish hasn’t fully recovered from mild H1N1 (diagnosed by Aussie nurses) and heat is a migraine trigger. She’s not so much out of gas as she is dragging her tank along the dirt road, and we may be having side effects to the anti-malaria.
It didnt’ help that we stayed at a dive in Can Tho (Xuan Mai Hotel-$8 deluxe room, it literaly had a gaping whole in the concrete wall —I could hear a murmer of d-i-v-o-r-c-e in Trish’s voice), then we went upmarket in Rach Gia (Hoang Gia2, $11) before the 2.5hr hydrofoil to Phu Quoc Island for some much needed R&R.
The Island, which is supposedly what the islands of Thailand were before the west turned them into beach volleyball courts. But our hotel is almost completely empty of people, soul and water in the pool, the food among the worst in Nam, no wifi, and hardly a word of English is spoken. D-I-V-O-R-C-E…..But their beach is the nicest along Long Beach, our clean suite is massive, they eventually fill the pool, and we find decent food and internet down the beach. Soon after, the local tour groups start to invade and the karaoke begins.
We laze around for 5 days, barely venturing out except to eat next door where the chef and owner understand local and fusion cooking. Our simplest pleasures are lazing about, clam digging with the locals, pushing fishing boats stuck on sandbars, scattering crabs on the beach with the flashlight..We rent a motorbike and Trish breaks all island speed records as we barrel along the red dusted roads to Bai Thom, a remote beach.
Phu Quoc Island:
Except for a quick flight back to Saigon and the $14 bus ride to Phnom Penh the same day, Vietnam is over for us. We can’t say we know it and understand it. Some of our mates didn’t care for it, others return again and again. Aging, overweight,single white males especially. It’s a feminists’ nitemare. Through the dust and haze of middle age wanderlust, we’re sure many would see the women as virgins on horseback (or bicycles/motorbikes) and many such blokes do cash in, cliche and all. It’s an arrangement of mutual benefit, even if economic disparity drives the female. One Canadian we me though, a very nice man–very fit actually, was touring up with a beautiful local. Neither could speak the other’s language much, except the language of the heart. He dropped a grand to build a brick home for her family—a huge deal. Everybody’s happy.
So we leave Vietnam not entirely sure of it all. It had the unfortunate role of following China. Still, visually it’s a feast, psychologically it’s a roller coaster. Perhaps it’s visceral as the gut not only wrestles with the food but the annoyances. At the border to Cambodia I realize the bus driver has bilked us of $8. I lose it. It’s as if 4 weeks of getting played has culminated in this one moment and out of principle I go head to head with the 3 bus staff. I’m in their face and Trish is terrified. I dog them throughout the border stop and dinner break. I calm down and offer the driver a smoke (which are packed for such occasions) and offer a compromise so no one loses face. He returns $4, but we don’t look back as we leave Vietnam.
Favourite Food:
Carmel Fish at Paris Beach Hotel and Restaurant, next to our beach hotel, Thai Binh Duong, so lip smacking good we had it 3 times.
Fried cuttlefish in fermented soya sauce at some ramshackle, beach side tin shack on Bai Thom Beach. Yummmmm…..ok, our stomachs cramped for days thereafter but anything could’ve caused it.
Favourite Translation:
From our unhospitable hotel in Phu Quoc…
“With attendant personnel squadron professionally, fervor, thoughtfull to will make excursionist gratification.”
