Friday, December 26, 2008
The lost boys
We left Luang Prabang via slow boat to the Laos-Thailand border on December 19. Our journey along the Mekong River spanned two days, with an overnight stop at the tiny, generator-powered town of Pak Beng.
Arriving finally at the Lao border town of Huay Xai past sunset, we spent our last night in Laos at a very good, and surprisingly well-priced, restaurant -- after I’d had my requisite hot shower, of course.
Early the next morning, we were ferried across the Mekong River towards Chiang Khong in Thailand. As we approached the immigration post, Jim and I caught sight of two Argentinean girls, each struggling to drag a backpack, suitcase, and duffel bag up the muddy slope. I photographed the scene to document the classic example of over-packing, but soon paid my karmic dues as my camera went missing that very afternoon in Chiang Mai.
We reached Chiang Mai after a painful five hours on an overcrowded minibus, passing an incredible number of flags, images of the King, and other such patriotic displays along the way. Once in Chiang Mai, we farewelled British backpacker Nash, who we’d met on our first day on the boat and had become a reliable card-playing sixth throughout the journey.
Nestled in the mountains of Northern Thailand, the city of Chiang Mai is home to about 1 million people. Once the capital of the 13th century Lanna kingdom, modern Chiang Mai is built around a moat and defensive wall, within which are remnants of a dilapidated old city.
While it lacks the high-rise cityscape that characterises a metropolis, Chiang Mai is a decently sized, well-developed city, complete with operational traffic rules, international restaurants and franchises, and true high-speed Internet. With life in Chiang Mai costing a fraction of what it would in comparable Western cities, I could see how it had become a modern-day Isle of Circe in Mik’s and Eli’s Odysseys.
We saw Mik for the first time in several months by Chiang Mai’s busy Sunday Market. Arriving on his ‘baby’ scooter, he packed us onto a songthaew (a taxi of sorts) and checked Max, Jim and I into the very nice Baan Chinnakarn guesthouse.
THB 250 (AUD$11) per night bought us a large double room at the guesthouse that featured a hot shower, TV, bar fridge, fan, outdoor washing area, dressing table and wardrobe. An additional THB 50 would buy us wired Internet access; however Jim and I chose to dine at the neighbouring Mexican restaurant and access its wireless network from our room instead.
It is wintertime in Chiang Mai, but we wouldn’t have known it had we not seen Eli wearing a ski jacket and two pairs of trackpants to dinner on Sunday night. I, in a knee-length skirt and loose-fitting shirt, had barely thought to bring a jacket that night, and afternoons are so warm for Jim and I that we have often sought sanctuary in air-conditioned cafes.
During the lead up to Christmas, we spent our days ten-pin bowling, bar-hopping in the Old Market, playing pool and marvelling at the numerous bar girl-Farang (white-skinned foreigner) pairings at a bar called Number One, and getting our boogie on at Spicy’s, a dodgy nightclub said to be one of the few open past 2am.
On Christmas Eve, Mik, Eli, their group of young expatriate friends and Thai girlfriends introduced us to the wonders of Mookata. Held in a warehouse bustling with no less than 300 patrons, Mookata is an all-you-can-eat hot pot-cum-barbeque. Each group of two to four diners gather around a coal-heated, steel pot in and on which food is cooked, while meat, seafood, vegetables, noodles, sauces, pre-cooked entrees and desserts are displayed buffet-style on rows and rows of tables.
We met up with the same group of people for Christmas lunch, which was on a floating restaurant in the nearby national park. After lunch, Mik led Joel, Viren, Max, Jim, myself, and his girlfriend Zuki on a fireworks-shopping expedition and three-hour-long pyromania session by the Military Hotel to herald in Boxing Day.
Joel, Viren, Max, Jim and I were spending a lot of time together, and differences in personalities and lifestyles were putting a strain on the group dynamic. On Christmas night, after a particularly polarising evening and a little too much drunken ‘banter’ from the boys, I decided that I needed a little more time alone.
Meanwhile, in a hotel room not too far away, Max had made a similar decision. And so the group split into three the very next day, with Max heading to Koh Samui with two other Australian friends he had bumped into in Chiang Mai, Mik leading Joel and Viren southwards to Bangkok, and Jim and I heading straight to our New Years destination, Lonely Beach on Koh Chang.
Arriving finally at the Lao border town of Huay Xai past sunset, we spent our last night in Laos at a very good, and surprisingly well-priced, restaurant -- after I’d had my requisite hot shower, of course.
Early the next morning, we were ferried across the Mekong River towards Chiang Khong in Thailand. As we approached the immigration post, Jim and I caught sight of two Argentinean girls, each struggling to drag a backpack, suitcase, and duffel bag up the muddy slope. I photographed the scene to document the classic example of over-packing, but soon paid my karmic dues as my camera went missing that very afternoon in Chiang Mai.
We reached Chiang Mai after a painful five hours on an overcrowded minibus, passing an incredible number of flags, images of the King, and other such patriotic displays along the way. Once in Chiang Mai, we farewelled British backpacker Nash, who we’d met on our first day on the boat and had become a reliable card-playing sixth throughout the journey.
Nestled in the mountains of Northern Thailand, the city of Chiang Mai is home to about 1 million people. Once the capital of the 13th century Lanna kingdom, modern Chiang Mai is built around a moat and defensive wall, within which are remnants of a dilapidated old city.
While it lacks the high-rise cityscape that characterises a metropolis, Chiang Mai is a decently sized, well-developed city, complete with operational traffic rules, international restaurants and franchises, and true high-speed Internet. With life in Chiang Mai costing a fraction of what it would in comparable Western cities, I could see how it had become a modern-day Isle of Circe in Mik’s and Eli’s Odysseys.
We saw Mik for the first time in several months by Chiang Mai’s busy Sunday Market. Arriving on his ‘baby’ scooter, he packed us onto a songthaew (a taxi of sorts) and checked Max, Jim and I into the very nice Baan Chinnakarn guesthouse.
THB 250 (AUD$11) per night bought us a large double room at the guesthouse that featured a hot shower, TV, bar fridge, fan, outdoor washing area, dressing table and wardrobe. An additional THB 50 would buy us wired Internet access; however Jim and I chose to dine at the neighbouring Mexican restaurant and access its wireless network from our room instead.
It is wintertime in Chiang Mai, but we wouldn’t have known it had we not seen Eli wearing a ski jacket and two pairs of trackpants to dinner on Sunday night. I, in a knee-length skirt and loose-fitting shirt, had barely thought to bring a jacket that night, and afternoons are so warm for Jim and I that we have often sought sanctuary in air-conditioned cafes.
During the lead up to Christmas, we spent our days ten-pin bowling, bar-hopping in the Old Market, playing pool and marvelling at the numerous bar girl-Farang (white-skinned foreigner) pairings at a bar called Number One, and getting our boogie on at Spicy’s, a dodgy nightclub said to be one of the few open past 2am.
On Christmas Eve, Mik, Eli, their group of young expatriate friends and Thai girlfriends introduced us to the wonders of Mookata. Held in a warehouse bustling with no less than 300 patrons, Mookata is an all-you-can-eat hot pot-cum-barbeque. Each group of two to four diners gather around a coal-heated, steel pot in and on which food is cooked, while meat, seafood, vegetables, noodles, sauces, pre-cooked entrees and desserts are displayed buffet-style on rows and rows of tables.
We met up with the same group of people for Christmas lunch, which was on a floating restaurant in the nearby national park. After lunch, Mik led Joel, Viren, Max, Jim, myself, and his girlfriend Zuki on a fireworks-shopping expedition and three-hour-long pyromania session by the Military Hotel to herald in Boxing Day.
Joel, Viren, Max, Jim and I were spending a lot of time together, and differences in personalities and lifestyles were putting a strain on the group dynamic. On Christmas night, after a particularly polarising evening and a little too much drunken ‘banter’ from the boys, I decided that I needed a little more time alone.
Meanwhile, in a hotel room not too far away, Max had made a similar decision. And so the group split into three the very next day, with Max heading to Koh Samui with two other Australian friends he had bumped into in Chiang Mai, Mik leading Joel and Viren southwards to Bangkok, and Jim and I heading straight to our New Years destination, Lonely Beach on Koh Chang.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Finding Neverland
When we arrived in the tiny town centre of Vang Vieng, I was somewhat bewildered by the numerous, deserted restaurants and guesthouses that lined the streets. It seemed the town was all geared up for a party, but guests had yet to arrive.
It wasn’t until the next afternoon that we discovered where the hundreds of Vang Vieng backpackers spent their time: in ‘tubes’ on the Nam Song river.
Tubing is an activity unlike any other I have witnessed. Sunburned backpackers float slowly downriver atop rubber tyres that are about one metre in diameter, stopping at bustling riverside bars along the way. The otherwise serene river is a hub of dance music, flying foxes and gigantic waterslides, and packed full of pink-faced tweens who are drunk, or high, or tripping off life itself.
So impressed were Max, Jim and I by our first tubing experience that we embarked on the exact same journey the very next day with new Vang Vieng arrivals, Joel and Viren, in tow. The five of us began tubing at Vang Vieng’s Organic Farm before noon and, thanks to our numerous bar stops, barely made it four kilometres downriver to the tubing centre before it shut at 6pm.
As if a full day of revelry isn’t enough, Vang Vieng backpackers’ drunken antics spill into stilted riverside bars in the town’s old market by night. Fuelled by 10,000 kip (~AUD$2) buckets of whiskey and mixer, the party at the neighbouring Smile and Bucket Bars is driven full-force until the government-regulated midnight curfew.
The curfew proved beneficial to our early start on December 16, when we left on a 10am bus to Luang Prabang. Despite being only 250 kilometres away, Luang Prabang took a nauseating seven hours to reach, owing to the tortoise speed of the bus along the winding -- and, at times, unpaved -- road. While I slept most of the way, I am told the boys and others did not fare too well, with Max throwing up at our halfway pit stop.
We arrived in Luang Prabang as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind a surprisingly busy night market. Our outdated guidebook presented us with some initial difficulties in finding a hostel; however, we eventually checked into the comfortable, 40,000 kip per person Sokdee Guesthouse by the Mekong River.
Our next three days in Luang Prabang were spent sampling local food at the historic Villa Santhi, haggling with streetside vendors, marvelling at local line-dancing at the Muang Swa nightclub, and wandering among the city’s colonial buildings.
Formerly the capital of the Kingdom of Laos, Luang Prabang is nestled in the mountains of Northern Laos. The city was named a UNESCO Heritage site in 1995 and is famous for its Haw Kham Royal Palace Museum as well as the nearby Kuang Si waterfalls.
We visited the very pleasant Kuang Si waterfalls on December 18, hiring a tuk-tuk driver to take us to the site, 32 kilometres out of town. I very much enjoyed sitting in the sunshine by the largest of falls with droplets of mist lightly kissing my bare shoulders. Jim and I attempted a swim in the crystal-clear, turquoise waters of one of the designated ‘swimming areas’, but deemed the water too cold to be relaxing.
It wasn’t until the next afternoon that we discovered where the hundreds of Vang Vieng backpackers spent their time: in ‘tubes’ on the Nam Song river.
Tubing is an activity unlike any other I have witnessed. Sunburned backpackers float slowly downriver atop rubber tyres that are about one metre in diameter, stopping at bustling riverside bars along the way. The otherwise serene river is a hub of dance music, flying foxes and gigantic waterslides, and packed full of pink-faced tweens who are drunk, or high, or tripping off life itself.
So impressed were Max, Jim and I by our first tubing experience that we embarked on the exact same journey the very next day with new Vang Vieng arrivals, Joel and Viren, in tow. The five of us began tubing at Vang Vieng’s Organic Farm before noon and, thanks to our numerous bar stops, barely made it four kilometres downriver to the tubing centre before it shut at 6pm.
As if a full day of revelry isn’t enough, Vang Vieng backpackers’ drunken antics spill into stilted riverside bars in the town’s old market by night. Fuelled by 10,000 kip (~AUD$2) buckets of whiskey and mixer, the party at the neighbouring Smile and Bucket Bars is driven full-force until the government-regulated midnight curfew.
The curfew proved beneficial to our early start on December 16, when we left on a 10am bus to Luang Prabang. Despite being only 250 kilometres away, Luang Prabang took a nauseating seven hours to reach, owing to the tortoise speed of the bus along the winding -- and, at times, unpaved -- road. While I slept most of the way, I am told the boys and others did not fare too well, with Max throwing up at our halfway pit stop.
We arrived in Luang Prabang as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind a surprisingly busy night market. Our outdated guidebook presented us with some initial difficulties in finding a hostel; however, we eventually checked into the comfortable, 40,000 kip per person Sokdee Guesthouse by the Mekong River.
Our next three days in Luang Prabang were spent sampling local food at the historic Villa Santhi, haggling with streetside vendors, marvelling at local line-dancing at the Muang Swa nightclub, and wandering among the city’s colonial buildings.
Formerly the capital of the Kingdom of Laos, Luang Prabang is nestled in the mountains of Northern Laos. The city was named a UNESCO Heritage site in 1995 and is famous for its Haw Kham Royal Palace Museum as well as the nearby Kuang Si waterfalls.
We visited the very pleasant Kuang Si waterfalls on December 18, hiring a tuk-tuk driver to take us to the site, 32 kilometres out of town. I very much enjoyed sitting in the sunshine by the largest of falls with droplets of mist lightly kissing my bare shoulders. Jim and I attempted a swim in the crystal-clear, turquoise waters of one of the designated ‘swimming areas’, but deemed the water too cold to be relaxing.
Labels: Laos
Friday, December 12, 2008
To Vientiane and beyond
We left our very basic Daen Sawan guesthouse early on December 8 to catch the local bus to Savannakhet, only to learn that a 9am departure in Lao time translates to about 10am by anyone else’s clock.
Unfazed, we put the spare time to good use, purchasing two kilograms of sweet, juicy mandarins for the 250-kilometre bus ride ahead, and watching the bus driver play with his pet puppy over a leisurely 9.30am coffee.
I had dismal expectations of the bus ride, having read in a 2003 guidebook that much of the road from Daen Sawan to the larger port town of Savannakhet was unpaved. Thankfully, the highway seems to be much improved and the five-hour-long bus ride was surprisingly comfortable.
Savannakhet is a city in Southern Laos that serves as a transport hub between Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. Located by the Mekong River, Savannakhet is considered the country’s business capital and is home to some 120,000 people, making it the second largest city in Laos.
We spent one night at the Sayamunkun Guesthouse, where 60,000 kip (~AUD$12) bought us a triple room with the comforts of a hot shower and bed sheets. Although the town is pleasant enough, we were eager to reach Vientiane and caught the earliest local bus out of Savannakhet that we could manage.
The local bus from Savannakhet to Vientiane was even more comfortable than the one from Daen Sawan, making the nine-hour-long bus ride far more pleasant than I had expected. Another unexpected treat was a chance meeting with 28-year-old Lao teacher Eik, who had also briefly greeted us in Daen Sawan the day before.
Eik had graduated from university in Vientiane three years ago and was full of praise for the Lao government, which provides free primary and secondary school education as well as a free two years of university tuition to high achievers.
Likening the Lao form of communism to Australian democracy, Eik explained that although there exists only one political party in Laos, party members are elected from each region in a democratic fashion. He also had high hopes for women’s rights in the country, explaining how his mother’s job as the region’s elected women’s union leader was to assist women in divorcing abusive husbands.
We arrived in Vientiane near sunset and checked into the comfortable but relatively pricey Orchid Guesthouse, reasoning that we deserved the luxuries of air-conditioning, hot showers and cable TV after four long days of bus rides and dodgy accommodation. But it was not long before the monetary allure of budget accommodation caught up with us, and we moved to the US$15-per-night Samsenthai guesthouse the very next morning.
For a capital city, Vientiane is refreshingly small and laid back. A village-like atmosphere permeates even the city centre which, compared to the dense, busy cities of Vietnam, is a low-rise sprawl with relatively light traffic and wide sidewalks.
Our three nights in the city were spent dining at a very good Mekong riverfront restaurant, people-watching at dodgy nightclubs, and sipping ice-blended coffees in the sweltering heat of Lao afternoons.
Another Vientiane attraction of particular interest to me was Buddha Park, or Xiang Khouan in Lao. Constructed in 1958 by a Hindu-Buddhist priest named Bunleua Sulilat, the park houses a collection of some 200 cement statues of Buddha and various Hindu gods.
We visited the park in the late afternoon, wandering casually through the statues before venturing into what I found to be the park's most intriguing structure: a dark, three-storey dome depicting hell, earth and heaven. Reaching the dome’s roof near sunset, I battled my fear of heights for the most spectacular view of the Buddhas amid a dramatic yellow-green field.
We left Vientiane on the morning of December 12 for the backpacker haven of Vang Vieng, some 150 kilometres North of the capital and a leisurely six-hour bus ride away. I am getting rather too well acquainted with these long-distance bus rides. Surely we are spending too much time together!
Unfazed, we put the spare time to good use, purchasing two kilograms of sweet, juicy mandarins for the 250-kilometre bus ride ahead, and watching the bus driver play with his pet puppy over a leisurely 9.30am coffee.
I had dismal expectations of the bus ride, having read in a 2003 guidebook that much of the road from Daen Sawan to the larger port town of Savannakhet was unpaved. Thankfully, the highway seems to be much improved and the five-hour-long bus ride was surprisingly comfortable.
Savannakhet is a city in Southern Laos that serves as a transport hub between Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. Located by the Mekong River, Savannakhet is considered the country’s business capital and is home to some 120,000 people, making it the second largest city in Laos.
We spent one night at the Sayamunkun Guesthouse, where 60,000 kip (~AUD$12) bought us a triple room with the comforts of a hot shower and bed sheets. Although the town is pleasant enough, we were eager to reach Vientiane and caught the earliest local bus out of Savannakhet that we could manage.
The local bus from Savannakhet to Vientiane was even more comfortable than the one from Daen Sawan, making the nine-hour-long bus ride far more pleasant than I had expected. Another unexpected treat was a chance meeting with 28-year-old Lao teacher Eik, who had also briefly greeted us in Daen Sawan the day before.
Eik had graduated from university in Vientiane three years ago and was full of praise for the Lao government, which provides free primary and secondary school education as well as a free two years of university tuition to high achievers.
Likening the Lao form of communism to Australian democracy, Eik explained that although there exists only one political party in Laos, party members are elected from each region in a democratic fashion. He also had high hopes for women’s rights in the country, explaining how his mother’s job as the region’s elected women’s union leader was to assist women in divorcing abusive husbands.
We arrived in Vientiane near sunset and checked into the comfortable but relatively pricey Orchid Guesthouse, reasoning that we deserved the luxuries of air-conditioning, hot showers and cable TV after four long days of bus rides and dodgy accommodation. But it was not long before the monetary allure of budget accommodation caught up with us, and we moved to the US$15-per-night Samsenthai guesthouse the very next morning.
For a capital city, Vientiane is refreshingly small and laid back. A village-like atmosphere permeates even the city centre which, compared to the dense, busy cities of Vietnam, is a low-rise sprawl with relatively light traffic and wide sidewalks.
Our three nights in the city were spent dining at a very good Mekong riverfront restaurant, people-watching at dodgy nightclubs, and sipping ice-blended coffees in the sweltering heat of Lao afternoons.
Another Vientiane attraction of particular interest to me was Buddha Park, or Xiang Khouan in Lao. Constructed in 1958 by a Hindu-Buddhist priest named Bunleua Sulilat, the park houses a collection of some 200 cement statues of Buddha and various Hindu gods.
We visited the park in the late afternoon, wandering casually through the statues before venturing into what I found to be the park's most intriguing structure: a dark, three-storey dome depicting hell, earth and heaven. Reaching the dome’s roof near sunset, I battled my fear of heights for the most spectacular view of the Buddhas amid a dramatic yellow-green field.
We left Vientiane on the morning of December 12 for the backpacker haven of Vang Vieng, some 150 kilometres North of the capital and a leisurely six-hour bus ride away. I am getting rather too well acquainted with these long-distance bus rides. Surely we are spending too much time together!
Labels: Laos
Monday, December 8, 2008
Buy the ticket, take the ride
Some of my most memorable moments while on the road have been accidental. A week-long cargo boat ride from Brazil to Colombia because any other means of transport would have been too expensive. A frenzied exit from a near-rioting crowd at the Champs D'Elysses on New Years Eve. Driving through a pedestrian-only street market in the wee hours of the morning in La Paz, because the locals we were with didn’t know how else to get us back to our hotel.
These are moments when each decision goes beyond the everyday what to eat and where to drink, and each choice could either help or hinder the cause, with no in-betweens. Moments when senses feel just that little bit more attuned to risks, adventure and a bargain.
Crossing the Vietnam-Laos border was another one of those precious moments for me.
Max, Jim and I had decided to cross overland on a whim while in Hoi An, and had little planned besides our destination, Vientiane. Driven by a desire to leave the fast-paced, overly aggressive Vietnam as quickly as possible, we set our sights on the closest convenient border town, Lao Bao.
Said to be the most popular overland crossing between Vietnam and Laos, Lao Bao is located in Vietnam’s Quang Tri Province, some 150 kilometres North-West of Hue and 300 kilometres from Hoi An. Arriving at Lao Bao and crossing the border is achieved via Highway 9, which once served as a tributary of the historic Ho Chi Minh Trail.
Our adventure began in the early afternoon of December 6 with a bus ride to the Quang Tri provincial capital, Dong Ha. We had planned to spend one or two nights in Dong Ha, visiting the nearby DMZ before crossing the border to Laos. As soon as our bus set us down in the seedy-looking town that evening, however, I became anxious to leave.
Bypassing a very persistent and somewhat creepy tour agent, we found the Lonely Planet-recommended DMZ Cafe for advice on visiting the DMZ and crossing the border. DMZ Cafe's proprietor, Mr Tinh, is an elderly, personable, proficient English-speaking man who ably sold us a government-endorsed tour of the DMZ for the next morning.
As per Mr Tinh’s advice, we toured the DMZ and the Vinh Moc tunnels, where North Vietnamese troops and their families lived from 1966 to 1972. The tunnels housed 500 people during the six-year period, and include designated caverns for ‘family rooms’, a meeting room, a hospital, and a maternity ward where 17 babies were successfully birthed.
The tour then took us down the Ho Chi Minh trail to Khe Sanh (yes, we hummed the song, quietly), where we visited a museum filled with anti-American propaganda. We farewelled the tour group at the tiny town of Khe Sanh to catch a local minivan to the border -- a ride that was an experience in itself for the friendliness and quirkiness of the 17 locals who were crammed in with us in the 12-seater van.
We arrived at the Lao Bao bus station at 3.45pm, and walked to the border under an optimistic blanket of sunshine. Thanks to the relatively late hour of the day, the border crossing was entirely devoid of queues or crowds, and our visas were processed with great efficiency and lots of smiles.
The Vietnam-Laos cultural difference was apparent the instant we crossed over onto Laotian soil. We were approached by motorcycle taxi drivers as soon as we entered Laos and were surprised and somewhat humbled to find that they took our usual ‘no, thank you’ at face value. Our lesson came in the form of a two-kilometre-long hike to the Laotian border town of Daen Sawan.
And the walk was one to remember. We walked past leafy green valleys, witnessing village life as locals lit cooking fires for the evening. We walked past children who swarmed around us yelling the Laotian greeting, ‘Sabaidee’. We walked with no knowledge of our destination, into a warm, pink sunset.
These are moments when each decision goes beyond the everyday what to eat and where to drink, and each choice could either help or hinder the cause, with no in-betweens. Moments when senses feel just that little bit more attuned to risks, adventure and a bargain.
Crossing the Vietnam-Laos border was another one of those precious moments for me.
Max, Jim and I had decided to cross overland on a whim while in Hoi An, and had little planned besides our destination, Vientiane. Driven by a desire to leave the fast-paced, overly aggressive Vietnam as quickly as possible, we set our sights on the closest convenient border town, Lao Bao.
Said to be the most popular overland crossing between Vietnam and Laos, Lao Bao is located in Vietnam’s Quang Tri Province, some 150 kilometres North-West of Hue and 300 kilometres from Hoi An. Arriving at Lao Bao and crossing the border is achieved via Highway 9, which once served as a tributary of the historic Ho Chi Minh Trail.
Our adventure began in the early afternoon of December 6 with a bus ride to the Quang Tri provincial capital, Dong Ha. We had planned to spend one or two nights in Dong Ha, visiting the nearby DMZ before crossing the border to Laos. As soon as our bus set us down in the seedy-looking town that evening, however, I became anxious to leave.
Bypassing a very persistent and somewhat creepy tour agent, we found the Lonely Planet-recommended DMZ Cafe for advice on visiting the DMZ and crossing the border. DMZ Cafe's proprietor, Mr Tinh, is an elderly, personable, proficient English-speaking man who ably sold us a government-endorsed tour of the DMZ for the next morning.
As per Mr Tinh’s advice, we toured the DMZ and the Vinh Moc tunnels, where North Vietnamese troops and their families lived from 1966 to 1972. The tunnels housed 500 people during the six-year period, and include designated caverns for ‘family rooms’, a meeting room, a hospital, and a maternity ward where 17 babies were successfully birthed.
The tour then took us down the Ho Chi Minh trail to Khe Sanh (yes, we hummed the song, quietly), where we visited a museum filled with anti-American propaganda. We farewelled the tour group at the tiny town of Khe Sanh to catch a local minivan to the border -- a ride that was an experience in itself for the friendliness and quirkiness of the 17 locals who were crammed in with us in the 12-seater van.
We arrived at the Lao Bao bus station at 3.45pm, and walked to the border under an optimistic blanket of sunshine. Thanks to the relatively late hour of the day, the border crossing was entirely devoid of queues or crowds, and our visas were processed with great efficiency and lots of smiles.
The Vietnam-Laos cultural difference was apparent the instant we crossed over onto Laotian soil. We were approached by motorcycle taxi drivers as soon as we entered Laos and were surprised and somewhat humbled to find that they took our usual ‘no, thank you’ at face value. Our lesson came in the form of a two-kilometre-long hike to the Laotian border town of Daen Sawan.
And the walk was one to remember. We walked past leafy green valleys, witnessing village life as locals lit cooking fires for the evening. We walked past children who swarmed around us yelling the Laotian greeting, ‘Sabaidee’. We walked with no knowledge of our destination, into a warm, pink sunset.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Southbound
Our final three days in Hanoi were spent on a tried and tested routine of Happy Hour, Bia Hois, and dodgy, backpacker-filled nightclubs, through which we met several Australian backpackers, one Scott from Scotland, and an Italian marble tradesman with a failsafe business plan.
By the time Joel arrived in Hanoi on December 1, my body had suffered its limit of smog, dust and late nights out and had its vengeance in the form of a painful, phlegmy cold.
Joel had travelled halfway around the world to join us. Unsympathetically, we rewarded his efforts with an 11-hour-long train ride in a six-berth ‘hard sleeper’ cabin to Hue that very night.
Our quest for train tickets illustrates much of what I dislike about travelling Vietnam. A majority of travel agents, including our hostel, sold hard sleeper tickets to Hue for US$47 per person. When purchased directly from the train station, however, the same tickets cost about VND468,000 (US$27.50).
There seems to be a convenient lack of transparency about booking processes and prices in Vietnam that is conducive to overcharging tourists. Inflated prices mean price-conscious travellers have to bargain heavily for a fairer deal, which, for me, ruins some part of an otherwise relaxing vacation.
And then there are the persistent, aggressive touts, the occasional beggar, and the creative arithmetic employed by shopkeepers. One particularly annoying case in point was the ticketing officer at Hanoi’s train station who collected VND500,000 from each of us and then claimed only to have received VND2,400,000 in total. When we insisted that she count the money slowly and clearly, she complied, counting clearly to twenty-four, and unsuccessfully -- and shamelessly -- hiding the last VND100,000 bill in her other hand.
The train ride to Hue in a six-berth hard sleeper was significantly less comfortable than our previous experience in four-berth ‘soft sleepers’ to and from Sapa. Hard and soft sleeper cabins are of the same size, so to fit the extra two people in each hard sleeper cabin, beds are stacked just a little too close to each other in a triple bunk configuration.
The bottom-most beds are the most costly, and afford just enough room for a short, slouching person to sit. Sitting is virtually impossible on the middle and top bunks, which makes for a lot of wriggling when trying to access bags or go to the bathroom.
We had carelessly left our breakfast Oreos at our hostel in Hanoi and weren’t game to try the mystery hot food being carted from carriage to carriage on the train. By the time we arrived in Hue, just past 11am, we were famished and set out immediately for a very tasty lunch at a local diner.
Hue was the capital of Vietnam during the 19th century Nguyen dynasty, and some impressive architecture from the era remains. Best known among these is the Imperial City where the emperors and their concubines resided in a similar fashion to the Forbidden City in Beijing.
The city is crossed by the Perfume River, which is also called the Huong River and seems to play a large part in local life, as well as tourism. During a VND10,000 per person, one-hour-long cruise aboard a houseboat, we passed numerous fishing boats, transport boats and locals doing their washing in the river.
Sadly, my worsening cold was taking its toll on my mood and energy, and I spent little time away from our very comfortable room at the Sports 2 Hotel.
We left Hue after a rushed lunch on December 4 via bus with the Camel bus company. The four-hour-long bus trip to Hoi An was relatively painless -- perfect downtime, I found, for me and my cold.
Hoi An is a small port town on the South Central Coast of Vietnam. Once an important harbour town for the ancient Champa civilisation, Hoi An now is best known among travellers for its numerous silk tailors. Keen for a taste of the famed handiwork, I had a small silk dress tailor-made for VND180,000.
The city also is located about 50 kilometres from the UNESCO World Heritage Site, My Son, which was a sacred Hindu site of the Champa people from the forth to 13th centuries. We visited My Son on a day trip from Hoi An, exploring the 25 excavated temples and witnessing first-hand their extremely hardy bricks whose constituents are said to be as yet unknown to the Vietnamese.
We stayed at the Thanh Van hotel in Hoi An’s Ancient Town, where US$10 per person bought Jim and I a double room with a minibar, bathtub and poolside entrance. So enamoured was I by the hotel’s courtyard pool that I insisted on spending our last night in Hoi An -- and our last night as a complete group in Vietnam -- on a midnight soak with beers in hand.
On December 6, our group split in two. Max, Jim and I decided to make our way across the border to Laos by bus, while Joel and Viren were bound Southward to Ho Chi Minh city before heading over to Laos by plane and train.
By the time Joel arrived in Hanoi on December 1, my body had suffered its limit of smog, dust and late nights out and had its vengeance in the form of a painful, phlegmy cold.
Joel had travelled halfway around the world to join us. Unsympathetically, we rewarded his efforts with an 11-hour-long train ride in a six-berth ‘hard sleeper’ cabin to Hue that very night.
Our quest for train tickets illustrates much of what I dislike about travelling Vietnam. A majority of travel agents, including our hostel, sold hard sleeper tickets to Hue for US$47 per person. When purchased directly from the train station, however, the same tickets cost about VND468,000 (US$27.50).
There seems to be a convenient lack of transparency about booking processes and prices in Vietnam that is conducive to overcharging tourists. Inflated prices mean price-conscious travellers have to bargain heavily for a fairer deal, which, for me, ruins some part of an otherwise relaxing vacation.
And then there are the persistent, aggressive touts, the occasional beggar, and the creative arithmetic employed by shopkeepers. One particularly annoying case in point was the ticketing officer at Hanoi’s train station who collected VND500,000 from each of us and then claimed only to have received VND2,400,000 in total. When we insisted that she count the money slowly and clearly, she complied, counting clearly to twenty-four, and unsuccessfully -- and shamelessly -- hiding the last VND100,000 bill in her other hand.
The train ride to Hue in a six-berth hard sleeper was significantly less comfortable than our previous experience in four-berth ‘soft sleepers’ to and from Sapa. Hard and soft sleeper cabins are of the same size, so to fit the extra two people in each hard sleeper cabin, beds are stacked just a little too close to each other in a triple bunk configuration.
The bottom-most beds are the most costly, and afford just enough room for a short, slouching person to sit. Sitting is virtually impossible on the middle and top bunks, which makes for a lot of wriggling when trying to access bags or go to the bathroom.
We had carelessly left our breakfast Oreos at our hostel in Hanoi and weren’t game to try the mystery hot food being carted from carriage to carriage on the train. By the time we arrived in Hue, just past 11am, we were famished and set out immediately for a very tasty lunch at a local diner.
Hue was the capital of Vietnam during the 19th century Nguyen dynasty, and some impressive architecture from the era remains. Best known among these is the Imperial City where the emperors and their concubines resided in a similar fashion to the Forbidden City in Beijing.
The city is crossed by the Perfume River, which is also called the Huong River and seems to play a large part in local life, as well as tourism. During a VND10,000 per person, one-hour-long cruise aboard a houseboat, we passed numerous fishing boats, transport boats and locals doing their washing in the river.
Sadly, my worsening cold was taking its toll on my mood and energy, and I spent little time away from our very comfortable room at the Sports 2 Hotel.
We left Hue after a rushed lunch on December 4 via bus with the Camel bus company. The four-hour-long bus trip to Hoi An was relatively painless -- perfect downtime, I found, for me and my cold.
Hoi An is a small port town on the South Central Coast of Vietnam. Once an important harbour town for the ancient Champa civilisation, Hoi An now is best known among travellers for its numerous silk tailors. Keen for a taste of the famed handiwork, I had a small silk dress tailor-made for VND180,000.
The city also is located about 50 kilometres from the UNESCO World Heritage Site, My Son, which was a sacred Hindu site of the Champa people from the forth to 13th centuries. We visited My Son on a day trip from Hoi An, exploring the 25 excavated temples and witnessing first-hand their extremely hardy bricks whose constituents are said to be as yet unknown to the Vietnamese.
We stayed at the Thanh Van hotel in Hoi An’s Ancient Town, where US$10 per person bought Jim and I a double room with a minibar, bathtub and poolside entrance. So enamoured was I by the hotel’s courtyard pool that I insisted on spending our last night in Hoi An -- and our last night as a complete group in Vietnam -- on a midnight soak with beers in hand.
On December 6, our group split in two. Max, Jim and I decided to make our way across the border to Laos by bus, while Joel and Viren were bound Southward to Ho Chi Minh city before heading over to Laos by plane and train.
Labels: Vietnam
