Hoi An, Ha Long Bay, & Ha Noi, Vietnam: The Land of Ho's

Yay, another dawn bus arrival in a confusing foreign locale! Running on fumes 12 or so of us pile out of the overnight bus all heading to the same hostel. A tuk truk handles the task and when we step foot into the lobby it's complete chaos. There are probably 40 bags of varying size and description piled five deep along one wall and behind the stairs. These are all the bags of people checking in and out of this hostel TODAY. And we had arrived early.

"You can put your bags over there. Check in time is at 2," says the nice girl manning the desk. We take only our most essential gear and leave the rest in our packs- jammed as best we can into the fray. We meet a guy from Vancouver, Kenji, who is arriving the same day. We decide to rent bicycles and kill the morning by cycling down to old town and checking out the historic sights. The bicycles cost something like $1 to rent for the day. Awesome.

Right off I'm struck by how beautiful the streets are. Trees line even the main thoroughfares. It wouldn't take much to convince me we had left Vietnam. 

Our bikes roll on- I'm navigating with one hand on the handlebars and one on the makeshift map volunteered by the hostel-folk. We're trying to make the old town by the way of a number of historic sites. But the heat, the ineffective map, my inability to ride a bike, and the distinct lack of breakfast beers are rendering this task nearly impossible. I give up and start navigating by gut instinct. Gut don't lie. We begin wheeling past one historic site after another. First, the ancient Phuc Kien Assembly Hall. Can't tell you much except that I'm almost certain people assembled here at some point on the time continuum.

Next we notice a temple and swing in. We arrive in time for morning prayers. No one is phased, especially us. We charge in, stealthy. The temple is beautiful. I get this of the inner courtyard. And then, we're ghosted.

Back on our bikes we've set our sights on the historic Japanese Bridge. Stores, houses, and shops whip past until suddenly I pump the brakes and we screech to an abrupt halt. The central market. "Egads gents! We're nearly right on top of the bastard!" I turn around to relish in the spoils of my discovery only to notice everyone else is still tens-of-meters away. "Balls!" I declare. When they finally arrive I say with all the grandeur I can muster, "THIS is the central market!" Blank stares.

We bang a left and make our way steadily down to the river. 'Where the hell is this damn "Japanese Bridge" anyway?' I keep asking myself. Then, suddenly, we turn a corner and there it is. It's not as impressive or Japanesey as I had been led to believe, but given its age and condition once you're actually inside it, I'm still impressed. Judging from Flange's expression, no one is more impressed than that guy.

Oh, nevermind, he just happened to notice that there is a place selling 20 cent glasses of bia hoi (fresh beer) less than 200 meters away. Thank god we have Flange around for the important cultural observations. We park the bikes and head in. I get some sort of rice dish and we try a local delicacy which is served in flower petals. Not bad but it's about 10am and I'm jonesing for a beer... or 8. And at 20 cents a glass it's high time we do some damage.

I think at one point there was 30-40 glasses for the four of us. In 40 minutes. At a total bill of less than $8. Sometimes, on a rare occasion, I really love being me. 

A bit tipsy- don't worry there's not enough traffic in Hoi An to be afraid of... and even if there was there's not enough police to care- we jump back on our bikes and head up toward the hostel. When we arrive I suggest that we keep riding east to the beach and check it out. I'm greeted with a resounding yes. It's at this point I realize we may not have had bikes for that entire first portion of the story. But I'm so damned gonzo I can't tell the difference. 

We eventually materialize at the beach and leave our bikes in the mandatory "garage" that charges us a paltry fee. Another tourist shakedown but one I can live with. We scope out the beach- it's way more beautiful than Nha Trang and the locals are much more friendly. Albeit the beer prices are slightly more but something I'd gladly sacrifice for not having to hear "HAARRRRRROOOO!!" every minute or two. 

Even Jon seems impressed by this beach in contrast to the beaches of Nha Trang.

After scoping out the scene we decide to head back to the hostel to check in and get our long-awaited showers. On the way back I enter into one of my classic haggling scenarios with a tremendously funny and curmudgeonly Vietnamese woman. In the end I emerge victorious and secure us four beers at the bargain rate we were hoping for.

As I recall the rest of the night is more or less uninteresting. The following day is a cloudy and rainy. Jon and I start making our way toward the beach but are ultimately discouraged by the weather. We return to the hostel and decide to change into swimsuits and relax by the pool in the event that the weather should turn for the better. For the past several days Jon has been suffering from stomach and intestinal distress. "You're not drinking enough man," I offer. "You need strong spirits to cleanse your system." After some prodding I get him to order a Long Island Iced Tea. 

After another of those for him and a host of things for me, we meet up with Kenji and a guy we come to call Rob n Roll. Jon and I decide it's time for a new bet. The bet involves swimming from one end of the pool to the other, emerging and slamming a shot of tequila, and then swimming the entire rest of the way back underwater. First to touch at the end wins. Considering I'm a much better swimmer than Jon, I think I've got this in the bag.

We get to the shot and when I pop my head up we are neck and neck but I'm a bit away from my shot. I down it and am back in the water a split second after Jon. Thinking he will choke I put in about 70% effort swimming back to the other end. To my horror I emerge to see that Jon has bested me. "Where did that come from?!" I shout. I'm equally impressed and embarrassed. I demand an immediate rematch and this round's shot will be rum. This time I'm well ahead of him to the first wall and pounding the shot. But instead of coasting I power through. I pop up ahead of him by a slimmer margin than I would have liked but I feel vindicated settling the score. 

We spend a few more hours chilling at the pool and then decide to head back down to the riverside for dinner and another round of cheap bia hoi. On our way out of the restaurant it starts raining and we duck into another bar. We're soon approached by a woman with a sack of clay flutes. Each flute represents a zodiac calendar animal. She starts wheeling and dealing for 1/2/3 flutes. I cut her off. "How much for the entire sack?" She throws out a number like $5. I counteroffer $4 and a deal is struck. I am suddenly the proud owner of around 25 clay flutes. Honestly I never bother counting.

Back at the hostel I go into hustler mode. I'm wheeling and dealing these ridiculous clay flutes. In the end I more than triple my investment, curry favor with many lovely ladies, and manage to get Kenji to give me all his passport photos signed "Justin Bieber" or "Julius Peppers" as well as commit to doing a pencil sketch profile of Jon and I. Kenji is the best so I ended up giving him back enough of his passport photos to complete his trip. The rest I keep as souvenirs or, if you're a Justin Bieber enthusiast, legit autographed photos of JBeebs available for purchase at a reasonable price. 

At some point later in the evening there is a big push at the hostel to go to a club in old town and possibly bowling. Knowing what both of those will entail, Jon and I elect to hang with our newly found crew at the hostel. The rest of the night goes by in a blur except to say I end up back in the pool around midnight competing in a "craziest dive" contest of sorts. It's a long night and at some point I make my way back to our room (thankfully on the first floor) to pass out.

The next morning Jon, Kenji, and I eat our breakfast (a rarity for me) and prepare for our trip up to Ha Noi. We've booked passage on an overnight train from Da Nang to Ha Noi and the corresponding bus to take us the 40 minutes from Hoi An to Da Nang. About an hour before the bus is due to pick us up Jon decides to get a massage. Are you seeing a pattern here?

Sure enough the bus driver arrives to collect us and Jon is no where in sight. I send Kenji east and I head west in search of him. Thankfully his timing was on-the-money for this endeavor as within minutes of our bus being due to leave we spot him heading toward the hostel. I tell Jon he's got to start getting his massages on any day other than a departure day. The drive through Da Nang is great- why is no one going to this place? I instantly wish I could have undone Saigon and Nha Trang and spent all of our time between Hoi An and Da Nang. 

Prior to boarding the train, Kenji, Jon and I stock up on the requisite booze and we all acquire banh mi (Vietnamese sub sandwiches). Inside the train the bed's are beyond cramped. I'm in a middle bunk and I can't even sit 2/3 of the way up. I have to shimmy my way out and then drop down. 

We decide to take a pack of cards, the booze, and our glowing personalities to the dining car. We get about 15 minutes of cards in before the train crew remands us to our quarters. We try to replicate the game there for a while but eventually the rest of our bunk-mates arrive and we must retire to our beds. I pound a few drinks, drop a Cambodian blue, and pump in some tunes. I'm asleep in no time.

We roll into Ha Noi early Friday morning on the 19th of April. We've been in Asia something like 9 weeks but it already seems like 6 months. First thing on the agenda: shower. Next we round up Kenji and pour into the streets of old town. I love old towns. And Ha Noi's is an exquisite example. There are a couple of key characteristics of Ha Noi's old town. What's that you say? Photo montage?? ALRIGHT!

First- you'll see these ladies everywhere. This is the bicycle vegetable cart and the much ballyhooed "scales-of-justice" method of carrying things.

Second- anywhere is a good place for a rest. I follow this guy's lead and pass out on a dumpster for a quick power nap.

Third- the Ha Noi building code of yesteryear is the direct antecedent of the Burger King Stacker motto: "stack em high, tough guy." What is happening here, seriously?

And finally, and most importantly, you're going to see some motorbikes. You're going to see more than a few. Perhaps even a gaggle.

And when they're not on the streets- the city is kind enough to allow everyone to park them on the sidewalks.

Wow- awesome photo montage Mike! Thanks guys! Why am I always talking to myself on here? Who knows... My father once said, "only crazy people talk to themselves and laugh at nothing." HaHA... ahem.

I could just stop talking about Ha Noi right here because that's pretty much the the main things you need to know. But here are some brief highlights of what else we accomplish: a stroll around old town to find tripe (intestine) pho (admittedly not my favorite), checking out St. Joseph's Cathedral, meandering around Hoan Kiem Lake, and eventually pausing on the bridge to Ngoc Son Temple where we're photobombed by this woman:

I'm not sure what is creepier, her stance or my mustache? What is she looking at?? Strange happenings in Ha Noi. Actually, some of the photos from around the lake are worth a look on flickr.

The next day we make our way north past the Dong Xuan Market (not to be confused with the Don Juan Market), and into the French quarter filled with colonial era houses, tree lined streets, churches, lakes, a really cool pagoda, the old presidential palace, and finally we arrive at Uncle Ho's Mausoleum.

They're pretty strict about photos and lingering and basically doing anything overly touristy... which is completely nonsensical as what else is the point of erecting a gigantic mausoleum in the middle of a massive Communist-styled square if not to lure tourists for a photo-op? I did manage to get a photograph of a group of Vietnamese tourists all wearing my favorite hat- if nothing else than to prove it's not only working folk rocking that look around SE Asia. I really need to add one to my rapidly growing bizarre-cranial-accessory repertoire.

Next we march south to the acclaimed Temple of Literature. It was here the royal exams were studied for and administered. The day we arrive there is some sort of festival or party being held. From what we can make out it seems university graduation oriented.

Some of the better aspects of the temple are the giant turtle steles on which are engraved the names of those who passed the royal exams. Inside the main lecture building are a number of statues of Confucius and his disciples as well as altars to the former headmasters of the institution.

We all agree that this is the most impressive site we've seen thus far in Ha Noi. It's at this point I realize I've been abandoned by my companions and am talking to myself, again. Sigh.

The sun is starting to break through the clouds and we make for the train station to buy our final set of tickets in Vietnam- an overnight ride up to Lao Cai near the border where I've planned for Jon and I to walk overland into China. Whoo! We get our tickets and then stroll past the infamous Ha Noi Hilton which we've been cautioned to avoid for being a tourist trap. Ironic.

Back home in old town we get down to business. Kenji spots a sign for 25 cent bia hoi and we pull up stools and make ourselves at home. In short order the cards come out and we three are playing the Yugoslav card game Ron taught me way back in Ledesma, Spain over a year ago. When we stand up an hour and a half later I owe $2.50, Kenji owes $2, and Jon owes $1.50. You can do the math.

Feeling exultant, we charge our way into the crowded streets of old town in search of a cheap liquor solution to keep the party going. We eventually find one and abscond with our spoils back to the hostel where a new crew is recruited in the movie room and the party rages on. I'm feeling in the mood for a proper rampage- I'm mixing drinks, mixing it up, generally acting ridiculous... as I'm occasionally prone to do.

Jon commandeers the DVD selections and I'm hell raising. I'm feeling good. We've got cheap booze, good friends, and the incursion into China looms. I can't keep myself from thinking 'all we have to do is make it to China and everything will be fine.' I'm flying so high I refuse Jon's offer for KFC- lauding my new-found liquid-only diet. At some point I fall asleep during, and appropriately, the Brad Neely Harry Potter/Wizard People Dear Reader mash up. The remainder of the night fades from my consciousness.

The next morning we bid a temporary farewell to Ha Noi. We've booked an overnight boat cruise in and around Ha Long Bay, one of Vietnam's premier attractions, and incidentally another bucket list item for me. We're picked up early in the morning and rushed out of town via cramped bus. I'm simply not built for these Asian-people sized vehicles. My femurs are longer than most people's legs here. On the way out I spot a dude smoking a peculiar looking two-foot long pipe but he sets it down just as I photograph him. I don't know what he's smoking but at least he's wearing a helmet.

We make the requisite stop at a cheap-tourist-trap type rest stop before eventually arriving at the Ha Long Bay docks. The bay is filled with boats dropping off passengers from the prior day's cruise and picking up new ones. It's an impressive racket they are running down here; Frank Reynolds would be proud.

Our cruise has two major actionable items aside from cruising around the bay itself and eating dinner, breakfast, and a lunch: (1) hiking in the Thien Cung grotto and caves; and (2) a stop at the floating village to kayak and stand around twiddling our thumbs. The caves themselves are pretty interesting- illuminated with a plethora of colored lights- and certainly a surprise from what we were anticipating with the cruise. Also, our time spelunking allows the skies a chance to start clearing up.

Upon emerging from the caverns Flange demands a photo of the island's bay and all the tourist boats moored along its shore.

Back aboard, the boat sails through the archipelago. Everyone is taking photos and Jon is working the camera into overdrive. Even with the cloud cover it's beautiful. With the slight haze, it's almost even more breathtaking than it might be on a clear day.

Ultimately we arrive at the floating village. The views from the boat are remarkable. This photo tells it better than I can.

Not enough? You need more archipelago? Here's the rest of the bay facing away from the village.

Enough of this beautiful island gobbelty-gook. Let's do some kayaking! Jon and I strap on our not-so-sea-worthy-looking life jackets, or attempt to strap them on as best as the broken clips allow, and hit the waters. We make right for a rock outcropping and deftly paddle under it. We're the biggest bosses this floating village has seen thus far.

I can already sense that the few of you out there still reading this post are divided. Some of you want a close up photo of one of these floating houses. Others of you want to see a confused-looking dude in my favorite SE Asian style hat. And finally, others of you just want me to post whatever photos I'm going to post and end this absurdly long entry so you can get back to your post-lunch-hour work or other task you're not looking forward to doing but have to accomplish none-the-less. So... for all of you dear readers:

Bladow! And...

Ka-pow! And for those of you who want me to post the pictures and speed this up... After our kayaking adventure we return to the boat where we chill above deck for the remainder of our cruise- Vietnamese flag flying proudly in the breeze.

From here I test out the panorama function of my new phone.

And then the sun sets over Ha Long Bay.

We retire for dinner and then make our way back to the room. We're shot and I know it's going to be a restless night in that boat with the heat, humidity, and no A/C. Not to mention the beers (at $3 a pop) are outrageously priced so we're trying to sleep in the throes of sobriety. Barf.

The next morning we emerge from our cabin tired and ready for landfall. The boat eases its way back around the bay toward the docks. I get a nice panorama from the deck of our clear-ish morning.

On land a new smaller bus deposits us at some joint in a small town a few miles from the docks. We're to have lunch and wait here for our bus from yesterday to finish dropping off the new crop of tourists and pick us up from the town to head back to Ha Noi. Great racket right? Everything is timed down to the minute.

We board the bus and Jon engages in a preposterous discussion with two Vietnamese girls at the back of the bus. I'm in no mood for such antics so I pop in my headphones and zone out, pretending not to overhear some of the more ludicrous claims of these girls, one of which being that there is no such thing as homosexuals. Ok Vietnam...

By the time we roll into Ha Noi I desperately need a drink. Jon and I seek out a nearby "Irish Pub" but are ultimately, and not surprisingly, disappointed. Eventually we find a local spot proffering a delicious sandwich and decent beer. We retire early and the use the next day as a kill day. That night we cab our way to the train station and board the overnight train to Lao Cai.

At the station some "train official" attempts to scam me into taking the earlier train but I'm in no mood for her shenanigans and tell her to bugger off. We buy chips, beer, and soda. The train boards on time, our cabin is nice, our bunk-mates quiet, and I drift off into a peaceful sleep. I know that when we awake we'll be within walking distance of China. I couldn't be happier.

Saigon & Nha Trang, Vietnam: The South That Really Went South

When people asked us how we liked Vietnam, even as soon as when we had just arrived in China, Jon's answer was always that he "hated it." To me, hate is a very strong word. It implies something (or someone) has no redeemable qualities. In my mind every place we visited in Vietnam had some redeeming qualities. Of the five places we visited, I would say two were awesome, one was meh, and two I wouldn't care to visit again. But I wouldn't say that I hated any of them or the country or the people as a whole. A few bad apples don't spoil the whole bunch, right?

The bus ride into Vietnam goes as smoothly as one could hope. We stop once for a break and are asked to show our visa credentials. A woman aboard has no visa. While we are stopped she and the bus disappear. When the bus reappears and we get back on she has vanished. I assume she's been shipped back to Phnom Penh. As we roll to the border control station I'm already looking forward to the days when we can eschew long-distance bus travel for long-distance train travel.

At the border a flurry of nerves hit me. What if they look at the wrong visas? What if they see two and are confused and detain us? I don't want to spend the night in a Vietnamese detention center! And it's not set up like a typical immigration where each person goes at once. We stand, about 45 of us, in a giant sweltering cluster holding our bags and waiting for the agent to get to our passport, call our name and ask us up. It's absurd, inefficient, and frankly... unsettling. Jon and I are two of the last people from our bus to get called. We get through- everything seems fine.

We get back on the bus and I'll be damned if that woman from before isn't back in her seat. Apparently all that trouble we went to for the visas was a waste of time- we could have just bribed some officials. A few hours later the bus drops us off on one end of a large rectangular park. We're told this is the final stop in Saigon. Thankfully we met people who had taken this exact bus company and gave us the lowdown for how to get to the hostel from the drop off point. Within short order we're checked into a seemingly very nice hostel, showered, and ready for dinner which we would enjoy from the rooftop overlooking Saigon at night.

'Oh, that skyline seems nice. Saigon must be a reasonable city,' I think as I drink my beer. Oh you young fool, you silly young fool. And just for the record, no one calls it Ho Chi Minh City. No offense to Uncle Ho but not even the locals call it that. Perhaps it's too much of a mouthful. Perhaps old habits die hard. Perhaps no one cares enough to think about it. But since everyone there calls it Saigon- so will I.

The next morning we launch phase one of our assault on Saigon. Appropriately our first stop is the Reunification Palace. But before we can even walk there we are shaken down with our initial taste of what I like to call the "Vietnamese Swap." In this particular scam the other party engages you in an exceptionally friendly manner and either offers you something as a token of goodwill (which they will later charge you for) or offers you a legit product at a reasonable price (which they will then swap for a fake after you have paid). I suppose this is better than simply being robbed but at least I can appreciate the honesty in a straightforward theft.

In this case we encounter a man carrying two buckets of coconuts on his shoulders with a stick, employing the age-old "scales-of-justice" method of transport. He spots us and starts to chat as we walk. He asks us where we are from and seems to be a generally nice guy. We joke about the stick and he offers for us to carry it a bit for the show (we are filming at the time he spots us). After that, he offers each of us a coconut, no charge. He cuts them, puts in straws, and walks off. 

We feel bad- surely we can't let this guy just walk off with nothing for his coconuts. So we approach him and offer to pay him a reasonable amount. He suddenly turns on us and demands more than $4 a coconut- an outrageous price for such an item in Vietnam. We, of course, object and protest offering him a reasonable sum. At this point get gets very angry and begins to yell at us. We are both thinking, dude- you would have gotten nothing, we wanted to be nice. 

Finally, after his racket is drawing the attention of local police, we offer him $5 for both coconuts (still a beyond-reasonable price) and he accepts. The old "Vietnamese Swap." This is our first and least expensive taste of this scam during our two weeks in Vietnam. It also marks the first and last time we identify ourselves as Americans in that country (even the southern part which I had mistakenly assumed would be more pro-US).

Using our overpriced coconuts to wash the bad taste out of our mouths, we eventually reach the Reunification Palace. There was once a French colonial government building here. But that was destroyed and rebuilt in the current form in 1966. It served as the HQ for the US-led military operations during the Vietnam War or "War of American Aggression" as we would come to learn it is called there. After the war, it was used briefly for state operations until it was eventually opened to the public.

The coolest part of this building is that all of the interior was left basically as it was when the US pulled out of Saigon in 1975. Which makes the decor of this place look... well, totally awesome. Maybe it's because I'm old or because I was born in the wrong generation but I love the vintage and throwback. And as we tour the interior of this building I'm having an eye-gasm.

Is that from the set of Dr. Strangelove? If you like that, peep the President's office:

Is that a taxidermy cheetah!? And the main staircase? Come on.

I want to replicate this entire building as my house but add all kinds of awesome gizmos and secret passages and stuff. Also, I'd want a Get Smart shoe-phone. You know, just to have it. This mod-style officer's commons complete with bar and conversation nook is perhaps my favorite. I think I've seen a picture somewhere of my parents hanging out in a room strikingly similar to this one "not" being on any type of illegal substances. Oh 60's teens.

'Enough architecture already you idiot- no one cares about that!' I yell to myself before we're even out of the building. How prophetic of me. Wave two of our assault on Saigon comes at the infamous War Remnants Museum. Outside the museum we find relics left from the Vietnam War as well as the French occupation. To the former, a host of mothballed war machines, and to the latter, this creepy diorama of prisoner conditions:

The inside of the museum is much more macabre. I'm all for perspective but as we make our way through the museum I'm stricken by how one-sided and biased the information is presented. Even just little things like calling an infantry battalion "the glorious liberating battalion." I read a wealth of great information but the method in which it is presented makes me instantly suspicious of the truth behind the content- whether such suspicion is warranted or not. Finally we wince through the grotesque Agent Orange exhibit. We're ready to leave.

We walk back toward the old part of town and come across the Notre Dame Cathedral. Despite knowing that Vietnam was colonized by the French, I'm not really prepared for such an imposing Christian structure. 

We check out the interior of the cathedral and begin our journey back to the hostel. Along the way we spot what appears to be a Japanese-styled beer-bar offering a happy hour special. It's something like $10 for all you could drink Tiger draught beers from 1pm-6pm. We check the time- it's 5:05pm. The going price of a Tiger draught beer is about $2. I look at Jon and he looks at me as if to ask the exact same question: can we drink at least 5 pints of Tiger beer in the next 55 minutes?

Challenge accepted! We dash inside and make our intentions known to the barman. He antes us up immediately. He's in a cheerful mood and is thrilled to oblige our request. We start filming and drinking; drinking and filming. They go down- one, two, three, four. By the time Jon takes a time out to drop a deuce we've pounded four pints of Tiger and the clock only reads 5:30. 

He returns and we resume- five and six down. We've gotten our money's worth! But the beer is so cold and we're running out of time. We want to take down at least one more. We order number 7 and start to chug. We finish just after the 6pm margin. Our barman looks at us, clearly impressed. "One more, on the house," he says. I feel a slight flutter in my heart for this great kindred soul. We take our time with our free beer and tip our barman heavily. Notably when we would return on subsequent day the deal is no longer offered. Oops. America.

We stand to leave and Jon is already struggling. I can tell we're going to need to make a mad dash back to the hostel before he goes from drunk to useless. We pound sand. I'm frantically checking the jackleg map provided by our hostel trying to figure out how in the hell to get us back to. We arrive at one of Saigon's main veins- the major indoor market (where I had been chastised earlier in the day for gesturing at a fake watch with my foot- and just for the record- I know what that means and I did it deliberately as the watch was a "bonafide" piece of shit).

From this intersection I knew exactly how to get us home. The only problem is that it's the epicenter of seven main streets. There is no time to delay- I take the camcorder, hit record and grab Jon by the arm. "Come on, we're making a run for it!" I scream as we dash headlong into the intersection. Everything is swirling and we're sprinting at a breakneck pace across numerous lanes of oncoming traffic in all directions. It's bedlam and I'm laughing mechanically. Horns sound and we run on. I think back to someone telling me that in Vietnam I just need to ignore the cars and move at a steady pace. We aren't steady but we're moving. 

Finally we reach the other side- the corner of the park. I can't believe we weren't hit by a scooter at least. Either the Vietnamese are excellent drivers or we're more nimble than we anticipated. Regardless, we're safe and alive but the night is more or less toast. Jon passes out at the hostel. I have a few beers on the roof and contemplate our state of affairs.

A brief aside: you may be wondering why I have no pictures of these absurd events. The truth is I didn't bother to take any as I anticipated all of these antics making (and likely highlighting) the DI episodes. Since we were filming all of them I saw little need to double up with photo duty. You'll just have to use your imagination.

The next morning finds me ready to test out Vietnam's signature dish: pho (pronounced "f" + the sound you make when someone punches you in the stomach). It's one of my favorite post-drinking dishes as it provides nearly everything you need to treat a hangover: water, salty soup broth, easily digestible noodles and meat, and some serious heat to get you sweating out those toxins. Combo this with a coke (or a beer if you're emboldened) and you've got a damn-near perfect hangover cure. 

Jon opts for vegetarian and I applaud his decision with a Bronx cheer. As a man of considerable bravado, I'm down for some meatballs of unknown origin, however, not quite ready to dive headlong into tripe (intestine). I figure there is plenty of time for that. We slurp down our spicy noodles and broth and balls and hit the streets. My plan is a walk along the river and up into the residential districts to see what we can find. It's a poorly conceived plan from a sight-seeing perspective. The most scenic thing we get is this:

Eventually we wind our way all the way into some obscure residential neighborhood when we notice an oncoming rainstorm. We dive into a cab and head back. That night some of our fellow hostel-dwellers invite us out to drink in the infamous Pham Ngu Lao. This street is known for three things: (1) a raucous young backpacker crowd; (2) cheap beers available to be consumed on little plastic stools outside "snack" shops; and (3) an increasing permeation of pick-pockets and rip off artists as the night hours roll on.

We pull up to a corner shop and immediately pour down a few 25 cent mugs of bia hoi (fresh beer). From there we move down a few stores and set up shop at one of the guy's favorite places. Nearly every beer on the menu is less than $2 and they wheel them right out of the fridge, plunk them down on our midget table, and crack them open. At some point I find myself chatting with a girl from London named Hannah. We're discussing the typical nonsense one might get into while drinking $1 Vietnamese beers on a plastic stool in Saigon when pictures start being taken. We act a fool. This is my favorite.

I'm still laughing at this. The rest of the night is a blur. Things unravel back at the hostel- Jon disappears for a while. Apparently so do I. There is a ruckus in the room and some sort of beef goes down and is resolved. Typical hostel rabble-rousing. Eventually I pass out. 

The next morning Jon and I are slated to do a tour of the Vietcong tunnels leaving at 6am. Considering we didn't go to bed until the wee hours of the morning and I have absolutely zero desire to look at mud tunnels save for documenting it as "good for the show" (our omnipresent battle cry), I'm in no mood for this activity. For the first time on the trip I put my foot down- F this noise. Jon, who is slightly better off than me but way more claustrophobic is, I think, relieved that I decide we should bail on this excursion. It costs us something like $12 each. That morning I find myself thinking I would have gladly paid $50 to NOT crawl through dirt tunnels in 100 degree heat and humidity.

By opting out of the tunnels to sleep in and because we had seen nearly every other item of interest to us in Saigon, we accomplish only two things of note. First, we make our way back to our favorite happy-hour bar for a stabilizing beer and some internet access. We've finally decided to plan out our remaining time in Vietnam and it's time I start putting the pieces together for exactly how we plan on getting to China. Meanwhile, Jon's mustache is in fine form. I snap a number of shots of him in various ludicrous poses. My two favorites have to be Disastro the Diabolical...

...and Gay Luigi.

Here we gooooo! 

The second thing we manage to accomplish is at Gay Luigi's behest. At some point he spots a Pizza Inn in Saigon. I know I'll never hear the end of it if we don't try out Pizza Inn in Vietnam and, to be fair, I'm at least marginally curious as to what a Pizza Inn in Vietnam would entail. I can barely remember what it tasted like back in the States considering I haven't eaten at one since sometime in the mid 1990's. It proves to be our last task in Saigon. 

After putting on a show for the poor girls operating that Pizza Inn (which tasted more or less what I remember a Pizza Inn to taste like, not great, although my antics were exceptional), we boarded our night bus bound for Nha Trang, a highly touted beach-side tourist destination. At this point the only thing I want to do less than board another fighter-cockpit-oriented night bus is to spend another night in Saigon. So I think, 'fuck it, turn on those weird pink lights, blast the Vietnamese music, and lets get this 10 hour bus-ride-freak-show on the road.' And that's just what we do.

At 6:30am the following morning we find ourselves being dumped along an nondescript sidewalk in Nha Trang. "Do you know how to get to our hostel?" an exhausted and weary Jon asks me. "Vaguely." I reply, and strapping on my pack start walking in the direction I assume (and hope) our lodging to be.

We eventually locate it but we are far to early to check in. All I really want to do is take a quick shower, change into a swimsuit and crash on the beach. But it's even too early to use the common area shower. Discouraged, we head out to the main drag and spot a sports bar offering a breakfast special. "Kegs and eggs?" I ask Jon. "Yeah, I could go for a beer and some eggs," he replies. And so at 7:30am Jon and I find our selves onto an outdoor patio of a sports bar in Nha Trang (by ourselves) having eggs, toast, and a frosty pint of beer. 'What in the hell has my life become?' I think. I can't decide whether I'm living the dream or a complete degenerate.

As I'm contemplating these matters over my eggs and beer, a motorcycle pulls up. Twist my titties if it's not our Dutch buddy from back at the bowling alley in Luang Prabang, Laos! Since we last saw them he and his girlfriend apparently rented motorcycles and had been overlanding through Vietnam down from Ha Noi. The SE Asian backpacker community is smaller than one might anticipate. We catch up and hope to see each other in the bars knowing that, on the road, nothing is ever for certain.

We spend the next three days essentially just lying on the beach and drinking beer. One day we pay homage to the French colonial period and have wine, cheese, and baguettes at the beach. Another day we post up at a beer garden on the beach. I get sunburned one day (no surprise) and then somehow get MORE sunburned the following day while sitting UNDER an umbrella! What the hell!? Obviously I underestimated the spf capabilities of the umbrella. The food and bar scene in Nha Trang is good and there are lots of Russian tourists spending hefty sums and strutting around in borderline obscene swimsuits.

In fact, I think to myself how much I would really love Nha Trang if it weren't for one thing: theft is out of control. Even the people managing our hostel repeatedly tell us not to take our phones, cameras, or wallets out of the hostel. One guy tells us that he and his buddy left a beach bag on the edge of the tide and went for a swim. In that brief interim a guy ran by, grabbed it, and jumped on a motorcycle speeding off. F- Vietnam.

What's the point of going to the beach if I can't relax? Plus there were constantly women coming by carrying junk to sell over their shoulders. They position themselves so they are right in your eyeline and then scream at you "HELLLLLLLOOOOOOO!" But actually, because of the distance and accent, it sounds more like "HARRRRRRRRRROOOOO!" Anyway, because of all this, here is the only photo I was able to get during our first three days in Nha Trang:

Nice views though right? Heh. Our last day in Nha Trang (before another night bus to Hoi An... awesome) we decide to check out the Vinpearl water and theme park you can sort of see in the distance in the photo above. We're joined by fellow hostel-mate James at breakfast where I got a shot of the city from the roof just for some context.

After breakfast we catch the bus down to the entrance to Vinpearl. Since I wasn't able to before, I snapped a few photos of the streets of Nha Trang.

Because the park is on a separate island there is a gigantic cable car system built across the water. It was one of the main things we were looking forward to about Vinpearl. In perfect Nha Trang fashion, however, it was mysteriously closed this particular day and we had to take a ferry instead.

On the island we make our way to the water park portion to try out the slides. It has to be the weirdest water park set up I've ever experienced. In what I can only assume is an effort to conserve water, each slide is only open for certain times of the day. So we run back and forth across the park trying to time all of the slides for their allotted opening times. Despite this odd set up the slides are pretty good and the lazy river is solid.

We dry off and head back to the main part of the park. It's here we board the "alpine coaster," essentially a sled affixed to a steel track that you can control the speed of. I did one of these in China back in 2005 with hilarious results. I'm pretty amped to give it another try. The lift takes us up a massive hill on the island... it seems like we're going up forever. I take a selfie photo and take a look. 'Holy crap we're high!' I think.

We careen down the hill as out of control as our sleds will let us. Unfortunately they are more strict about photos being taken on the way down. At the bottom we realize that given our time constraints we need to head to the ferry and ultimately back to the hostel. On the ferry we get some nice views of the Pacific Ocean at dusk.

Somewhere across the bay I murder this man, steal his hat, and toss him overboard. It's a cool hat. Once I've evaded the police and we're back in town we collect our belongings. James and I decide to spring for the oft lauded burritos being slung up the street from the hostel. Meanwhile, Jon elects to go for a massage. The burritos are fairly tasty and in short order our bus has arrived to take us on another overnight voyage- this time to Hoi An in the north. Only... we can't locate Jon.

I tell the hostel owner to hold the bus and dart up and down the streets shouting for him. Finally I find him a few buildings down still in the midst of his massage. He throws on his garb and we shag ass back to the hostel. We do both make the bus, albeit by the slimmest of margins, and then we're on our way north again. Considering that I initially anticipated I would enjoy the south of Vietnam way more than the north, I'm not as excited as I could be. It causes my stomach to churn... or maybe that's the pre-bus burrito. Before we even pull out of Nha Trang, I regret that decision already.