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.
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.
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