Sun Sea and Traffic Jams

Sun Sea and Traffic Jams

The people of this city are no different to others in wanting to make the most of a few public holidays. Trouble was, we were part of that throng of humanity that made their way out of Ho Chi Minh City on Wednesday morning, planning a few days of sun and relaxation. A week or so ago we had decided to combine the two days of National Holiday with our weekend, joined with a day off from work, to create a five day break.

Catching the bus at 7.30 we joined half of the cities population at the bus station, before we found the rest of them a few miles down the track. Now, we talk about traffic jams but this was crazy. We traveled about 20 kms in just over 2 hours. The roads were packed with cars, buses of all sizes, trucks and of course motorbikes. The bikes had an advantage in that they could leave the roadway and travel along the dusty verge, creating another lane to the highway. Local buses were packed and the aisles full, a seat space that should hold two had six. People were perched on the window sills of the opened windows. We were going to Mui Ne, a fishing village come tourist resort at what is normally about a four hour drive from the city. This journey took us a little over seven. Mind you, just leaving the bus station was a challenge with 10 tour buses all going to Mui Ne that morning. Normally there are 2, one in the morning and one in the evening. No wonder we had trouble booking accommodation. Thanks to a good book and good conversation, the trip was enjoyable enough if not long.

We arrived at our water side hotel, settled in and took a walk along the beach. The sky was a little cloudy but the air was fresh. Shells of all sorts had been washed up on the beach and there were children digging in the wet sand and jumping the waves.

There are two towns close by here. Phan Thiet is famous for its production of fish sauce and salt harvesting. The stench that filled the air made no mistake of thinking you were somewhere else. Mui Nei, about 20kms further on, is a little fishing village which is well supported with tourism. Fortunately we were staying in Mui Ne, away from the fish sauce. I had been here before but it was James first visit. Oh, the other thing Phan Thiet is famous for is its golf course.

While James played golf, I lazed under the palm trees, watching the kite surfers playing in the wind. Before he was off the course, I changed hotel. No, not to get away from him, he knew about it. Because of the difficulty getting accommodation, we had to change hotels after one night.

Our second hotel was smaller but our bungalow opened onto the beach, so at night we were lulled to sleep by the sound of crashing waves. After dinner we would lie outside on sun beds but under the stars, listening to the water and the putt putting of the small fishing boats making their way out to sea. We watched their distant lights bounce on the waves as we consumed a bottle of wine and solved the problems of the world.

On our last day we hired a motorbike and had a look around. We stopped to look at the fishing village of Mui Ne, all of the boats anchored in a bay. Small round boats like woven baskets are used between the trawlers and shore and they are left on the beach filled with nets. Unfortunately, also left on the beach at the domestic end of the town are all types of rubbish, either half buried in the sand or lapping in the water. It is such a shame that this beautiful piece of coast is only kept clean in front of the resorts.

We rode the bike up to the dunes of red sand, children here with pieces of plastic trying to entice the tourists to slide down the dunes. They carry baskets of pearls and shells to sell, it is hard to resist their cute smiles and pleading eyes. I wondered why they were not at school but guess the little cash they get from the tourist justifies to their family the reason for them missing an education. Mind, you I have found these children to speak very good English, a little something extra gained from the tourists.

Further around the coast we stopped for a café sue da, a drink of coffee filtered into a glass, then mixed with condensed milk and topped with crushed ice. Just the thing on a hot day. Then back down for a drive through Phan Thiet before back to the hotel and a swim in the pool with cocktails delivered to the poolside. We had dinner with some friends, as I said everyone from Ho Chi Minh City was in Mui Ne.

The night skies were lit with an electrical storm so we sat on the steps that led from our bungalow to the beach and watched either the lightening or the crabs running sideways on the sand. It seemed a perfect way to end a holiday that was a relaxing respite. The next day we were on the bus but with less traffic, the trip unfortunately had us home too quickly.

Still Has That Grab

It still has that grab, that feeling of delight every time I head out the door.

I sit on the back of the bike, either on the way to work or on a little errand around the town. There is always a child like excitement in seeing or experiencing something new. I have always said that kids before the age of 5 learn something new everyday and, if we kept learning at the rate of a young child, we would all be geniuses. That is sort of what the experience of living in Vietnam is like, there is something to learn every day. And like a child there is a lot I don’t understand, the language keeps me at a distance, signs are in a code I don’t understand, I never know if I’m in the correct queue and I guess I am experiencing it all the same way young children see their world. I feel so naive at times.

This city is seductive and I admit I am in love. Perhaps my viewpoint is tainted and I have to admit that there are some sights that should remain unseen. We always remove our shoes at the door, a testament to the fact that there is excrement in the streets. Children are taught from a young age that “if you have to go, you just go”. The acceptance of people spitting in the street has to explain the incidence of TB. I walk the street with my eyes down, not only to avoid anything that I don’t want on the bottom of my shoes, but also to avoid a bodily injury as the footpaths are in such bad repair. And that is if you can walk on the footpaths. Parking space is scarce and priority is given to motorbikes on the footpath. If you leave the path to walk on the road edge, the gutters are invariably filled with rubbish. This is either bagged or just thrown, to be collected once or twice a day, providing there isn’t a down pouring of rain to wash it further down the drains.

But with all of that taken into account, it is still a beautiful city. The 10 million odd people, who contribute to that rubbish and sticky goo in the gutters, are so happy. There is a comfortably, relaxed, calm that seems to be genetic. I have seen no evidence of road rage, although I think there is sometimes reason for it. Nobody seems to get stressed by the little things, everyone is calm and things still get done, perhaps not with the precision that I am used to at home. But does that matter?

Children are a priority in everyone’s lives, parents and grandparents, aunties and uncles are all devoted to the youngest members of the families. Children are spoon fed sitting in doorways or carried up and down the streets. We watched a group of kids playing on a hill of gravel as the workmen shifted wheel barrows around them. Although the children were spilling gravel onto the road and running down the hill onto the road to dodge motorbikes, nobody chastised them, it was just accepted as kids having fun. I wrote a school report for one of my students who is disruptive and inattentive in class. The grandmother’s response was “he is a child, just give him love’. Family is very important here and their bonds are full of love.

The people here work hard, physically hard. Most people work six days a week, if not seven. Businesses are open till about 10pm having opened at 8am. If they don’t have a place of work to go to, they set up a shop in the front room of their house or a stall on the foot path to sell homemade meals. Physical work is just that…..physical. Building sites are wrapped in striped plastic to resemble a circus tent while behind the screen there are balancing acts with buckets of gravel. Others walk the tight rope of scaffolding with wheelbarrows and motor cycle helmets their only protection. They put on a good show but there are no clowns. Young and old women sit in poor light on concrete floors beading gowns that they will never get to wear. Occupational safety is a concept not yet discovered here. Employees don’t belong to unions who work on their behalf, campaigning against work conditions or long hours. 44 hours a week is more than common, accompanied by pathetic financial reimbursement for their time and effort.

I still can’t put my finger on exactly what pulls me to this place. I say I was Asian in a previous life. All I know is that I am still happy and loving this country with all it has to offer.

A Day In Dalat

It all happened as part of the Aussie Invasion, no not the one during the Vietnam/American war. It was the one where we were delighted to be able to show some of our friends the beauty of this country. It all started with Brian, another one of those Australians who has decided to make Vietnam a part of home. Brian made the move, joining the growing number of Aussies sharing their English skills. He needed to take a trip to Dalat, in the central highlands, to collect some belongings left there on a previous visit. James was rubbing his hands together. He had already had a weekend in Dalat playing golf and saw this as an opportunity to play there again. Here a problem arose. Brian is not a devotee of the tee.
Malaysian Airlines delivered an unsuspecting victim. Darryl arrived for his little holiday in the country and plans were afoot to show him this particular part of the country. While the boys were planning a weekend in Dalat, I had to work. But not one to miss out, I arranged a flight to stay for a day. Darryl rose to hero status, spending two days on the golf course with James(he said he enjoyed it) and then spending a day with me doing a motorcycle tour of the countryside.
Dalat is a pretty city, resembling a mountain town in Europe. The streets are steep and are wrapped around a hub of markets. The nights are cool but bustling, with stalls popping up on roadsides. A lake surrounded by slopping grass looks up to beautiful old buildings, a remnant of history.
The golf course sits high, looking down on the town. The surrounding gardens are well tended and would be the envy of many living with the droughts in Australia. Dalat is the garden city of Vietnam. Here flowers are grown for the markets throughout Vietnam, picked and shipped daily to the bigger cities.
On our motorcycle tour, Darryl and I stopped to smell the roses grown in glasshouses. Roses, gerberas, lisianthus, gladdies, chrysanthamums, to name just a few that we drove past. Plants were tended by women wearing conical hats, no water restrictions limiting watering.
We were told by our guides that Dalat's main market had been in vegetables but with cheaper goods grown over the Chinese border, demand had dropped off, so flowers became more profitable.
Darryl and I had a bike and guide each and they took us up through the mountains and coffee plantations. These fragrant little bushes were in flower and grow at different heights, depending on the type of coffee. It was while we had lunch that we drank the local coffee which has to be the best coffee I have ever had, just delicious.
We were taken to a silk factory and saw the production of silk fabric, rather smelly as they boil the cocoons before spinning off the fine thread. Large noisy looms weave the thread into the delicate fabric which is transformed into the soft silky garments available just about everywhere in this country.
Through hillside villages and to a fantastic Buddhist temple, such a quiet retreat, peaceful and reviving. The view from the front steps was great and we could hear the roar of the waterfall not far away.
We followed our guides to the fenced edge to look over at the waterfall, a sight spoiled by the bags of rubbish building up against the rocks. Such a great tourist attraction if not for the rubbish. A path led us over a narrow bridge and then down. The steps were rocks, packed out with concrete, steep and uneven. I got half way and was ready to quit. All I could think was what James would say if I slipped and broke an ankle. But with the gentle coaxing of Darryl and our guide I kept going, with lots of help from my friends. I was so glad I did. Apart from being cooler at the bottom, sprayed by a fine mist of falling water, it was so pretty. Well worth the climb. Trouble was,I knew I had to do it in reverse. What a sight I must have been, climbing up, clinging to rocks, on my knees at times, grabbing branches. It was a feeling of achievement getting to the top with all bones intact.
On our way back to the hotel we stopped at a place called the Crazy House. Designed by some famous woman who obviously must have weird dreams, this place is a cross between Magic Mountain and Stormy Summers parlor. It apparently is a hotel, but you would have to have a strange sense of humor to stay there. Created in concrete, each room has a theme, bears, flowers, fake cobwebs, mirror ceilings.....just bizarre, real fantasy land.
As it got cooler and darker we headed back toward the city centre and our hotel. Brian was still there and together the three of us wandered down to the fun of the market. Lots of bargains, smiles and jokes. We wandered up and down, through the dark streets with little stalls, eventually finding a stall that sold a type of tapioca pudding that Darryl liked. Dinner was at a small restaurant with tables on the footpath.
Next morning off to the airport and back to reality with work in the afternoon. Plus, we had to get ready for the arrival of John and Judy, we still had lots of fun to have.
But it was a perfect day.

Cambodia

Sights from Cambodia

Escape to Cambodia

With the approach of Tet, we had made the decision to head out of Vietnam and visit the neighbouring country of Cambodia. We set off early to catch the bus that would take us out of Saigon, sharing the road with other travelers escaping the city. After about four hours we were at the border and it was "everyone off the bus", said in a language we didn't understand, so we just followed. The bus was unpacked and we had to present to the Vietnamese immigration officials. That done, it was back on the bus for a few hundred yards, then off the bus again to present to Cambodian immigration. Then back on the bus again, that was our exercise for the day. In all I think it was about a six hour bus ride that took us through rural Cambodia, a pretty, green countryside with villages of stilted houses dotting the roadside, heading toward Phnom Penh.
Along the way we saw some sights, a twelve seater van crammed with 23 people (my count as we passed slowly) 3 motor bikes, a bicycle, the baggage and a few hens tied on. At the ferry crossing we followed a ute piled incredibly high with chooks, all alive but tied, hanging, those over the exhaust pipe hopefully provided a quick death. In a field were two little boys having a great time larking around on the backs of water buffalo. The threat of land mines is still very real and the cities had more than their fair share of the victims.
Arrival in Phnom Penh opened another world. Once settled in our hotel, we took off to explore a city that we both found dirty and depressing. There is an obvious sex trade providing income for young males, as some rather sleazy looking westerners walk the streets with young boys. The sight of children begging for food or money while we sat at our restaurant table brought tears. I had just spent a few weeks in Australia with my grandchildren who are well protected and want for nothing and the contrast to these vulnerable young kids, dirty, hungry and desperate was just heart breaking. We bought bananas to offer as we walked the streets and were approached by hungry children, but they ran out before the hands stopped reaching up.
Our day tour the following day also brought tears. The Killing Fields and Tuol Sleng Prison brought to life the agony and suffering of the Cambodians at the hand of Pol Pot's regime. The glass panels of the memorial stupa show the skulls of some of the 17,000 people who met their fate here and are buried in the mass graves. The quiet peaceful surroundings disguise the horror. S-21 had been the prison holding these souls as they were interrogated and tortured. Originally a high school it was converted with barbed wire and bars to a hell hole. Scribbled on wall a message from someone else who was shocked by the place, "When this was a prison, nobody learned. When this was a school, nobody died".
We were glad to leave Phnom Penh behind and arrived in Siem Reap to be enthralled. Obviously thriving with the tourist dollar, this town catered well. It was cleaner, friendlier and a beautiful gateway to Angkor and the ancient temples. We spent a day with an official and very informative guide who told us all the secrets of the temples. French explorers had re-discovered these temples in the 19th century but during various conflicts they had been deserted. Now they are awake and the life blood to Siem Reap with 2 million foreign visitors tramping the dusty trails last year.
Entry to the temples is well organized. You must purchase a ticket which is printed with your photo and must be presented on request. This ancient capital of Cambodia is well protected and cared for. One million people used to live in this vast area as one king after another tried to outdo his predecessor building something bigger and better. Originally, as wars were had over land ownership, Cambodia included Southern Vietnam and part of Burma.
Archaeologists are still working on different sites throughout the area but there was little that was off limits. Blocks of sandstone fit together tightly creating enormous towers and steep steps encourage you to go higher to see what is at the top. At the Temple of Bayon, faces look down on you, enigmatic smiles keeping a secret of some kind. Carved into some of the sandstone blocks are stories in pictures, telling of legends, myths and wars. The stone is worn, more in some places than other, covered with stains from years of weather and exposure. At Ta Prohm nature has reclaimed the stone, large trees embracing the walls of this jungle temple. Hollywood has visited this spot with it featuring in the movie Tomb Raider. Among the other visitor the day we were there, were saffron robed Buddhist monks who seemed to blend so well with this peaceful atmosphere. These young men were probably trying to sneak moments of quiet contemplation but it was as though they were part of a theme park, walking among the ancient twisting tree roots.
Refreshed with food and drink at lunch, the afternoon was filled with a wander around Angkor Wat, the largest of the temples. Reflected in the surrounding moat, it was a sight I've seen before in the travel pages but the real thing is nothing but breathtaking. The sight was enough to spur us on and into the hot sun to wander the ancient paving. I can't describe how exciting it was. But by this stage Chum, our guide, was getting weary. He had seen and said it millions of times before, so once he had done the introductory spiel, we left him sitting in the shade as we explored.
These ancient cities are not small and it is amazing that they could be built without modern technology. The stone was sourced 50 miles away and fits together with snug precision to built the walls and towers. It is purely amazing.
We have to go back, one day is not long enough to see all that this place has to offer. We only walked the major temples but there are more further afield that have secrets to share.